The Whistling Thorn

by Isobel Chace

  Annot's hand dropped away from Dorcas's back without the girl realising that she was on her own.

  'Why did you come back early, James?' she asked. Her tongue felt as hard as a board in her mouth and she was briefly, heart-stoppingly shy of him.

  'Because I think we spotted Jeremy,' he said.

  They had motored what seemed like miles and in almost total silence. Annot was still burning with indignation that James hadn't said at once that he thought he had seen her uncle.

  'How could you keep it to yourself?' she had demanded. He had given her a look that had set her back on her heels, feeling more guilty than she liked.

  'Something diverted my attention,' he had said. 'I guess we all have the instinct to protect our own. You're not the only one to want to have things both ways!'

  Annot hadn't welcomed the note of criticism in his voice. For some reason or other she had felt more hurt by that than by anything that had happened to her for a long time. To keep up her morale, and to show him she had a mind of her own, she had made elaborate preparations for the evening. She had put on a dress—the same apple-green one she had worn that first morning on James' farm—and, deciding her legs were sufficiently tanned not to bother with stockings, she had nevertheless put on her prettiest pair of sandals and had made up her face with as much care as if she had been going to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen. Lastly, she had put on the Masai beaded collar

  he had given her, though she might have changed her mind about that if she had been able to take it off again.

  She was glad she had taken the trouble when she saw James already seated in the Range Rover waiting for her. His safari suit, white with a pale grey line in the material, was so beautifully tailored it took some living up to. That was another thing she had forgotten about Kenya, she thought, how beautifully and how quickly the Asian tailors worked, producing garments that many a European haute couture establishment could have learned much from in such matters as finish and immaculate fitting.

  Okumu got in the back seat at the same time as she slipped into the front passenger seat. He said nothing, but Annot knew that he, too, had summed up her appearance in the one comprehensive glance he had given her, and that he had not found her wanting.

  'Where are we going?' Annot asked James, her colour rising as he looked her over.

  James waved a hand in the direction of Arusha. 'Over there,' he said.

  It hadn't told her a thing. Since then, she hadn't opened her mouth at all, not even when they had left the main track and had branched out across raw Africa where, from all appearances, no one had ever gone before. Before long, when she had been able to discover no landmarks at all that she might be able to recognise on the way back, she had become decidedly nervous, but she had still said nothing.

  Then, when she was least expecting it, James parked the Range Rover under an 'umbrella' tree—so called because of their flat tops and the shade they give to both animals and men in the heat of the day—and announced that from there they were going to walk.

  Annot looked down doubtfully at her sandals. She hoped they were not going to have to walk far, or she would be crippled for life.

  'You should have told me,' she complained in a small, tight voice, 'and I'd have brought some other shoes.'

  James, whose shoes were perfect for walking anywhere, remained cheerful. 'If the going gets bad I'll carry you,' he said.

  `Don't be ridiculous!' she snapped.

  Okumu merely looked into the distance. 'It is not very far, mama. You will walk it easily.'

  Annot certainly hoped so. She hoped, too, that neither man would realise how desperately afraid she was to set out like this across territory she knew to be dangerous and full of wild animals waiting their chance to eat her up. They didn't even have a gun between them!

  Okumu went first as if by right. He had his spear with him, Annot noticed with relief. It gleamed in the sunshine as he walked, finding the path as easily as if he walked it every day of his life. That was something too, she thought. Obviously someone else used this path and, with any luck, it would turn out to be men—Masai even—and not a pride of lions.

  The path had a very African feel to it. Narrower than any similar path that European feet would have made, so that Annot was inclined to stumble at first, until she followed Okumu's example and walked along like a cat, placing one foot directly in front of the other and not parallel as came more naturally to her. She had never realised that Africans walked like that before, though she had frequently remarked their freer movements and swinging hips as they covered the ground.

  Annot glanced over her shoulder at James. He was having no difficulty in matching his strides to the width of the path, of course. On the contrary, he gave every sign of enjoying the exercise as much as if he had been walking over the Sussex downs at home.

  `Tired?' he asked her.

  She straightened her back. 'No!' She wished she had the courage to ask how far they still had to go, but ever since the incident in the pool, she had only to look at him to feel a nervous quiver in her insides, and she was fast coming to the conclusion she was afraid of him. Either that or the African sun was making her emotionally unstable, so that every movement he made seemed to be beating a track across her heart.

  'We're nearly there,' he consoled her. 'How are the sandals bearing up?'

  She had almost forgotten all about them. They must have been better made than she supposed, for, while they did little to support her feet, they were light and gave plenty of room to her toes.

  `They're fine.' She hesitated. 'I'm sorry if I made a fuss; but

  But you felt like it?' he suggested on a thread of laughter.

  She supposed she deserved that. 'Well, yes,' she admitted. 'It's tiresome when someone else is always right!'

  'My dear girl, only because you insist on placing us on a battlefield! What we need is less confrontation and more—' He broke off, drawing up sharply. `Okumu,' he breathed, and gabbled off a whole lot more in a language she didn't understand.

  The Samburu stopped too, looking up into a tree a few yards on ahead of them.

  'What is it?' Annot whispered on a wave of excitement.

  It was Okumu who - turned 'his head to answer her. 'Leopard, mama.' He grinned, showing flashing white teeth. `A very well-fed leopard!'

  But even so he took no chances, but led their small party some way away from the tree before they rejoined the path. Annot kept pace with him all the way, amazed at her own calmness. She would suffer later, she knew, when she no

  longer had to keep up a front of blasé courage for James' benefit, but just now she was doing fine!

  'There is the village,' Okumu said suddenly, pointing it out to her with his spear.

  It was some time before she could pick it out from the surrounding land. Branches of thorn bushes had been used as a fence round the dung and mud huts to keep the cattle in at night and safe from any marauding predators. It seemed to be the only defence the Masai had themselves, which Annot found more foolhardy than brave, remembering stories she had heard of hyenas removing whole families from their huts in the middle of the night.

  She said as much to Okumu, marvelling at the way the Masai, and for all she knew his people too, chose to live.

  'Those people were not Masai,' he answered her.

  'Nor were they Masai donkeys,' she said on a sigh. 'They seem to be always on their own and completely immune from disaster.'

  'Nothing wishes to harm a donkey,' Okumu said with scorn. 'There is nothing they have to fear in the whole Amboseli.'

  But why not? Annot wondered.

  'Satisfied?' James teased her. 'This is Masai country. They've always lived in the same way. Okumu too.'

  She nodded, glad to display her own knowledge to him. 'He must have come up the escarpment with them in the very beginning,' she said.

  James put out a hand, pushing back a loose wisp of hair from her face. 'He speaks the same language, so he must have done,' he conceded.


  Okumu laughed, his eyes and teeth flashing in the evening sun. 'Did you climb up too? You speak our language also!' he reminded his employer.

  Annot felt left out. 'I wish I did,' she said.

  'It doesn't matter for a woman,' Okumu replied. 'If your

  father is a Masai, you are a Masai. Your mother can come from any tribe.' He grinned wickedly at her. 'There was a time when the Masai captured women from every tribe and made them their wives!' He spat accurately on the ground ahead of him 'Except the Luo—their women were always safe from the Masai men.'

  `Why was that?' Annot asked, genuinely interested.

  'The Luo don't circumcise their women,' he answered. 'Besides,' he added, 'they live far away.'

  As they approached the village, two Masai morans came out to meet them. They looked magnificent in a primitive, barbaric way, tall and withdrawn and with muscles rippling under their mud-coloured loincloths, suka or of karaha. They, too, carried spears and had their hair arranged in the distinctive manner of the junior warriors of all their related tribes. They shook hands with Okumu in the African way, first in the European manner and then clasping each other's thumbs. When they had talked awhile, they even greeted James, but Annot they didn't look at at all, pretending not to notice she was there.

  They all walked back to the village together. To Annot's dismay there were no women in sight, for this was clearly a maityatta especially for morans, who were forbidden to marry or even to have relations with women until they shaved off their hair and took on the responsibilities of family life within the tribe at the end of their compulsory military service for the safety of their particular community.

  Once they had shown their superiority, surprisingly, the Masai broke into perfect English, still without looking at Annot, but evidently as a compliment to her so that she could understand what they were saying.

  `You have come to see the dance?' they asked, well pleased at the thought of having visitors.

  'My fiancée has never seen the Masai dance,' James told them, and it was with a sense of shock that Annot realised

  he was referring to her, 'but she has heard all about their courage. Even in England the Masai are known for their bravery.'

  After that, the village was theirs. James and Annot sat on a fallen tree at the side of the clearing and tried to ignore the powerful smell of the dwelling-shacks about them. These were no more than a frame of sticks, covered with a mixture of cow-dung and earth. That might not have smelt in itself, but the Masai are a nomadic people and prefer to move on to a new site sooner than do much in the way of housekeeping.

  It was evidently a great occasion. Other Masai men and women came walking into the clearing, intent on enjoying the spectacle that was about to be put on for them. In all the tribe there was no one better qualified than the morans to depict their traditional dances and to recite their ancient songs, for it was to learn these things as much as the military arts that they were kept segregated for eight long years. Thus were the traditions of the tribe handed on from one generation to the next.

  It began simply enough. A group of young men faced inwards in a circle and began to chant, drubbing their spears on the ground; then they trooped back and forth, always keeping up the complicated rhythm of their chant.

  James put an arm behind Annot and invited her to lean back against him. 'Glad you came?' he said in her ear.

  'I nearly didn't,' she retorted. 'You might have told me you'd seen Jeremy!'

  `Mmm,' he said. 'You might have remembered you are engaged to me!'

  `But I'm not—not really.'

  He pulled her closer still. 'Aren't you? You'll never convince your German friend of that again, my sweet.'

  Another time she might have taken issue with the note of masculine triumph in his voice, but this didn't seem to be the right moment for taking up cudgels for the rights of

  women. This was a male-orientated society, a celebration of manhood, and she couldn't see that the Masai, or Okumu, were any the worse for that.

  The dance came to an abrupt end. Okumu was invited into the centre of the compound where he made a few startling leaps into the air, his long hair flying out behind him. Annot was amused to notice he had caught every watching female eye around, and knew that he knew it too. His bright scarlet loincloth was distinctive enough to set him apart from the others, but the beauty of his movements was something else again. What would they have made of him in Europe?

  When he had done, the Masai came back again, bringing with them piles of staves cut from the sisal plant and called in the Masai language duvai, from which came the name of the area where the Leakeys were to discover the oldest prehistoric ancestors of man. These they flung at each other across the open space, warding them off with their shields. It was a fantastic sight to see the green staves flying through the air, any one of them able to kill a man if it hit a sensitive spot.

  But after a while, Annot's attention wandered to where the women were sitting, their backs leaning against the sides of the huts. Bedecked in the same mud-coloured clothing as their men, they relied on their magnificent jewellery to appease their feminine vanity, and their fingers were busily employed in making yet more pieces as they watched their sons and brothers performing before them.

  Then something caught her eye in one of the huts. It was the face of a man—a white man! Annot was on her feet with a whoop of joy and went running towards him.

  'Jeremy! Jerry! It's me, Annot!'

  A piece of sisal hit her squarely on the back of her head and neck and she sank to the ground, the blackness closing in all round her, and she knew no more.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ANNOT awoke to the sour smell of manure and a splitting headache. It wasn't all bad, though. Comforting arms held her close against a hard, masculine chest and, almost immediately, she gave way to the temptation to rest her head against his shoulder. Somehow that eased the ache a bit, but then Jeremy had always been able to comfort her, even when as a child she had mostly run into trouble of her own making.

  'I knew it was you,' she said slowly and carefully. 'Did you now?'

  She frowned, confused. That hadn't sounded much like Jeremy. When she tried to open her eyes, however, it was just as dark with them open as with them shut.

  'Where are we?' she asked.

  `Don't you remember?' amused, masculine tones murmured affectionately. 'Poor little Annot, you do need looking after, don't you?'

  She thought about denying it, but it didn't seem worthwhile. Strange that it wasn't Jeremy who held her.

  `We're not outside now,' she said. There was something she had to remember, but she couldn't remember what it was. `I saw Jeremy!'

  'You thought you did, there's no doubt about that.' the masculine voice agreed. 'Did you have to take off like a maniac across the compound, though?'

  `Did I do that?' She snuggled a little closer to him. 'Did you try to stop me?'

  He was silent for a long moment. 'Did you want me to?' he countered then.

  'I don't know,' she admitted, 'I don't remember much about it. Silly, isn't it?'

  'A trifle impulsive,' he said dryly. 'How's the head now?'

  `Sore.' She gave a thoughtful wriggle. 'I wish I could remember better, but all I want to do is go to sleep. Are we inside somewhere?'

  `They gave us the loan of one of their huts. I think they thought they'd killed you—and they might have done had it not been for the protection of that beaded collar and

  in the general relief that you were still alive it was suggested you should stay the night before I took you back to the lodge.'

  So that was what she was doing lying on this prickly bed. Annot tested it gingerly with one hand and found it was covered with animal skins. Judging by the smell they had not been very well cured, and if it hadn't been dark, she could imagine they would have been swarming with flies and maybe even with other, less appetising insects. Supposing the dawn came before she was ready to leave this makeshift couch? She felt quite sick
at the thought.

  'What time is it?' she asked.

  'It's getting on for midnight. Lie still, my love, and try to sleep. You'll feel better if you do.'

  Her eyes opened wide in the darkness. 'Nearly midnight? Then what are you doing here?'

  He hugged her tight. 'I can wait until you're in your right mind before I seduce you, if that's what you're thinking. Go to sleep!'

  But sleep was impossible now. She thought with a sinking feeling that the feel of his arms about her was so right, so necessary to her comfort, that that was seductive enough. Before long she would want something more, and that would never do!

  'James

  `Ah, you do remember who I am!'

  She swallowed a lump in her throat, humiliated by the swooping action of her heart as he moved his hand against her.

  'Of course I do!' she said crossly. 'And I refuse to be seduced, now or ever!'

  He turned a little to face her. 'But I could—'

  She took a deep breath. 'You flatter yourself, James Montgomery! I don't even like you!'

  'Do you not? That isn't what you said just now. You came into my arms like a homing pigeon—and quite right too! Have you forgotten you're engaged to marry me?'

  This was worse than anything! Whatever could she have said? She unpicked his fingers from their grasp on her waist, concentrating hard on winning free of him, but as soon as she succeeded in pulling his hand away, it returned to a more intimate position against the curve of her breast. She felt his chuckle against her ribs and wondered at the wave of happiness that rolled over her.

  'What are we going to do?' she asked him.

  I could kiss you a little,' he suggested. His voice was as smooth as treacle. How many other girls had he bent to his will with no more than his tone of voice? Funny what it did to her! She who had always been immune from getting herself into such untidy romantic interludes before. For that was all it was, and she would do well to remember it. It was an interlude, and once she had left Kenya, would she ever see James again?