“I have no need to point out that, in making that maneuver, we shall have a double advantage. Firstly, the distance to be covered between the two extremities is considerably less for us, who are inside the curved line and who can move in a straight line, than it will be for the Carabao-Men, who—if they are not to expose themselves to our fire, which they fear more than anything—will have to follow us under cover. Secondly, our men can run much more quickly than our adversaries. In brief, the left flank will be overrun before the arrival of any significant reinforcements, and the real battle, if there is a battle, will take place in the open. Your infallible rifles, aided by the fire of marksmen who are doubtless less skillful, but not negligible, and by the arrows of the Amdavas, who are excellent archers, will then give you a great advantage…”
In order to facilitate understanding, Frédéric was drawing diagrams in the soil, but from the first words, well before the end of the demonstration, the Grafina and Dirk had understood everything.
“That’s very good, Monsieur,” said Louise de Gavres. “Old Europe might still have something to teach its distant children.”
She smiled. Frédéric, moved, no longer saw anything but the woman’s charm.
“Wel! Zeer wel!”33 exclaimed the planter, extending his muscular hand to the young man.
“Perhaps also,” the latter continued, “it would be good to have two small wooden platforms, which would permit you to shoot over the enemy barricades. There are a few trees here.” He turned to Dirk. “Besides, if they see you standing on one of those platforms, a little behind the attacking forces, they’ll be all the more convinced that you’ve resolved to force the blockade on the right.”
“That’s true too!” said Louise. “My men will be able to construct these platforms very quickly. I think a height of two or three meters should be sufficient. Thank you, Monsieur—there’s a good chance your idea will save us.”
“It’s possible, though, that the Carabao-Men won’t be taken in by the stratagem, either by virtue of suspicion or intuition.”
“Yes,” said the Grafina, with a laugh that rendered her strangely seductive, “but we’ll be able to combine our primitive ruses with your plan.”
Dirk, the Grafina and Karel summoned the Amdavas chief and the Sumatrans’ leader and did not hide from them either the danger—which these men, accustomed to the adventurous life, clearly discerned for themselves—or the plan of attack, with regard to which they asked for the advice of their experience. They saw its advantages right away, and also the difficulties, proposing a few adjustments that were adopted. After a further examination of the terrain occupied by the Carabao-Men, the Sumatrans and the Amdavas set to work.
In addition to the two platforms, they constructed a small bridge of thick branches and a sort of collective shield that would permit the Sumatrans to protect themselves from assegais before engaging in hand-to-hand combat. The Amdavas knew as well as the Roman legionaries of old, and perhaps more flexibly, how to form a testudo with their shields.
The preparations took an entire day.
“The morale of the men seems good,” said the Grafina, “except for three or four of my servants, whom we’ll keep in the rear…”
“Among mine, only one is doubtful,” Dirk remarked. “We’ll put him in the rearguard too. As for the Amdavas…”
“I’ll answer for their bravery,” Karel interjected. “They’re an elite race. You won’t find braver warriors anywhere. If they were more numerous, they’d be the masters of the island.”
“We’ll attack tomorrow morning, then,” concluded the big Dutchman.
The fires had just been lit. They projected their flickering light over the plain and the rocks, punctuated by shadows and phantasmal figures. Frédéric and Corisande perceived the threat of an as-yet-omnipotent nature. There were no clouds. Beyond the visible stars, they sensed other stars, their multitude suggested by the pale Milky Way. In the distance, giant frogs were croaking; a flight of bats as large as eagles emerged periodically from the shadows; predators fluttering on lacy wings, the insatiable army of insects sought its prey.
“Will there ever come a day when men cease to be wild beasts to other men?” murmured Frédéric, seduced by the beauty of the night.
He was sitting very close to Corisande. The young woman was daydreaming miserably. She felt forever profaned, and life left her no other hope than to devote herself to her brother. Someone, however, was watching her from the depths of the shadow: Karel, subject to the seduction of that pale face and those large, desolate eyes.
“I don’t think that there’ll ever be an end to war between men,” said the Grafina, who had heard what Frédéric said. “All one can hope for are longer truces. Nature doesn’t want peace.”
“But men fight against nature.”
“They’re also part of nature! They live within it according to the mysterious law that is within them without them knowing it. They have never known what impulse it is that carries them through the centuries, and never will know, any more than a tiger knows its destiny…or those nocturnal beasts know theirs. We have never known, and never shall know, the destination of our voyage through time.”
“Look how man has mastered the beasts, though…how he is taking possession of the virgin forests…how he makes the Sun and the rain on the savannah work for him.”
“What’s that compared to what the plants do! They’re prisoners…they cannot escape from the place where they have put down roots, but do they not devour the rock, sand and clay regardless? Those virgin forests and savannahs of which you speak, what conquerors they are of that which is not alive…or seems not to be alive! And remember that, without plants, man himself would be nothing…nothing! On the day when humankind must die, a few shocks will be sufficient. The old Earth has only to tremble momentarily and entire cities will perish. No, friend from France, man is not much more than the insects…perhaps less—for I think that the insects will survive us!”
She spoke dreamily, suddenly very feminine—and so charming that Frédéric felt a thrill of admiration. A strange creature! he said to himself. No man is more redoubtable, and, in truth, no woman more seductive!
“The Southern Cross is marking 10 p.m.,” said the planter. “Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll have need of all our strength and all our skill.”
“Sleep,” Frédéric remarked, “is even more necessary for maintaining skill than for maintaining strength.”
“Very true,” agreed Louise. “Insomnia disturbs precision of movement more than anything else.”
Frédéric was left alone with Corisande. “What admirable souls!” the young woman said. “No one seems to give a single thought to the fact that it’s two strangers from the other side of the world for whom so many are risking their lives.”
“The war showed me the extraordinary variety of our peers,” Frédéric said. “If no beast can match the ferocity of millions of humans, what gentleness there is on others, what generosity, what magnificent abnegation! Nevertheless, few can compare, in the sum of their qualities, with that giant and that heroic young woman.”
“I misunderstood her,” murmured Corisande. “But now…” Her eyes were full of tears as she added: “Alas, what does the opinion of a poor degraded creature matter?”
“No, no!” replied Frédéric, with contained vehemence. “No, you’re not degraded. No, you’re not fallen from grace. In my eyes, and, I’m sure, the eyes of these brave people, you’re as pure and as innocent as when we arrived on this island. It’s necessary to forget, my beloved sister, as one forgets a disease after the cure…”
She shook her gleaming head; an immeasurable sadness ennobled her delicate features again; her eyes had a pathetic beauty.
The camp awoke at an early hour. The Grafina, Dirk and Karel gave their orders. Servants began by transporting the platforms to within 200 meters of the enemy positions, while others picked up the wooden bridge.
The nocturnal mist fragmented, then bega
n to melt away. At 8 a.m., the terrain was clear; only a few slight wisps of vapor drifted above the pools and occasional clumps of trees. On the battlefield, the visibility was perfect.
“Is everything ready?” Dirk asked.
“Everything,” replied Karel, the Amdavas chief and the Sumatrans’ leader.
“Go!”
The bulk of the expedition headed toward the right at a modest pace, and stopped beside the platform where the Grafina was to take up a position. About a third of the men carried the bridge to the rectangular ditch observed the previous day; they stopped near the platform designed for Dirk, on which he did not hesitate to establish himself.
During the maneuver, accomplished without haste, Rak, nestling in a fissure in the flank of a rock, surveyed the enemy positions. At first, the Men of the Marsh remained invisible, observing their adversaries’ singular operations, but as the Amdavas and the Sumatrans came closer, en masse, to the section of their line on the extreme right, the Carabao-Men removed men from the positions in the center and on the left.
The Amdavas continued to advance, with increasing slowness. When they were almost within assegai-range, they tightened their formation again. Their overlapping shields formed a wall in front of the first rank and were raised up horizontally in the following lines, so effectively that the projectiles would encounter a solid carapace in every direction.
At the same time, the Sumatrans set up their collective shield. Then, the warriors gave voice to resounding clamors, which convinced the adversaries, persuaded that the attack was imminent, to transfer even more men from the center and the left flank.
The Amdavas, were now within range and the Carabao-Men launched the first assegais, none of which pierced the carapace. The rifles held by the Grafina and the giant roared and, once again, showed themselves to be infallible.
Rak stood up on his rock and extended his arms. That was the signal. Instantaneously, the Amdavas and the Sumatrans beat a retreat and starting running toward the left.
This time, the Carabao-Men understood the mysterious maneuver; a long cry of fury rose up behind their entrenchments. They diced to flood back toward the left.
In addition to the fact that their agility was inferior to that of their antagonists, and that they were obliged to follow a rather accentuated curve, while keeping under cover to avoid the fire of the redoubtable carbines, they had no certainty as to the place where the attack would take place. Although it seemed obvious to them that it would be directed against the extreme left, the assailants had a considerable lead, which was increasing by the minute—to the extent that the Amdavas and the Sumatrans would reach the objective when the Men of the Marsh had scarcely passed the half-way point.
Their entrenchments were cursory: a few erratic blocks of stone, leaving spaces between them, plugged by branches and the trunks of young trees, were all that they had contrived. The defenders numbered scarcely more than a dozen.
They had to move quickly. The Grafina and Dirk gave the signal for the attack, which Karel transmitted to the Amdavas, who chose their own breaches and hurled themselves forward, protected by their shields. The defenders were shoved side, knocked down, trampled or killed. In less than three minutes, the line was crossed. The attack had not been costly: three men wounded, only one dead.
The open plain was ahead; the Carabao-Men would either have to abandon the combat or brave the bullets, the arrows and the javelins.
The moment was critical. Thirty Carabao-Men—an advance-guard, composed almost entirely of young men—risked an attack in the open. The rifles wielded by Dirk, the Grafina, Karel, the Sumatrans and those Amdavas equipped with firearms stopped that attempt dead; half of the aggressors lay on the ground.
A formidable roar, which was an order, caused the survivors to retreat and, in a flash, become invisible.
“If they don’t attack now,” said Louise, “they won’t attack again. We shan’t stop!” She made sure that Corisande was safe, and shook Frédéric’s hand, saying: “Your stratagem has saved us—thank you!”
Under that gaze of velvet and flame, he was thrilled to the core of his being.
The expedition continued on its way. The Carabao-Men remained hidden.
“Let’s go! The road is definitely clear!” said the giant. “And I agree with you, Jufvrouw, that they’ll abandon the attack. They must have concluded, rationally, that it would be too costly.”
Three Amdavas and two Sumatrans were dead; there were half a dozen wounded. The Amdavas did not want to abandon the corpses any more than the wounded; they rapidly improvised primitive stretchers with branches taken from the defenses, and the expedition continued its route until the middle of the day, without catching sight of the enemy once.
“They’re watching us, though,” said the Grafina, while the Amdavas built a large pyre for their dead. That was their custom when they could not provide warriors with a sepulcher—a custom handed down from very ancient times.
When the pyre was ready, a sort of funeral chant went up, monotonous, somber and plaintive:
“Sons of the forest,
“Amdavas with hearts of iron
“Disdainful of the enemy and death,
“Your brothers have avenged you.
“You shall meet the ancestors,
“Who will give you valiant souls
“In forests greater than all the forests,
“On the banks of rivers greater than all the rivers…
“O Amdavas with hearts of iron
“Who have disdained the enemy and death.”
The warriors placed the dead men on the pyre, piously; the chief set it alight with the aid of ancestral flints. The flames sprang up while the Amdavas uttered funereal cries, and Frédéric thought: The Trojans, tamers of horses, the keen-eyed Achaeans, and the prehistoric Gauls did likewise.
XVI. Through the Waters and the Woods
There were difficult days. Nevertheless, the travelers reached the river without having seen the Carabao-Men again. The rafts and canoes were still there, although they could only reckon on making use of them for two or three days; afterwards, the current would become too strong.
“I think we’re now safe from surprise attacks,” said Dirk, when the evening fires were lit beneath the stars.
The Amdavas and Sumatrans set about joyfully roasting meat.
“They’ve already forgotten everything!” said Frédéric.
“No,” said Louise. “They remember; they have infallible memories—but the past leaves them with no regrets and causes them no emotion, except when they act in vengeance. Here, there’s nothing to avenge: the death of each Amdava has been paid for by that of several enemies. Therefore, all is well!”
She spoke in a voice as charming as the sound of waves on crystal, with her large eyes of black fire fixed on Frédéric, and he listened tremulously.
Plunged into an immeasurable sadness, Corisande looked at them. As they drew from the perils and she ceased to tremble on Frédéric’s behalf, she felt increasingly debased. Her adventure was like a corruption within her. She was horrified by her own flesh, deeming herself forever beyond the bounds of humankind, a moral leper who had no right to any of the joys reserved for other individuals. It was in vain that Frédéric, seeing her despair, said to her: “You’re not being reasonable, Corisande! What sin have you committed? What honest man would dare to offer you a reproach? You must—you must—forget, hope, live your youth!”
She shook her head, trying to smile, but her memory retraced the irreparable days.
Meanwhile, a man fervently contemplated her beautiful sad eyes and her pale and charming cheeks. From the first time he had seen her, Karel, moved by that foreign grace, so different from the beauty of Dutch creoles, ceded to the inconceivable laws of preference. She brought him that renewal which allows certain beings to change all the aspects of our lives. In her presence, living beings and objects were subject to a metamorphosis. Neither the fire, nor the grass, nor the constellated nigh
t, nor the increasing breeze on the river was the same, because the young woman was sitting there, mysterious. Her every gesture made the young Dutchman shiver. He waited avidly for some movement of her eyelids, some flexion of her slender neck, and whenever his gaze met Corisande’s afflicted gaze he was overwhelmed by a need to devote himself to her and to suffer for her.
“With God’s grace,” said the planter, “we have succeeded in our task; I would never have been able to console myself if we had failed.”
“It was a close run thing!” said the Grafina.
I love her, Frédéric thought, anxiously, but she would never want me. I must seem so inferior to that admirable giant and young Karel, a son of the forests and savannahs.
The Grafina continued: “Without Monsieur de Rouveyres’ stratagem, I don’t know how we would have escaped…”
Frédéric was overwhelmed by a great tenderness.
The days went by. At first, the expedition went upriver, but as the banks came closer together the flow became more rapid. It was necessary to abandon the canoes and the raft. Then for long days, the forest opposed a stubborn resistance to the passage of humans. Plants and animals were in league against them—not the tigers, which scarcely counted for anything in view of the rifles, or even the arrows, nor the great trees, but the innumerable host of insects, the bushes armed with thorns, the marshy ground…
The insects, indefatigable, multitudinous, inevitable and invincible, were the true masters of the jungle. They surged over the ground, the plants and the waters, crawling, leaping or flying, troubling sleep, poisoning wakefulness, transforming halts into torments and marches into torture.
The Givreuse Enigma Page 29