"How do you judge the draw?" asked Ayari.
'The craft are light," I said, "and, being rowed in this water, must be shallow-drafted."
"The number of oars suggests length," said Ayari. "They must be light galleys."
"No," I said. "I know the draw of a light galley. These vessels are too light for even such a galley. Furthermore, any light galley with which I am familiar, though comparatively shallow-drafted, would be too deeply keeled to traverse this marsh."
"What manner of vessels can they be?" asked Ayari. "And where would they come from?"
'They can be but one thing," I said, "and yet that they should be here, now, at night, is madness."
We then heard a thrash in the water, as a tharlarion, perhaps the same one which had thrust its snout against the bars of our cage, struck against wood in the darkness, some twenty yards from us.
We heard a cry of anger and, for an instant, a dark lantern was unshuttered. We saw two men, in the prow of a low, medium-beamed, bargelike vessel. One pushed down with a spear, forcing the broad head of the tharlarion away from the vessel.
I clutched the bars of the cage in which, on the raft, I was confined.
Then the dark lantern was again shuttered. The vessels slipped past us. There were three of them. The shafts of the oars, where they rested in the open, fixed-position, U-shaped oarlocks, had been wrapped in fur, that they might make no sound as they moved against these fulcrums. The oars themselves had barely lifted from the water and had then entered and drawn again, almost splashlessly. The oarlocks, too, had been lined with fur.
"What is wrong?" asked Ayari.
"Nothing," I said.
In the light of the dark lantern, when it had been briefly unshuttered, I had seen the faces of three or four men, the faces of those in the prow and two others, who had stood near to them. One of the faces I knew. It had been that of Shaba, the geographer.
I clenched the bars. I was helpless. For a moment I shook them with futile rage. Then I was quiet.
"What is wrong?" asked Ayari.
"Nothing," I told him.
22
I Continue To Dig In The Canal
I hurled mud from my shovel to the mud raft.
I had heard no drums coming from the west, nothing to suggest that there was a pursuit of Shaba.
Yet I was certain that it had been he who had passed us in stealth in the night. There had been three vessels, of the sort which had been prepared in Ianda and brought to Schendi, and then to Lake Ushindi by way of the Nyoka, part of the fleet which Bila Huruma was organizing to support the explorations of Shaba, navigating the Ua into the far interior. But there had been only three of the vessels, out of some one hundred. And Shaba had moved in secrecy. There had been, as far as I could tell, no convoy of askari canoes with him, nor askaris, as far as I saw, in the vessel I had seen. The men with him, I suspected, or most of them, were members of his own caste, geographers of the scribes, perhaps, but men inured to hardships, perhaps men who had been with him in his explorations of Ushindi and Ngao, men he trusted and upon whom he could count in desperate situations, caste brothers.
I brushed insects away from my face.
It seemed clear to me that Shaba must be in flight, and I had little doubt that he must have the ring with him, to obtain which had been the object of my journey to Schendi. He had now passed us, moving silently, secretly, to the east.
I thrust the shovel again down, hard, into the mud at my feet.
I dug, and Shaba, my quarry, moved further away from me with each thrust of the shovel, each bite and sting of each tiny insect.
I hurled another shovelful of mud onto the mud raft.
"There is no escape," said Ayari. "Do not think foolish thoughts."
"How do you know I think of escape?" I asked.
"See how white are your knuckles on the shovel," he said. "If the marsh were an enemy you would have cut it to pieces by now." He looked up at me. "Beware, my friend," he said, "the askaris, too, have noted you.
I looked about. One of the askaris, it was true, was looking in my direction.
"They might have killed you by now," said Ayari, "but you are strong. You are a good worker."
"I could kill him," I said.
"He carries no key," said Ayari. "The metal on your neck is hammered shut. Dig now, or we will be beaten with the handles of spears."
"Tell Kisu," I said, "that I would speak with him, that I would escape."
"Do not be foolish," said Ayari.
"Tell him," I said.
Once again, as before, yesterday, my words were tendered to Kisu. He looked about. He responded.
"He does not speak to commoners," said Ayari to me.
I slashed down at the marsh with my shovel, gouged out a weight of mud and flung it to the mud raft.
Had it been Kisu he would have been destroyed.
23
Escape; Kisu Pays A Call On Tende
"Is she not beautiful?" whispered Ayari.
"Yes," I said.
"Be quiet," said an askari.
"Stand straight," said another askari. "Hold your heads up. Keep the line straight."
"Which is the one called Kisu?" asked an askari, wading up to us.
"I do not know," I said.
"That is he," said Ayari, indicating tall Kisu a few places from us.
Slowly the state platform was drawn toward us. It, fastened planks, extending across the thwarts of four long canoes, like pontoons, moved slowly toward us, drawn by chained slaves. On the platform, shaded by a silk canopy, was a low dais, covered with silken cushions.
"Why did you tell him which one of us was Kisu?" I asked.
"She would know him, would she not?" he asked.
"That is true," I said.
On the cushions, reclining, on one elbow, in yellow robes, embroidered with gold, in many necklaces and jewels, lay a lovely, imperious-seeming girl.
"It is Tende," whispered one of the men, "the daughter of Aibu, high chief of the Ukungu district."
We had known this, for the message of the drums, coming from the east, had preceded her.
On either side of Tende knelt a lovely white slave girl, strings of white shells about her throat and left ankle, a brief, tucked, wrap-around skirt of red-and-black-printed rep-cloth, her only garment, low on her belly, high and tight on her thighs. Both slaves were sweetly bodied. Each had marvelously flared hips. I found it hard to take my eyes from them. They were among the gifts which Bila Huruma had sent ahead to his projected companion, Tende. I smiled and licked my lips. Though they had been bought to be the serving slaves of a woman I had little doubt that their purchase had been effected by a male agent. In the hands of each of the slaves was a long-handled fan, terminating in a semicircle of colorful feathers. Gently, cooling her, they fanned their mistress.
I looked at the blond-haired barbarian, she who had been Janice Prentiss, who knelt now to my right, at Tende's left. She did not meet my eyes. Her lower lip trembled. She did not dare to give any sign that she recognized me.
About Tende's right wrist, I noted, fastened to it by a loop, was a whip.
"Stand straighter," said an askari.
We stood straighter.
On the raft, near Tende and her two lovely, bare-breasted white slaves, stood four askaris, men of Bila Huruma, in their skins and feathers, with golden armlets. Like most askaris they carried long, tufted shields and short stabbing spears. The daughter of Aibu, I gathered, was well guarded. Other askaris, too, waded in the water near the platform.