His upper body was free of the baleful influence of the rushing flood,
but his legs were being drawn inexorably into it. He was aware that the
surrounds of the opening were sharply demarcated, as straight and as
square as a lintel hewn by a mason. He was being dragged over and around
this lintel. Spreading out his arms, he resisted with all his strength,
but his hooked fingers slid over the polished, slimy surface of the
rock.
"This is the big one," he thought. "This is the one punch that you can't
duck." He hooked his fingers, and felt his nails tear and break as they
rasped against the rock.
Then suddenly they locked into the last niche in the wall above the
sink-hole which was sucking him under.
Now at least he had an anchor point. With both hands he clung to the
niche, and fought the pull of the water. He fought it with all his
remaining strength and all his heart, but he was near the end of his
store of both. He strained until he felt the muscles in both arms
popping, until the sinews in his neck stood out in steely cords and he
felt something in his head must burst. But he had halted the insidious
slide of his body into the sink-hole.
"One more," he thought. "Just one more try." And he knew that was all he
had left within him. His air was all used up, and so were his courage
and his resolve. His mind swirled, and dark shapes clouded his vision.
From somewhere deep inside himself he drew out the last reserves, and
pulled until the darkness in his head exploded in sheets of bright
colours, shooting stars and Catherine wheels that dazzled him. But he
kept on pulling.
He felt his legs coming out of it, the grip of the waters weakening, and
he pulled once more with strength that he had never realized he
possessed.
Then suddenly he was free and shooting towards the surface, but it was
too late. The darkness filled his head and in his ears was a sound like
the roaring of the waterfall in the abyss. He was drowning. He was all
used up. He had no knowledge of where he was, how much further he had to
go to the surface, but he knew only that he was not going to make it. He
was finished.
When he came out through the surface, he did not know that he had done
so, and he did not have enough strength left to lift his face out of the
water and to breathe.
He wallowed the're like a waterlogged carcass, face down and dying. Then
he felt Royan's fingers lock into the hair in the back of his head, and
the cold air on his face as she lifted it clear.
"Nicky!" she screamed at him. "Breathe, "Nicky, breathe!'
He opened his mouth and let out a spray of water and saliva and stale
air, and then gagged and gasped.
"You're still alive! Oh, thank God. You were down for so long. I thought
you had drowned."
As he coughed and fought for air and his senses returned, he realized in
a vague way that she must have dropped out of the sting seat and come to
his aid.
"You were under for so long. I could not believe it." She held his head
up, clinging with her free hand to the niche in the wall. "You are going
to be all right now. I have got you. just take it easy for a while. It's
going to be all right." It was amazing how much her voice encouraged
him.
The air tasted good and sweet and he felt his strength slowly returning.
"We have to get you up," she told him. "A few minutes more to get
yourself together, and then I will help you into the sling."
She swam with him across to the dangling sling and signalled to the men
at the top of the cliff to lower it into the water. Then she held the
folds of canvas open so that he could slip his legs into them.
"Are you all right, Nicky?" she demanded anxiously.
"Hang on until you get to the top." She placed his hands on the side
ropes of the harness. "Hold tight!'
"Can't leave you down here," he blurted groggily.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Just have Aly send the seat down again
for me."
When he was halfway up he looked down and saw her head bobbing in the
dark waters. She looked very small and lonely, and her face pate and
pathetic.
"Guts!" His voice was so weak and hoarse that he did not recognize it.
"You've got real guts." But already he was too high for the words to
carry down to her.
When they had got Royan safely up out of the ravine, Nicholas ordered
Aly to dismantle the gantry and hide the sections in the thorn scrub.
From the helicopter it would be highly visible and he did not wish to
stir Jake Helm's curiosity.
He was in no shape to give the men a hand, but lay in the shade of one
of the Thorn trees with Royan tending to him. He was dismayed to find
how much his near-drowning had taken out of him. He had a blinding
headache, caused by oxygen starvation. His chest was very painful and
stabbed him every time he breathed: in his struggles he must have torn
or sprained something.
He was impressed with Royan's forbearance. She made no attempt to
question him about his discoveries in the bottom of the gorge, and
seemed genuinely more concerned with his well being than with the
progress of their exploration.
When she helped him to his feet and they started back towards camp, he
moved like an old man, lame and stiff. Every muscle and sinew in his
body ached. He knew that the lactic acid and nitrogen that had built up
in his tissues would take some time to be reabsorbed and dispersed.
Once they reached camp Royan led him to his hut and fussed over him as
she settled him under the mosquito net.
By this time he was feeling a lot better, but he neglected to inform her
of this fact. It was pleasant to have a woman caring for him again. She
brought him a couple of aspirin tablets and a steaming mug of tea, stiff
with sugar. He was putting it on a little when he asked weakly for a
second mugful.
Sitting beside his bed, she solicitously watched him drink it. "Better?"
she asked, when he had finished.
"The odds are two to one that I Will survive," he told her, and she
smiled.
"I can see that you are better. Your cheek is showing again. You gave me
an awful scare, you know."
"Anything to get your attention."
"Now that we have decided that you will live, tell me what happened.
What sort of trouble did you run into down there in the pool?"
"What you really want to know is what I found down there. Am I correct?"
"That too, she admitted.
Then he told her everything that he had discovered and how he had been
caught in the inflow of the underwater sink-hole. She listened without
interruption, and even when he had finished speaking she said nothing
for a while, but frowned with concentrated thought.
At last she looked up at him. "You mean that Taita was able to take
those stone niches right down to the very bottom of the pool, fifty feet
below the surface? and when he nodded, she was silent again. Then she
said, "How on earth did he accomplish that? What are your thoughts on
the subject?" -Tour thousand years ago the water level may have been
lower. There may have been a drought year when the river dried up, and
enabled him to get in there. How am I doing?"
"Not a bad try," she admitted, "but then why go to all the trouble of