 CHAPTER XI. OF THE SPIRIT OF VAMBATSE, BY H. RIDER HAGGARD. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. THE SLEEPERS IN THE CAVE. Like every other passage in this old fortress, the approach to the cave was narrow and winding. Presumably the ancients had arranged them thus to facilitate their defence. After the third bend, however, Benita saw a light ahead which flowed from a native lamp lit in the arched entrance. At the side of this arch was a shell-shaped hollow, cutting the rock about three foot above the floor. Its appearance seemed familiar to her. Why she was soon to learn, although at the moment she did not connect it with anything in particular. The cave beyond was large, lofty, and not altogether natural, for its walls had evidently been shaped, or at any rate trimmed by man. Here the old priests had established their oracle or place of offering. At first Benita could not see much, since in that great cavern, two lamps of hippopotamus oil gave but little light. Presently however, her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and as they advanced up its length she perceived that save for a skin rug upon which she guessed the molymos satity's solitary devotions, and some gourds and platters for water and food. All the front part of the place appeared to be empty. Beyond in its centre stood an object of some gleaming metal that, from its double handles and roller, born upon supports of rock, she took to be some kind of winch, and rightly, for beneath it was the mouth of a great well, the water supply of this topmost fortification. Beyond the well was a stone altar, shaped like a truncated cone or pyramid, and at some distance away against the far wall, as she dimly discovered by the lamp that stood upon the altar, cut in relief upon that wall indeed. A colossal cross to which vigorously, if rudely executed in white stone, hung the image of Christ crucified, the crown of thorns upon his drooping head. Now she understood, whatever may have been the first worship to which this place was dedicated, Christians had usurped it and set up here the sacred symbol of their faith, awful enough to look on in such surroundings. Doubtless also, the shell-shaped basin at the entrance had served the worshippers in this underground chapel as a stoop for holy water. The molymo lifted the lamp from the altar, and having adjusted its wick, held it up in front of the rude, before which, although she was no Catholic, Benita bowed her head and crossed herself, while he watched her curiously. Then he lowered it, and she perceived that on the cemented floor lay great numbers of shrouded forms, that at first looked to her like focused sleep. He stepped to one of them and touched it with his foot, whereon the cloth with which it was covered crumbled into dust, revealing beneath her white skeleton. All those sleepers rested well indeed, for they had been dead at least 200 years. There they lay, men, women and children, though of the last but few. Some of them had ornaments on their bones, some were clad in armour, and by all the men were swords or spears or knives, and here and there what she took to be primitive firearms. Certain of them also had turned into mummies in that dry air, grotesque and dreadful objects from which she gladly averted her eyes. The mollimo led her forward to the foot of the crucifix, where, upon its lowest step and upon the cemented floor immediately beneath it, respectively, lay two shapes, decorously covered with shawls of some heavy material, interwoven with gold wire, for the manufacturer of which the Macalanga were famous, went first the Portuguese came into contact with them. The mollimo took hold of the cloths that seemed almost as good now as on the day when they were woven, and lifted them, revealing beneath the figures of a man and woman. The features were unrecognisable, although the hair, white in the man's case and raven black in that of the woman, remained perfect. They had been great people, for orders glittered upon the man's breast, and his sword was gold-hilted, whilst the woman's bones were adorned with costly necklaces and jewels, and in her hand was still a book, bound in sheets of silver. Benita took it up and looked at it. It was a missile, beautifully illuminated, which doubtless the poor lady had been reading, when at length she sank, exhausted into the sleep of death. See, the Lord Ferrera and his wife, said the mollimo, whom their daughter laid thus before she went to join them. Then, at a motion from Benita, he covered them up again with the golden cloths. Here they sleep, he went on in his chanting voice. A hundred and fifty and three of them, a hundred and fifty and three, and when I dream in this place at night, I have seen the ghosts of every one of them, arise from beside their forms, and come gliding down the cave. The husband with the wife, the child with the mother, to look at me and ask when the maiden returns again, to take her heritage and give them burial. Benita shuddered. The solemn awfulness of the place and scene oppressed her. She began to think that she too saw those ghosts. It is enough, she said, let us be going. So they went, and the pitiful, agonised Christ upon the cross, at which she glanced from time to time over her shoulder, faded to a white blot, then vanished away in the darkness, through which, from generation to generation, it kept its watch above the dead, those dead that in their despair once had cried to it for mercy and bedued its feet with tears. Glad or glad was she when she had left that haunted place behind her, and saw the wholesome light again. What have you seen? asked her father and mayor in one breath, as they noted her white and frightened face. She sank upon a stone seat at the entrance of the cave, and before she could open her lips, the mollimo answered for her. The maiden has seen the dead. The spirit who goes with her has given greeting to its dead that it left so long ago. The maiden has done reverence to the white one who hangs upon the cross, and asked the blessing and pardon of him, as she whose spirit goes with her did reverence before the eyes of my forefather, and asked the blessing and pardon ere she cast herself away. And he pointed to the little golden crucifix which hung upon Benita's bosom, attached to the necklace which Tamas, the messenger, had given her at Røykrans. Now he went on, now the spell is broken, and the sleepers must depart to sleep elsewhere. Enter white men, enter if you dare, and ask for pardon and for blessing if it may be found, and gather up the dry bones, and take the treasure that was theirs, if it may be found, and conquer the curse that goes with the treasure for all save one, if you can, if you can, if you can. Rest you here maiden in the sweet sunshine, and follow me white men, follow me into the dark of the dead, to seek for that which the white men love. And once more he vanished down the passage, turning now and again to beckon to them, while they went after him as though drawn against their wish, for now at the last moment some superstitious fear spread from him to them, and showed itself in their eyes. To Benita, half fainting upon the stone seat, for this experience had shaken her to the heart, it seemed but a few minutes, though really the best part of an hour had gone by, when her father reappeared as white-faced as she had ever been. Where is Mr. Mayor? she asked. Oh! he answered, he is collecting all the golden ornaments of those poor bodies, and tumbling their bones together in a corner of the cave. Benita uttered an exclamation of horror. I know what you mean, said her father, but curse the fellow, he has no reverence, although at first he seemed almost as scared as I was myself. He said that as we could not begin our search with all those corpses about, they had best be got out of the way as soon as possible, or perhaps it is because he is really afraid of them, and wanted to prove to himself that they are nothing more than dust. Benita went on the old man, to tell you the truth I wish heartily that we had left this business alone. I don't believe that any good will come of it, and certainly it has brought enough trouble already. That old prophet of a molymo has a second sight of something like it, and he does not hide his opinion, but keeps chuckling away in that dreadful place, and piping out his promises of ill to be. He promised me nothing but good, said Benita with a little smile, though I don't see how it can happen. But if you dislike the thing, father, why not give it up and try to escape? It is too late, dear, he replied passionately. Mayor would never come, and I can't in honour leave him. Also, I should laugh at myself for the rest of my life, and after all, why should we not have the gold if it can be found? It belongs to nobody, we do not get it by robbery or murder. Nuggets are of no use to Portuguese who have been dead two hundred years, and whose heirs, if they have any, it is impossible to discover. Nor can it matter to them whether they lie about singly, as they died or were placed after death, or piled together in a corner. Our fears are mere church-yard superstitions, which we have caught from that ghoul of a mollimo. Don't you agree with me? Yes, I suppose so, answered Benita, though a fate may cling to certain things or places, perhaps. At any rate, I think that it is of no use turning back now, even if we had anywhere to turn. So we may as well go through with the venture and await its end. Give me the water-bottle, I am thirsty. A while later, and Jacob Meir appeared also, carrying a great bundle of precious objects, wrapped in one of the gold seer-cloths, which bundle he hid away behind a stone. Zagave is much tidier now, he said, as he flicked the thick dust which had collected on them during his unhallowed task, from his hands and hair, and garments. Then he drank greedily and asked, Have you too made any plans for our future researches? They shook their heads. Well then, I have. I thought them out while I was bone-carting, and here they are. It is no use are going down below again. For one thing, the journey is too dangerous and takes too long. And for another, we are safer up above where we have plenty to do. But, said Benita, how about things to eat and sleep on and the rest? Simply enough, Miss Clifford, we must get them up. The kaffirs will bring them to the foot of the third wall, and we will haul them to its top with a rope. Of water, it seems there is plenty in that well, which is fed by a spring 150 feet down, and the old chain is still on the roller, so we only need a couple of buckets from the wagon. Of wood for cooking, there is plenty also growing on the spot, and we can camp in the cave or outside of it as we like, according to the state of the weather. Now, do you rest here while I go down? I will be back in an hour with some of the gear, and then you must help me. So he went, and the end of it was that before nightfall, they had enough things for their immediate needs, and by the second night, working very hard, they were more or less comfortably established in their strange habitation. The canvas flap from the wagon was arranged as a tent for Benita, the men sleeping beneath a thick-leaved tree nearby. Close at hand under another tree was their cooking place. The provisions of all sorts, including a couple of cases of square face, and a large supply of biltong from the slaughtered cattle, they stored with a quantity of ammunition in the mouth of the cave. Fresh meat also was brought to them daily and hauled up in baskets, that is, until there was none to bring, and with it, grain for bread and green mealies to serve as vegetables. Therefore, as the water from the well proved to be excellent and quite accessible, they were soon set up in all things necessary, and to these they added from time to time as opportunity offered. In all these preparations, the old mollimo took apart, nor when they completed did he show any inclination to leave them. In the morning he would dissenter his people below, but before nightfall he always returned to the cave, where for many years it had been his custom to sleep, to any rate several times a week, in the gruesome company of the dead Portuguese. Jacob Meier persuaded Mr Clifford that his object was to spy upon them and talked of turning him out, but Benita, between whom and the old man, had sprung up a curious friendship and sympathy, prevented it, pointing out that they were much safer with the mollimo as a kind of hostage than they could be without him, also that his knowledge of the place and of other things might prove of great help to them. So in the end he was allowed to remain, as indeed he had a perfect right to do. All this while there was no sign of any attack by the Matabele, indeed the fear of such a thing was to some extent dying away, and Benita, watching from the top of the wall, could see that there nine remaining oxen together with the two horses, for that belonging to Jacob Meier had died, and the Macalanga goats and sheep were daily driven out to graze, also that the women were working in the crops upon the fertile soil around the lowest wall. Still, a strict watch was kept, and at night everyone slept within the fortifications. Moreover, the drilling of the men and their instruction in the use of firearms went on continually under Tamas, who now, in his father's old age, was the virtual chief of the people. It was on the fourth morning that at length, all their preparations being completed, the actual search for the treasure began. First, the mollimo was closely interrogated as to its whereabouts, since they thought that even if he did not know this exactly, some traditions of the fact might have descended to him from his ancestors, but he declared with earnestness that he knew nothing, save that the Portuguese maiden had said that it was hidden. Nor, he added, had any dream or vision ever come to him concerning this matter, in which he took no interest. If it was there, it was there. If it was not there, it was not there. It remained for the white men to search and see. For no very good reason, Mayor had concluded that the gold must have been concealed in or about the cave, so here it was that they began their investigations. First, they bethought them of the well into which it might possibly have been thrown, but the fact of this matter proved very difficult to ascertain. Tying a piece of metal, it was an old Portuguese sword-hilt to a string. They let it down and found that it touched water at a depth of 120 feet, and bottom at a depth of 147 feet. Therefore, there were 27 feet of water. Waiting a bucket, they sank it until it rested upon this bottom, then wound it up again several times. On the third occasion it brought up a human bone and a wire anklet of pure gold. But this proved nothing, except that some ancients, perhaps thousands of years ago, had been thrown or had fallen into the well. Still unsatisfied, Jacob Mayor, who was a most intrepid person, determined to investigate the place himself, the task of no little difficulty and danger, since proper ladders were wanting. Nor, had they existed, was there anything to stand them on. Therefore it came to this. A seat must be rigged on to the end of the old copper chain and be lowered into the pit after the fashion of the bucket. But, as Penita pointed out, although they might let him down, it was possible that they would not be able to draw him up again, in which case his plights must prove unfortunate. So, when the seat had been prepared, an experiment was made with a stone weighing approximately as much as a man. This, Penita and her father let down easily enough, but, as they anticipated, when it came to winding it up again, their strength was barely sufficient to the task. Three people could do it well, but with two, the thing was risky. Now Mayor Ast, or rather, commanded the Molymo to order some of his men to help them. But this, the old chief, refused point blank to do. First, he made a number of excuses. They were all employed in drilling and in watching for the matabele. They were afraid to venture here, and so forth. At last, Mayor grew furious. His eyes flashed. He ground his teeth and began to threaten. White man, said the Molymo, when he had done, it cannot be. I have fulfilled my bargain with you. Search for the gold, find it, and take it away if you can. But this place is holy. None of my tribe save he who holds the office of Molymo for the time. They set a foot therein. Kill me if you will. I cannot, but so it is, and if you kill me afterwards, they will kill you. Now Mayor, seeing that nothing was to be gained by violence, changed his tone, and asked if he himself would help them. I am old. My strength is small, he replied. Yet I will put my hand to the chain and do my best. But if I were you, I would not descend that pit. Still I will descend it, and tomorrow, said the Mayor. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The beginning of the search. Accordingly, on the next day, the great experiment was made. The chain and ancient winding gear had been tested, and proved to be amply sufficient to the strain. Therefore nothing remained safe for Mayor to place himself in the wooden seat with an oil lamp, and in case this should be extinguished, matches and candles, for both of which they had a large supply. He did so boldly enough, and swung out over the mouth of the pit, while the three of them clutched the handles of the winch. Then they began to lower, and slowly his white face disappeared into the black depth. At every few turns his descent was stopped, that he might examine the walls of the well, and when he was about fifty feet down, he called to them to hold on, which they did, listening while he struck at the rock with a hammer, for here it sounded very hollow. At length he shouted them to lower away again, and they obeyed until nearly all the chain was out, and they knew he must be near the water. Now Benita, peeping over the edge, saw that the star of light had vanished, his lamp was out, nor did he appear to attempt to relight it. They shouted down the well to him, but no answer coming began to wind up as fast as they were able. It was all that their united strength could manage, and very exhausted were they when at length Jacob reappeared at the top. At first from the look of him they thought that he was dead, and had he not tied himself to the chain, dead he certainly would have been, for evidently his senses had left him long ago. Indeed he had fallen almost out of the seat, over which his legs hung limply, his weight being supported by the hide-rope beneath his arms, which was made fast to the chain. They swung him in and dashed water over his face, till to their relief at last he began to gasp for breath, and revived sufficiently to enable them to half lead, and half carry him out into the fresh air. What happened to you? asked Clifford. Poisoned of his gases, I suppose, Mayor answered with a groan, for his head was aching sadly. The air is often bad at the bottom of deep wells, but I could smell or feel nothing until suddenly my senses left me. It was a near thing, a very near thing. Afterwards when he had recovered a little, he told them at one spot deep down in the well, on the river side of it. He found a place where it looked as though the rock had been cut away for a space of about six feet by four, and afterwards built up again with another sort of stone, set in hard mortar or cement. Immediately beneath, too, were socket holes, in which the ends of beams still remained, suggesting that here had been a floor or platform. It was while he was examining these rotted beams that insensibility overcame him. He added that he thought that this might be the entrance to the place where the gold was hidden. If so, said Mr Clifford, hidden it must remain, since it can have no better guardian than bad air, also floors like that are common in all wells, to prevent rubbish from falling into the water, and the stonework you saw probably was only put there by the ancients to mend a fault in the rock, and prevent the wall from caving in. I hope so, said the Mayor, since unless that atmosphere purifies a good deal, I don't think that even I there go down again, and until one gets there, of that it is difficult to be sure. Though, of course, a lantern on a string will tell one something. This was the end of their first attempt. The search was not renewed until the following afternoon, when Mayor had recovered a little from the effects of the poisoning and the chafing of the hide ropes beneath his arms. Indeed, from the former he never did quite recover, since thenceforward Benita, who for her own reasons watched the man closely, discovered a marked and progressive change in his demeanour. In the two he had appeared to be a reserved man, one who kept tight hand upon himself, and if she knew certain things about him, it was rather because she guessed or deduced them than because he allowed them to be seen. On two occasions only had he shown his heart before her, when they had spoken together by the shores of late Chrissie on the day of the arrival of the messengers, and he declared his ardent desire for wealth and power, and quite recently when he killed the Mattabile envoy. Yet she felt certain that this heart of his was very passionate and insurgent, that his calm was like the ice that hides the stream beneath which its currents run fiercely, none can see wither. The fashion in which his dark eyes would flash, even when his pale countenance remained unmoved, told her so, as did other things. For instance, when he was recovering from his swoon, the first words that passed his lips were in German, of which she understood a little, and she thought that they shaped themselves to her name, coupled with endearing epithets. From that time forward he became less guarded, or rather it seemed as though he were gradually losing power to control himself. He would grow excited without apparent cause, and begin to reclaim as to what he would do when he had found the gold. How he would pay the world back, all it had caused him to suffer. How he would become a king. I am afraid you will find that exalted position rather lonely, said Benita with a careless laugh, and next minute was sorry that she had spoken, for he answered, looking at her in a way that she did not like. Oh, no, Zerville be a queen, a beautiful queen, whom I shall endow with wealth and deck with jewels, and surround with love and worship. What a fortunate lady, she said, still laughing, but taking the opportunity to go away upon some errand. At other times, especially after dark, he would walk up and down in front of the cave, muttering to himself or singing wild old German songs in his rich voice. Also he made a habit of ascending the granite pillar and seating himself there, and more than once called down to her to come up and share his throne. Still, these outbreaks were so occasional that her father, whose perceptions appeared to Benita to be less keen than formally, scarcely noticed them, and for the rest, his demeanour was what it had always been. Further researches in the well being out of the question, their next step was to make a thorough inspection of the chapel cave itself. They examined the walls inch by inch, tapping them with a hammer to hear if they sounded hollow, but without result. They examined the altar, but it proved to be a solid mass of rock. By the help of a little ladder they had made, they examined the crucifix and discovered that the white figure on the cross had evidently been fashioned out of some heathen statue of soft limestone, for at its back were the remains of draperies, and long hair which the artist had not thought it necessary to cut away. Also they found that the arms had been added and were of a slightly different stone, and that the weight of the figure was taken partly by an iron staple which supported the body, and partly by strong copper wire twisted to resemble cord and painted white, which was passed round the wrists and supported the arms. This wire ran through loops of rock cut in the traverse of the cross, that itself was only raised in relief by chiselling away the solid stone behind. Curiously enough, this part of the search was left to Mr Clifford and Benita, since it was one that Jacob Mayer seemed reluctant to undertake. A Jew by birth, and a man who openly professed his want of belief in that or any other religion, he yet seemed to fear this symbol of the Christian faith, speaking of it as horrible and unlucky. Yes, he who without quarm or remorse had robbed and desecrated the dead that lay about its feet. Well, the Crucifix told them nothing, but as Mr Clifford, lantern in hand, descended the ladder which Benita held, Jacob Mayer, who was in front of the altar, called to them excitedly that he had found something. Then it is more than we have, said Mr Clifford, as he lay down the ladder and hurried to him. Mayer was sounding the floor with a staff of wood, an operation which he had only just begun after the walls proved barren. Listen now, he said, letting the heavy staff drop a few paces to the right of the altar, where it produced the hard metallic clang that comes from solid stone when struck. Then he moved to the front of the altar and dropped it again, but now the note was hollow and reverberant. Again and again he repeated the experiment, till they had exactly mapped out where the solid rock ended, and that which seemed to be hollow again, a space of about eight feet square. We have got it, he said triumphantly. That's the entrance to the place where the gold is, and the others were inclined to agree with him. Now it remained to put their theory to the proof, a task of no small difficulty. Indeed, it took them three days of hard continual work. It will be remembered that the floor of the cave was cemented over, and first of all, this cement, which proved to be of excellent quality, being largely composed of powdered granite, must be broken up. By help of a steel crowbar, which they had brought with them in the wagon, that part of their task was at length completed, revealing the rock beneath. By this time, Benita was confident that whatever might lie below, it was not the treasure, since it was evident that the poor dying Portuguese would not have had the time or the strength to cement it over. When she told the others so, however, Mayor convinced that he was on the right tack, answered that doubtless it was done by the Macalanga after the Portuguese days, as it was well known that they retained the knowledge of the building arts of their forefathers, until quite a recent period, when the Matabele began to kill them out. When at length the cement was cleared away, and the area swept, they discovered, for there ran the line of it, that here a great stone was let into the floor, it must have weighed several tons. As it was set in cement, however, to lift it, even if they had the strength to work the necessary levers, proved quite impossible. There remained only one thing to be done, to cut away through. When they had worked at this task for several hours, and only succeeded in making a whole six inches deep, Mr Clifford, whose old bones ached, and whose hands were very sore, suggested that perhaps they might break it up with gunpowder. Accordingly, a pound flask of that explosive was poured into the hole, which they closed over with wet clay and a heavy rock, leaving a quill through which ran an extemporised fuse of cotton wick. All being prepared, their fuse was lit, and they left the cave and waited. Five minutes afterwards, the dull sound of an explosion reached their ears, but more than an hour went by before the smoke and fumes would allow them to enter the place, and then it was defined that the results did not equal their expectations. To begin with, the slab was only cracked, not shattered, since the strength of the powder had been expended upwards, not downwards, as would have happened in the case of dynamite, of which they had none. Moreover, either the heavy stone which they had placed upon it, striking the roof of the cave, or the concussion of the air, had brought down many tons of rock, and caused wide and dangerous looking cracks. Also, though she said nothing of it, it seemed to Benita that the great white statue on the cross was leaning a little further forward than it used to. So the net result of the experiment was that they were obliged to drag away great fragments of the fallen roof that lay upon the stone, which remained almost as solid and obdurate as before. So there was nothing for it but to go on working with the crowbar. At length, towards the evening of the third day of their labour, when the two men were utterly tired out, a hole was broken through, demonstrating the fact that beneath this cover lay a hollow of some sort. Mr Clifford, to say nothing of Benita who was heartily weary of the business, wished to postpone further proceedings till the morrow, but Jacob Mayer would not. So they toiled on until about eleven o'clock at night, when at length the aperture was of sufficient size to admit a man. Now, as in the case of the well, they let down a stone tied to a string, to find that the place beneath was not more than eight feet deep. Then, to ascertain the condition of the air, a candle was lowered, which at first went out, but presently burnt well enough. This point settled, they brought their ladder, whereby Jacob descended with a lantern. In another minute they heard the sound of guttural German oaths rising through the hole. Mr Clifford asked what was the matter, and received the reply that the place was a tomb, with nothing in it but an accursed dead monk, information at which Benita could not help bursting into laughter. The end of it was, that both she and her father went down also, and there, sure enough, lay the remains of the old missionary in his cowl, with an ivory crucifix about his neck, and on his breast a scroll stating that he, Marco, born at Lisbon in 1438, had died at Bambace in the year 1503, having laboured in the Empire of Monomotapa for 17 years, and suffered great hardships, and brought many souls to Christ. The scroll added that it was he, who before he entered into religion, was a sculptor by trade, that had fashioned the figure on the cross in this chapel, out of that of the heathen goddess which had stood in the same place from unknown antiquity. It ended with a request, addressed to all good Christians in Latin, that they, who soon must be as he was, would pray for his soul, and not disturb his bones which rested here in the hope of a blessed resurrection. When this pious wish was translated to Jakob Mayer by Mr Clifford, who still retained some recollection of the classics which he had painfully acquired at Eaton and Oxford, the Jew could scarcely contain his wrath. Indeed, looking at his bleeding hands, instead of praying for the soul of that excellent missionary, to reach whose remains he had laboured with such arduous incessant toil, he cursed it wherever it might be, and unceremoniously swept the bones which the document asked him not to disturb into a corner of the tomb, in order to ascertain whether there was not, perhaps, some stair beneath them. Really, Mr Mayer, said Benita, who in spite of the solemnity of the surroundings, could not control her sense of humour. If you are not careful, the ghosts of all these people will haunt you. Let them haunt me if they can, he answered furiously. I don't believe in ghosts, and defy them all. At this moment, looking up, Benita saw a figure gliding out of the darkness into the ring of light, so silently that she started, for it might well have been one of those ghosts in whom Jakob Mayer did not believe. In fact, however, it was the old Molymo who had a habit of coming upon them thus. What says the white man? He asked of Benita, while his dreamy eyes wandered over the three of them, and the hole in the violated tomb. He says that he does not believe in spirits, and that he defies them, she answered. The white gold-seeker does not believe in spirits, and he defies them, Mambo repeated in his sing-song voice. He does not believe in the spirits that I see all around me now, the angry spirits of the dead who speak together of where he shall lie, and of what shall happen to him when he is dead, and of how they will welcome one who disturbs their rest, and defies and curses them in his search for the riches which he loves. There is one standing by him now, dressed in a brown robe, with a dead man cutting ivory like to that, and he pointed to the crucifix in Jakob's hand, and he holds the ivory man above him, and threatens him with sleepless centuries of sorrow. When he is also one of those spirits in which he does not believe. Then Mayor's Rage blazed out. He turned upon the molymo and reviled him in his own tongue, saying that he knew well where the treasure was hidden, and that if he did not point it out, he would kill him and send him to his friends, the spirits. So savage and evil did he look that Benita retreated a little way, while Mr. Clifford strove in vain to calm him. But although Mayor laid his hand upon the knife in his belt, and advanced upon him, the old molymo neither budged an inch nor showed the slightest fear. Let him rave on, he said, when at length Mayor paused exhausted. Just so in a time of storm the lightning's flash and the thunder peals, and the water foams down the face of rock. But then comes the sun again, and the hill is as it has ever been. Only the storm is spent and lost. I am the rock, he is but the wind, the fire, and the rain. It is not permitted that he should hurt me, and those spirits in whom he does not believe, treasure up his curses to let them fall again, like stones upon his head. Then, with a contemptuous glance at Jacob, the old man turned and glided back into the darkness, out of which he had appeared. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of The Spirit of Bambatze by H. Rider Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Benita plans escape. The next morning, while she was cooking the breakfast, Benita saw Jacob Mayor seated upon a rock at a little distance, sullen and disconsolate. His chin was resting on his hand, and he watched her intently, never taking his eyes from her face. She felt that he was concentrating his will upon her, that some new idea concerning her had come into his mind, for it was one of her miseries that she possessed the power of interpreting the drift of this man's thoughts. Much as she detested him, there existed that curious link between them. It may be remembered that on the night when they first met at the crest of Leopard's Clouffe, Jacob had called her a thought-sender, and some knowledge of their mental intimacy had come home to Benita. From that day forward, her chief desire had been to shut a door between their natures, to isolate herself from him and him from her. Yet the attempt was never entirely successful, that door could not be kept closed. It would swing a jar, and force her to read in this hateful book of her soul she loathed, and yet must study. Moreover, her great terror was lest he also should be able to read as he was read. Fear and disgust took hold of her, bending there above the fire, all the while aware of the Jew's dark eyes that searched her through and through. Benita formed a sudden determination. She would implore her father to come away with her. Jacob Mayer would never cease from the hunt for that treasure until it was found, or its further pursuits became utterly impossible. Then let him find it by himself. Of course, such an attempt would be terribly dangerous. Of the matter, Billy, nothing could be seen. Still, they might be about, and even if enough cattle could be collected to draw the wagon, it belonged to Mayer as much as to her father, and must therefore be left for him. Still, there remained the two horses which the Molymo had told her were well and getting fat. At this moment, Mayer rose and began to speak to her. What are you thinking of, Miss Clifford? he asked in his soft foreign voice. She started, but answered readily enough, of the wood which is green and the kid cutlets which are getting smoked. Are you not tired of kid, Mr. Mayer? she went on. He waved the question aside. You are so good. Oh, I mean it, so really good that you should not tell stories even about small things. The wood is not green. I cut it myself from a dead tree, and the meat is not smoked. Nor were you thinking of either. You were thinking of me, as I was thinking of you. But what exactly was in your mind this time, I do not know. And this is why I ask you to tell me. Really, Mr. Mayer? she answered, flushing. My mind is my own property. Ah, do you say so? Now I hold otherwise, that it is my property, as mine is yours, a gift that nature has given to each of us. I seek no such gift, she answered. But even then, much as she would have wished to do so, she could not utter a falsehood and deny this horrible and secret intimacy. I am sorry for that, as I think it's very precious, more precious evens as a gold which we cannot find. For, Miss Clifford, it brings me nearer to you. She turned upon him, but he held up his hand and went on. Oh, do not be angry with me, and do not fear that I am going to trouble you with soft speeches. For I shall not, unless a time should come, as I think that perhaps it will, when you may wish to listen to them. But I want to point out something to you, Miss Clifford. Is it not a wonderful thing that our minds should be so in tune, and is there not an object in all this? Did I believe as you do? I should say that it was heaven working in us. No, do not answer that the working comes from lower down. I take no credit for reading that upon your lips, the retort is too easy and obvious. I am content to say, however, that the work is that of instinct and nature, or, if you will, of fate, pointing out a road by which together we may travel to great ends. I travel my road alone, Mr Mayor. I know, I know, and that is the pity of it. The trouble between man and woman is that not in one case out of a million, even if they be lovers, do they understand each other. Their eyes may seek one another, their hands and lips may meet, and yet they remain distinct, apart and often antagonistic. There is no communion of the soul, but when it chances to be otherwise, when they chance to complete each other, to be hewn from the same rock as it were, oh, then what happiness may be theirs, and what opportunities? Possibly, Mr Mayor, but to be frank, the question does not interest me. Not yet, but I am sure that one day it will. Meanwhile, I owe you an apology. I lost my temper before you last night. Well, do not judge me hardly, for I was utterly worn out, and that old idiot vexed me with his talk about ghosts in which I do not believe. Then why did it make you so angry? Surely, you could have afforded to treat it with contempt instead of doing, as you did. Upon my word, I don't know, but I suppose most of us are afraid, lest we should be forced to accept that which we refuse. This ancient place gets upon the nerves, Miss Clifford, yours as well as mine. I can afford to be open about it, because I know that you know. Think of its associations, or the crime that has been committed here for ages and ages, or the suffering that has been endured here. Doubtless human sacrifices were offered in this cave, or outside of it. Such great burnt ring in the rock there may have been where they built the fires. Then those Portuguese starving to death, slowly starving to death, while thousands of savages watched them die. Have you ever thought what it means? But of course you have, for like myself you are cursed with imagination. God in heaven, is it wonderful that it gets upon the nerves? Especially when one cannot find what one is looking for, that vast treasure, and his face became ecstatic, That shall yet be yours and mine, and make us great and happy. But which at present only makes me a scullery maid, and most unhappy, replied Benita cheerfully, for she heard her father's footstep. Don't talk any more of the treasure, Mr. Mayor, or we shall quarrel. We have enough of that during business hours, when we are hunting for it, you know. Give me the dish, will you? This meat is cooked at last. Still Benita could not be rid of that treasure, because, after breakfast, the endless unprofitable search began again. Once more the cave was sounded, and other hollow places were discovered, upon which the two men got to work. With infinite labour, three of them were broken into in as many days, and, like the first, found to be graves, only this time of ancients who perhaps had died before Christ was born. There they lay upon their sides, their bones burnt by the hot cements that had been poured over them, their gold-headed and gold-ferrelled rods of office in their hands, their gold-covered pillows of wood, such as the Egyptian used, beneath their skulls, gold bracelets upon their arms and ankles, cakes of gold beneath them which had fallen from the rotted pouches that once hung about their wastes, vases of fine-glazed pottery that had been filled with offerings, or in some cases, with gold dust to pay the expenses of their journey into the other world, standing round them, and so forth. In their way these discoveries were rich enough. From one tomb alone they took over 130 ounces of gold to say nothing of their surpassing archaeological interest. Still they were not what they sought. All that gathered wealth of Monomotapa, which the fleeing Portuguese had brought with them, and buried in this their last stronghold. Benita ceased to take the slightest interest in the matter. She would not even be at pains to go to look at the third skeleton, although it was that of a man who had been almost a giant, and to judge from the amount of bullion which he took to the tomb with him, a person of great importance in his day. She felt as though she wished never to see another human bone or ancient bead or bangle. The sight of a street in Bayswater in a London fog, yes, of a toy shop window in Westbourne Grove, would have pleased her a hundred times better than these unique remains, that, had they known of them in those days, would have sent half the learned societies of Europe crazy with delight. She wished to escape from Bambaça, its wondrous fortifications, its mysterious cone, its cave, its dead, and from Yakob Meia. Benita stood upon the top of her prison wall, and looked with longing at the wide open lands below. She even dared to climb the stair which ran up the mighty cone of granite, and seated herself in the cup-like depression on its crest, whence Yakob Meia had called to her to come and share his throne. It was a dizzy place, for the pillar leaning outwards, its point stood almost clear of the water-scarped rock, so that beneath her was a sheer drop of about four hundred feet to the Zambezi bed. At first the great height made her feel faint, her eyes swam, and unpleasant tremors crept along her spine, so that she was glad to sink to the floor, whence she knew she could not fall. By degrees, however, she recovered her nerve, and was able to study the glorious view of stream and marshes and hills beyond, for she had come here with a purpose to see whether it would not be possible to escape down the river in a canoe or in native boats such as the Makalanga owned and used for fishing, or to cross from bank to bank. Apparently it was impossible, but although the river beneath and above them was still enough, about a mile below began a cataract that stretched as far as she could see, and was bordered on either side by rocky hills covered with a forest over which, even if they could obtain porters, a canoe could not be carried. This indeed she had already heard from the Mollimo, but knowing his timid nature, she wished to judge of the matter for herself. It came to this then, if they were to go, it must be on the horses. Descending the cone, Benita went to find her father, to whom as yet she had said nothing of her plans. The opportunity was good, for she knew that he would be alone. As it chanced on that afternoon, Mayer had gone down the hill in order to try to persuade the Makalanga to give them 10 or 20 men to help in their excavations. In this it will be remembered, he had already failed so far as the Mollimo was concerned, but he was not a man easily turned from his purpose, and he thought that if he could see Tamas and some of the other captains, he might be able, by bribery, threats or otherwise, to induce them to forget their superstitious fears and help in the search. As a matter of fact, he was utterly unsuccessful, since one and all they declared that for them to enter that sacred place would mean their deaths, and that the vengeance of heaven would fall upon their tribe and destroy it to root and branch. Mr Clifford, on whom all this heavy labour had begun to tell, was taking advantage of the absence of his Tasmaster, Jakob, to sleep a while in the hut which they had now built for themselves, beneath the shadow of the Baobab tree. As she reached it, he came out yawning and asked her where she had been. Benita told him, a giddy place, he said, I have never ventured to try it myself. What did you go up there for, dear? To look at the river while Mr Mayer was away farther, for if he had seen me do so, he would have guessed my reason. Indeed, I dare say that he will guess it now. What reason, Benita? To see whether it would not be possible to escape down it in a boat. But there is no chance. It is all rapid below, with hills and rocks and trees on either bank. What need have you to escape at present? he asked, eyeing her curiously. Every need, she answered with passion, I hate the place. It is a prison, and I loathe the very name of treasure. Also, and she paused. Also what, dear? Also, and her voice sank to a whisper, as though she feared that he should overhear her, even at the bottom of the hill. Also, I am afraid of Mr Mayer. This confession did not seem to surprise her father, who merely nodded his head and said, Go on. Father, I think that he is going mad, and it is not pleasant for us to be cooped up here alone with a madman, especially when he has begun to speak to me as he does now. You don't mean that he has been impertinent to you? said the old man, flushing up, for if so. No, not impertinent, as yet. And she told him what had passed between Mayer and herself, adding, You see, Father, I detest this man. Indeed, I want to have nothing to do with any man. For me, all that is over and done with. And she gave a dry little sob, which appeared to come from her very heart. And yet he seems to be getting some kind of power over me. He follows me about with his eyes, prying into my mind. And I feel that he is beginning to be able to read it. I can bear no more. Father, Father, for God's sake, take me away from this hateful hill, and it's gold and it's dead, and let us get out into the felt again together. I should be glad enough, dearest, he answered. I have had plenty of this wild goose chase. Which I was so mad as to be led into by the love of wealth. Indeed, I am beginning to believe that if it goes on much longer, I shall leave my bones here. And if such a dreadful thing as that were to happen, what would become of me, alone with Jacob Mayer? She asked quietly. I might even be driven to the same fate as that poor girl two hundred years ago. And she pointed to the cone of rock behind her. For heaven's sake, don't talk like that. He broke in. Why not? One must face things, and it would be better than Jacob Mayer, for who would protect me here? Mr Clifford walked up and down for a few minutes while his daughter watched him. I can see no plan, he said, stopping opposite her. We cannot take the wagon, even if there are enough orcs and left to draw it, for it is his as much as mine, and I am sure that he will never leave this treasure unless he is driven away. And I am sure I hope that he will not. But, father, the horses are our own. It was his that has died, you remember? We can ride away on them. He stared at her and answered, Yes, we could ride away to our deaths. Suppose they got sick or lame. Suppose we met them at a billy, or could find no game to shoot. Suppose one of us fell ill. Oh, and a hundred things. What then? Why, then, it is just as well to perish in the wilderness as here, where our risks are almost as great. We must take our chance and trust to God. Perhaps he will be merciful and help us. Listen now, father, tomorrow is Sunday, when you and I do no work that we can help. But Mr Mayer is a Jew, and he won't waste Sunday. Well now, I will say that I want to go down to the outer wall to fetch some clothes, which I left in the wagon, and to take others for the native women to wash. And of course, you will come with me. Perhaps he will be deceived and stay behind, especially as he has been there today. Then we can get the horses and guns and ammunition and anything else that we can carry in the way of food, and persuade the old molymo to open the gate for us. You know, the little side gate that cannot be seen from up here. And before Mr Mayer misses us and comes to look, we shall be twenty miles away, and horses can't be overtaken by a man on foot. He will say that we have deserted him, and that will be true. You can leave a letter with the molymo, explaining that it was my fault, that I was getting ill, and thought that I should die, and that you knew it would not be fair to ask him to come, and so to lose the treasure, to every hypney of which he is welcome when it is found. Oh, father, don't hesitate any longer. Say that you will take me away from Mr Mayer. So be it then, answered Mr Clifford. As he spoke, hearing a sound, they looked up and saw Jacob approaching them. Luckily he was so occupied with his own thoughts that he never noted the guilty air upon their faces, and they had time to compose themselves a little, but even thus his suspicions were aroused. What are you talking of so earnestly? he asked. We were wondering how you were getting on with the Macalanga, answered Benita, fibbing boldly, and whether you would persuade them to face the ghosts. Did you? Not I, he answered with a scowl. Those ghosts are our worst enemies in this place. The cowards swore that they would rather die. I should have liked to take some of them at their word and make ghosts of them, but I remembered the situation and didn't. Don't be afraid, Miss Clifford. I never even lost my temper outwardly at any rate. Well, there it is. If they won't help us, we must work the harder. I've got a new plan, and we begin on it tomorrow. Not tomorrow, Mr. Mayor, replied Benita with a smile. It is Sunday, and we rest on Sunday, you know. Oh, I forgot. Some Macalanga vis a ghost, and you vis your Sunday. Really, I do not know which is the worst. Well then, I must do my own share and yours too, I suppose. And he turned away with a shrug of his shoulders. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Of The Spirit Of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Flight The next morning, Sunday, Mayor went to work on his new plan. What it was, Benita did not trouble to inquire, but she gathered that it had something to do with the measuring out of the Chapel Cave into squares, for the more systematic investigation of each area. At 12 o'clock he emerged for his midday meal, in the course of which he remarked that it was very dreary working in that place alone, and that he would be glad when it was Monday, and they could accompany him. His words evidently disturbed Mr. Clifford, not a little, and even excited some compunction in the breast of Benita. What would his feelings be, she wondered, when he found that they had run away, leaving him to deal with their joint undertaking single-handed. Almost was she minded to tell him the whole truth. Yet, that this was a curious evidence of the man's ascendancy over her, she did not. Perhaps she felt that to do so would be to put an end to their scheme. Since then, by arguments, blandishments, threats, force, or appeal to their sense of loyalty, it mattered not which, he would bring about its abandonment. But she panted to fulfil that scheme, to be free of Bambatse, its immemorial ruins, its graveyard cave, and the ghoul, Jakob Mayer, who could delve among dead bones and in living hearts with equal skill and insight, and yet was unable to find the treasure that lay beneath either of them. So they hid the truth, and talked with feverish activity about other things, such as the drilling of the Makalanga, and the chances of an attack by the Matabile, which happily now seem to be growing small, also of the condition of their cattle, and the prospect of obtaining more to replace those that had died. Indeed, Benita went farther. In her newfound zeal of deception, she proceeded to act a lie. Yes, even with her father's reproachful eyes fixed upon her. Incidentally, she mentioned that they were going to have an outing, to climb down the ladder and visit the Makalanga camp between the first and second walls, and mix with the great world for a few hours. Also, to carry their washing to be done there, and bring up some clean clothes and certain books which she had left below. Jakob came out of his thoughts and calculations, and listened gloomily. I have half a mind to come with you, he said, words at which Benita shivered. It certainly is most cursed lonesome in that cave, and I seem to hear things in it, as though those old bones were rattling sounds, like sighs and vismas too, which are made by the draught. Well, why don't you? asked Benita. It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. If he had any doubts, they vanished, and he answered at once. Because I have not the time. If you have to get this business finished one by another before the vet season comes on, and we are drowned out of the place with rain or rotted by fever, take your afternoon out, Miss Clifford. Every maid of all work is entitled to as much, and I am afraid that is your billet here. Only, he added with that care for her safety, which he always showed in his more temperate moods. Pray be careful, Clifford, to get back before sundown, so that wall is too risky for your daughter to climb in the dusk. Call me from the foot of it, you have the whistle, and I will come down to help her up. I think I will go with you after all. No, I won't. I made myself so unpleasant to them yesterday, that those Macalanga can't wish to see any more of me at present. I hope you will have a more agreeable afternoon than I shall. Why don't you take a ride outside the wall? Your horses are fat and want exercise, and I do not think that you need to be afraid of the matabili. Then, without waiting for an answer, he rose and left them. Mr Clifford looked after him doubtfully. Oh, I know, said Benita, it seems horribly mean, but one must do shabby things sometimes. Here are the bundles already, so let us be off. Accordingly they went, and from the top of the wall Benita glanced back to bid goodbye to that place which she hoped never to see again, yet she could not feel as though she looked to last upon it. To her it wore no air of farewell, and even as she descended the perilous stairs, she found herself making mental notes as to how they might best be climbed again. Also, she could not believe that she had done with Mr Mayor. It seemed to her as though for a long while yet her future would be full of him. They reached the out of fortification in safety, and there were greeted with some surprise, but with no displeasure by the Macalanga, whom they found still drilling with the rifles, in the use of which a certain number of them appeared to have become fairly proficient. Going to the hut in which the spare goods from the wagon had been stored, they quickly made their preparations. Here also Mr Clifford wrote a letter, one of the most unpleasant that he had ever been called upon to compose. It ran thus, Dear Mayor, I don't know what you will think of us, but we are escaping from this place. The truth is that I am not well, and my daughter can bear it no longer. She says that if she stops here she will die, and that hunting for treasure in that ghastly graveyard is shattering her nerves. I should have liked to tell you, but she begged me not, being convinced that if I did you would over persuade us or stop us in some way. As for the gold, if you can find it, take it all. I renounce my share. We are leaving you the wagon and the oxen, and starting down country on our horses. It is a perilous business, but less so than staying here under the circumstances. If we never meet again, we hope that you will forgive us, and wish you all good fortune. Yours sincerely, and with much regret, T Clifford. The letter written, they saddled the horses which had been brought up for their inspection, and were found to be in good case, and fastened their scanty belongings, and as many cartridges as they could carry impacts behind their saddles. Then each of them armed with a rifle, for during their long journeys Benita had learned to shoot, they mounted and made for the little side entrance, as the main gate through which they had passed on their arrival was now built up. This side entrance amiss slitting the great wall, with a precipitous approach, was open for now that their fear of the Matabele had to some extent passed off, the Macalanga used it to drive their sheep and goats in and out, since it was so constructed with several twists and turns in the thickness of the wall, that in a few minutes it could be effectively blocked by stones that lay at hand. Also, the ancient architect had arranged it in such a fashion that it was entirely commanded from the crest of the wall on either side. The Macalanga who had been watching their proceedings curiously made no attempt to stop them, although they guessed that they might have a little trouble with the centrists who guarded the entrance all day, and even when it was closed at night, with whom also Mr Clifford proposed to leave the letter. When they reached the place however, and had dismounted to lead the horses down the winding passage, and the steeper centre upon its further side, it was to find that the only guard visible proved to be the old Molymo himself, who sat there, apparently half asleep. But as they came he showed himself to be very much awake, for without moving he asked them at once whether they were going. To take a ride, answered Mr Clifford, the lady, my daughter, is weary of being cooped up in this fortress, and wishes to breathe the air without. Let us pass, friend, but we shall not be back by sunset. If you are coming back at sunset, white man, why do you carry so many things upon your packs, and why are your saddle-bags filled with cartridges? he asked. Surely you do not speak the truth to me, and you hope that never more will you see the sun set upon Bambadze. Now, understanding that it was hopeless to deceive him, Benita exclaimed boldly, It is so, but oh, my father, stay us not, for fear is behind us, and therefore we fly hence. And is there no fear before you, Maidan? Fear of the wilderness where none wander, save perchance the amandabili with their bloody spears. Fear of wild beasts and of sickness that may overtake you, so that, first one, and then the other, you perish there. There is plenty, my father, but none of them are so bad as the fear behind. Yonder place is haunted, and we give up our search, and would dwell there no more. It is haunted truly, Maidan, but his spirits will not harm you, whom they welcome as one appointed. And we are ever ready to protect you, because of their command that has come to me in dreams. Nor indeed is it the spirits whom you fear, but rather the white man your companion, who would bend you to his will. Deny it not, for I have seen all. Then knowing the truth, surely you will let us go, she pleaded, for I swear to you that I dare not stay. Who am I that I should forbid you? he asked. Yet I tell you that you would do well to stay and save yourselves much terror. Maidan, have I not said it days and days ago, that here and here only you must accomplish your fate? Go now, if you will, but you shall return again. And once more he seemed to begin to doze in the sun. The two of them consulted hastily together. It is no use turning back now, said Benita, who was almost weeping with doubt and vexation. I will not be frightened by his fake talk. What can he know of the future more than any of the rest of us? Besides, all he says is that we shall come back again, and if that does happen, at least we shall have been free for a little while. Come, Father. As you wish, answered Mr Clifford, who seemed too miserable and depressed to argue. Only he threw down the letter upon the molly-mose lap, and begged him to give it to Mayor when he came to look for them. The old man took no notice. No, not even when Benita bade him farewell and thanked him for his kindness, praying that all good fortune might attend him and his tribe. Did he answer a single word or even look up? So they led their horses down the narrow passage, where there was scarcely room for them to pass, and up the steep path beyond. On the further side of the ancient ditch, they remounted them, while the Macalanga watched them from the walls, and canted away along the same road by which they had come. Now this road, or rather track, ran first through the gardens, and then among the countless ruined houses that in bygone ages formed the great city whereof the Mount Bambatse had been the citadel and sanctuary. These relics of a lost civilization extended for several miles, and were bounded by a steep and narrow neck or pass in the encircling hills. The same that Robert Seymour and his brother had found too difficult for their wagon at the season in which they visited the place some years before. This pass, or port, as it is called in South Africa, had been strongly fortified from either side of it with the ruins of towers. Moreover, at its crest it was so narrow and steep-sided that a few men posted there, even if they were armed only with bows and arrows, could hold an attacking force in check for a considerable time. Beyond it, after the hill was descended, a bush-clad plain dotted with copias and isolated granite pillars formed of boulders piled one upon another, rolled away for many miles. Mr Clifford and Benita had started upon their mad journey about three o'clock in the afternoon, and when the sun began to set, they found themselves upon this plain, fifteen or sixteen miles from Bambatse, of which they had long lost sight, for it lay beyond the intervening hills. Near to them was a copia where they had outspanned by a spring of water when on their recent journey, and since they did not dare to travel in the dark, here they determined to off-saddle, for round this spring was good grass for the horses. As a chance they came upon some hard-to-beaster here, which were trekking down to drink, but although they would have been glad of meat, were afraid to shoot, fearing lest they should attract attention, nor for the same reason did they like to light a fire. So, having knee-holtered the horses in such fashion that they could not wander far, and turn them loose to feed, they sat down under a tree, and made some sort of a meal off the biltong, and cooked corn which they had brought with them. By the time this was finished, darkness fell, for there was little moon, so that nothing remained to do except to sleep within a circle of a few dead thorn boughs, which they had drawn about their camp. This then they did, and so weary were they both, that notwithstanding all the emotions through which they had passed, and their fears lest lion should attack them, for of these brutes there were many in this felt, rested soundly and undisturbed, so within half an hour of dawn. Rising somewhat chilled, for though the air was warm, heavy dew had soaked their blankets, once more they ate and drank by starlight, while the horses which they had tied up close to them during the night, filled themselves with grass. At the first break of day they saddled them, and before the sun rose were on their road again. At length, up it came, and the sight and warmth of it put new heart into Benita. Her fears seemed to depart with the night, and she said to her father, that this successful start was of good augury, to which she only answered that he hoped so. All that day they rode forward in beautiful weather, not pressing their horses, for now they were sure that Jacob Meier, who, if he followed at all must do so on foot, would never be able to overtake them. At noon they halted, and having shot a small buck, Benita cooked some of it in the one pot that they had brought with them, and they ate a good meal of fresh meat. Riding on again towards sundown, they came to another of their old camping places, also a bush-covered copier. Here the spring of water was more than half way up the hill, so there they off-saddled in a green bower of a place, that because of its ferns and mosses looked like a rock garden. Now, although they had enough cold meat for food, they thought themselves quite safe in lighting a fire. Indeed, this it seemed necessary to do, since they had struck the fresh spore of lions, and even caught sight of one galloping away in the tall reeds on the marshy land at the foot of the hill. That evening they fared sumptuously upon venison, and as on the previous day they downed to rest in a little bummer or fence made of boughs. But they were not allowed to sleep well this night, for scarcely had they shut their eyes when a hyena began to howl about them. They shouted and the brute went away, but an hour or two later they heard ominous grunting sounds, followed presently by a loud roar, which was answered by another roar, where at the horses began to winny in a frightened fashion. Lions, said Mr Clifford, jumping up and throwing dead wood onto the fire, till it burnt to a bright blaze. After that, all sleep became impossible, for although the lions did not attack them, having once winded the horses, they would not go away, but continued wandering round the copia, grunting and growling. This went on till about three o'clock in the morning, when at last the beasts took their departure, for they heard them roaring in the distance. Now that they seemed safe, having first made up the fire, they tried to get some rest. When, as it appeared to her, Benita had been asleep but a little while, she was awakened by a new noise. It was still dark, but the starlight showed her that the horses were quite quiet. Indeed, one of them was lying down, and the other eating some green leaves from the branches of the tree to which it was tethered. Therefore that noise had not come from any wild animal of which they were afraid. She listened intently, and presently heard it again. It was a murmur, like to that of people talking somewhere at the bottom of the hill. Then she woke her father and told him, but although once or twice they thought they heard the sound of footsteps, nothing else could be distinguished. Still they rose, and having saddled and bridled the horses as noiselessly as night be, waited for the dawn. At last it came. Up on the side of the copier, they were in clear air, above which shone the red lights of morning, but under them lay billows of dense pearl-hued mist. By degrees this thinned beneath the rays of the risen sun, and through it, looking gigantic in that light, Benita saw a savage wrapped up in a carross, who was walking up and down and yawning, a great spear in his hand. Luke, she whispered, Luke, and Mr Clifford stared down the line of her outstretched finger. The Matabeely, he said. My God, the Matabeely! End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Rider Haggard This Librivoct recording is in the public domain. The Chase The Matabeely it was, sure enough, there could be no doubt of it, for soon three other men joined the sentry. It began to talk with him, pointing with their great spears at the side of the hill. Evidently they were arranging a surprise when there was sufficient light to carry it out. They have seen our fire, whispered her father to Benita. Now, if we wish to save our lives, there is only one thing to do. Ride for it before they muster. The impie will be camped upon the other side of the hill, so we must take the road we came by. That runs back to Bambatse, faltered Benita. Bambatse is better than the grave, said her father. Pray heaven that we may get there. So this argument there was no answer, so having drunk us up of water, and swallowing a few mouthfuls of food as they went, they crept to the horses, mounted them, and as silently as possible began to ride down the hill. The sentry was alone again, the other three men having departed. He stood with his back towards them. Presently, when they were quite close onto him, he heard their horses hoofs upon the grass, wheeled round at the sound and saw them. Then, with a great shout, he lifted his spear and charged. Mr Clifford, who was leading, held out his rifle at arm's length. To raise it to his shoulder he had no time, and pulled the trigger. Benita heard the bullets clap upon the hide shield, and next instant saw the matabili warrior lying on his back, beating the air with his hands and feet. Also, she saw beyond the shoulder of the copia which they were rounding, hundreds of men marching, and behind them a herd of cattle, the dim light gleaming upon the stabbing spears, and on the horns of the oxen. She glanced to the right, and there were more men. The two wings of the impi were closing upon them. Only a little lane was left in the middle, they must get through before it shut. Come she gasped, striking the horse with her heel and the butt of her gun, and jerking at its mouth. Her father saw also and did likewise, so that the beasts broke into a gallop. Now, from the point of each wing sprang out thin lines of men, looking like great horns or nippers whose business it was to meet and cut them off. Could they pass between before they did meet? That was the question, and upon its answer it depended whether or no they had another three minutes to live. To think of mercy at the hands of these bloodthirsty brutes, after they had just killed one of their number before their eyes was absurd. It was true he had been shot in self-defence, but what counts would savages take of that, or of the fact that they were but harmless travellers? White people were not very popular with the Matabili just then, as they knew well. Also, their murder in this remote place, with not another of their race within a couple of hundred miles, would never even be reported, and much less avenged. It was as safe as any crime could be. All this passed through their minds as they galloped towards those closing points. Oh, the horror of it! But two hundred yards to cover, and their fate would be decided. Either they would have escaped at least for a while, or time would be done with for them, or a third alternative, they might be taken prisoner, in all probability a yet more dreadful doom. Even then, Benita determined that if she could help it, this should not befall her. She had the rifle, and the revolver that Jakogmeja had given her. Surely she would be able to find a moment to use one or the other of them upon herself. She clenched her teeth, and struck the horse again and again, so that now they flew along. The Matabili soldiers were running their best to catch them, and if these had been given but five seconds of start, caught they must have been, but that short five seconds saved their lives. When they rushed through them, the foremost men of the Nippers were not more than twenty yards apart. Seeing that they had passed, these halted, and hurled a shower of spears after them. One flashed by Benita's cheek, a line of light, she felt the wind of it. Another cut her dress, and a third struck her father's horse in the near hind leg, just above the knee joint, remaining fast there for a stride or two, and then falling to the ground. At first the beast did not seem to be incommodated by this wound. Indeed it only caused it to gallop quicker, and Benita rejoiced, thinking that it was but a scratch. Then she forgot about it, for some of the Matabili, who had guns, began to shoot at them, and although their marksmanship was vile, one or two of the bullets went nearer than was pleasant. Lastly a man, the swiftest runner of them all, shouted after them in Zulu, The horses wounded, we will catch you both before the sun sets. Then they passed over the crest of a rise, and lost sight of them for a while. Thank God, gasped Benita, when they were alone again in the silent belt. But Mr Clifford shook his head. Do you think they will follow us? she asked. You heard what the fellow said, he answered evasively. Doubtless they are on their way to attack Bambatse, and have been round to destroy some other wretched tribe, and steal the cattle which we saw. Yes, I fear that they will follow. The question is, which of us can get to Bambatse first? Surely we ought to, on the horse's father? Yes, if nothing happens to them. And as he spoke the words, the mare which he was riding, dropped sharply upon her hind leg, the same that had been struck with the spear, then recovered herself and galloped on. Did you see that? he asked. She nodded, then said, shall we get off and look at the cut? Certainly not, he answered, our only chance is to keep her moving. Once the wound stiffens, there's an end. The sinew cannot have been severed, or it would have come before now. So they pushed on. All that mourning did they canter forward, wherever the ground was smooth enough to allow them to do so, and notwithstanding the increasing lameness of Mr Clifford's mare, made such good progress, that by midday they reached the place where they had passed the first night after leaving Bambatse. Here sheer fatigue and want of water forced them to stop a little while. They dismounted and drank greedily from the spring, after which they allowed the horses to drink also. Indeed it was impossible to keep them away from the water. Then they ate a little, not because they desired food, but to keep up their strength, and while they did so, examined the mare. By now her hind leg was much swollen, and blood still ran from the gash made by the asagai. Moreover, the limb was drawn up, so that the point of the hoof only rested on the ground. We must get on before it sets fast, said Mr Clifford, and they mounted again. Great heavens, what was this? The mare would not stir. In his despair Mr Clifford beat it cruelly, whereupon the poor brute hobbled forward a few paces on three legs, and again came to a standstill. Either an injured sinew had given, or the inflammation was now so intense that it could not bend its knee. Understanding what this meant to them, Benita's nerve gave out at last and she burst into weeping. Don't cry love, he said. Gods will be done. Perhaps they have given up the hump by now. At any rate, my legs are left, and Bambatse is not more than sixteen miles away. Forward now, and holding to her saddle-strap, they went up the long, long slope, which led to the ports in the hills around Bambatse. They would have liked to shoot the mare, but being afraid to fire a rifle could not do so. So they left the unhappy beast to its fate, and with it everything it carried except a few of the cartridges. Before they went, however, at Benita's prayer, her father devoted a few seconds to unbuckling the girths, and pulling off the bridle so that it might have a chance of life. For a little way, it hobbled after them on three legs. Then the saddle still upon its back stood, winning piteously, till at last, to Benita's intense relief, a turn in their path hid it from their sight. Half a mile further on, she looked round in the faint hope that it might have recovered itself and followed, but no mare was to be seen. Something else was to be seen, however. For there, three or four miles away upon the plain behind them, easy to be distinguished in that dazzling air, were a number of black spots that occasionally seemed to sparkle. What are they? she asked faintly, who feared the answer. The matabili who follow us, answered her father. Or rather, a company of their swiftest runners. It is their spears that glitter so. Now, my love, this is the position. He went on as they struggled forward. Those men will catch us before ever we can get to Bambatse. They are trained to run like that for fifty miles if need be. But with this start they cannot catch your horse. You must go on and leave me to look after myself. Never, never, she exclaimed. But you shall and you must. I am your father and I order you. As for me, what does it matter? I may hide from them and escape. Or, at least, I am old. My life is done, whereas yours is before you. Now, goodbye and go on. And he let go of the saddle-strap. By way of answer, Benita pulled up the horse. Not one yard, she said, setting her mouth. Then he began to storm at her, calling her disobedient and undutiful, and when this means failed to move her, to implore her almost with tears. Father, dear, she said, leaning down towards him as he walked. For now they were going on again. I told you why I wanted to run away from Bambatse, didn't I? Because I would rather risk my life than stay. Well, do you think that I wish to return there and live in that place alone with Yachob Mayer? Also, I will tell you another thing. You remember about Mr Seymour? Well, I can't get over that. I can't get over it at all. And therefore, although of course I am afraid, it is all one to me. No, we will escape together or die together, the first if we can. Then with a groan he gave up the argument, and as he found breath, they discussed their chances. Their first idea was to hide, but save for a few trees, all the country was open. There was no place to cover them. They thought of the banks of the Zambezi, but between them and the river, rose a bare rock-strewn hill with several miles of slope. Long before they could reach its crest, even if a horse were able to travel there, they must be overtaken. In short, there was nothing to do except to push for the neck, and if they were fortunate enough to reach it before the Matabele to abandon the horse there, and try to conceal themselves among the ruins of the houses beyond. This perhaps they might do when once the sun was down, but they did not deceive themselves. The chances were at least fifty to one against them, unless indeed their pursuers grew weary and let them go. At present, however, they were by no means weary. For having perceived them from far away, the long-legged runners put on the pace, and the distance between them and their quarry was lessening. Father, said Benita, please understand one thing. I do not mean to be taken alive by those savages. Oh, how can I? he faltered. I don't ask you, she answered. I will see to that myself, only if I should make any mistake. And she looked at him. The old man was getting very tired. He panted up the steep hillside and stumbled against the stones. Benita noted it, and slipping from the horse made him mount while she ran alongside. Then, when he was a little rested, they changed places again, and so covered several miles of country. Subsequently, when both of them were nearly exhausted, they tried riding, she in front and he behind, for their baggage had long since been thrown away. But the weary beast could not carry this double burden, and after a few hundred yards of it, stumbled, fell, struggled to its feet again, and stopped. So, once more, they were obliged to ride and walk alternately. Now there was not much more than an hour of daylight left, and the narrow paths lay about three miles ahead of them, that dreadful three miles. Ever thereafter, it was Benita's favourite nightmare. At the beginning of it, the leading Mattabile were about two thousand yards behind them, half way, about a thousand, and at the commencement of the last mile, say, five hundred. Nature is a wonderful thing, and great are its resources in extremity. As the actual crisis approached, the weariness of these two seemed to depart, or at any rate it was forgotten. They no longer felt exhausted, nor had they been fresh from their beds, could they have climbed or run better. Even the horse seemed to find new energy, and when it lagged, Mr Clifford dug the point of his hunting knife into its flank. Gasping, panting, now one mounted, and now the other. They struggled on towards that crest of rock, while behind them came death in the shape of those sleuth hounds of Mattabile. The sun was going down, and against its flaming ball, when they glanced back, they could see their dark forms outlined. The broad spears also looked red, as though they had been dipped in blood. They could even hear their taunting shouts as they called to them, to sit down and be killed and save trouble. Now they were not three hundred yards away, and the crest of the pass was still half a mile ahead. Five minutes passed, and here, where the track was very rough, the horse blundered upwards slowly. Mr Clifford was riding at the time, and Benita running at his side, holding to the stirrup leather. She looked behind her, the savages, fearing that their victims might find shelter over the hill, were making a rush, and the horse could go no faster. One man, a great tall fellow, quite out distanced his companions. Two minutes more, and he was not over a hundred paces from them, a little nearer than they were to the top of the pass. Then the horse stopped and refused to stir any more. Mr Clifford jumped from the saddle, and Benita, who could not speak, pointed to the pursuing Mattabile. He sat down upon a rock, cocked his rifle, took a deep breath, aimed and fired at the soldier who was coming on carelessly in the open. Mr Clifford was a good shot, and shaken though he was, at this supreme moment his skill did not fail him. The man was struck somewhere, but he staggered about and fell. Then slowly picked himself up and began to hobble back towards his companions, who, when they met him, stopped him in it to give him some kind of assistance. That halt proved their salvation, for he gave them time to make one last despairing rush, and gain the brow of the port. Not that this would have saved them, however, since where they could go the Mattabile could follow, and there were still lights by which the pursuers would have been able to see to catch them. Indeed, the savages, having laid down the wounded man, came on with a yell of rage, fifty or more of them together. Over the pass, father and daughter struggled hand in hand, after them, perhaps sixty yards away ran the Mattabile, gathered in a knot now upon the narrow ancient road, bordered by steep hillsides. Then suddenly, from all about them, as it appeared to Benita, broke out the blaze and roar of rifles, rapid and continuous. Down went the Mattabile by twos and threes, till at last it seemed as though but a few of them were left upon their feet, and those came on no more. They turned and fled from the neck of the narrow pass to the open slope beyond. Benita sank to the ground, and the next thing that she could remember was hearing the soft voice of Jacob Meir, who said, So, you have returned from your ride, Ms Clifford, and perhaps it was as well that the thought came from you to me, that you wished me to meet you here in this very place. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Rider Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Back at Bambatse How they reached Bambatse, Benita never could remember, but afterward she was told that both she and her father were carried upon litters made of oxide shields. When she came to her own mind again, it was to find herself lying in her tent outside the mouth of the cave within the third enclosure of the temple fortress. Her feet were sore and her bones ached, physical discomforts that brought back to her in a flash, all the terrors through which she had passed. Again she saw the fierce pursuing Mattabile, again heard their cruel shouts and the answering crack of the rifles, again amidst the din and the gathering darkness distinguished the gentle, foreign voice of Meir, speaking his words of sarcastic greeting. Next oblivion fell upon her, and after it a dim memory of being helped up the hill, with the sun pouring on her back, and assisted to climb the steep steps of the wall by means of a rope placed around her. Then forgetfulness again. The flap of her tent was drawn aside, and she shrank back upon her bed, shutting her eyes for fear lest they should fall on the face of Jakob Meir. Feeling that it was not he, or learning it perhaps from the footfall, she opened them a little, peeping at her visitor from between her long lashes. He proved to be not Jakob or her father, but the old molymo, who stood beside her, holding in his hand a gourd filled with goat's milk. Then she sat up and smiled at him, for Benita had grown very fond of this ancient man, who was so unlike anyone else that she had ever met. Greeting lady, he said softly, smiling back at her with his lips and dreamy eyes. For his old face did not seem to move beneath its thousand wrinkles. I bring you milk, drink, it is fresh, and you need food. So she took the gourd and drank to the last drop, for it seemed to her that she had never tasted anything so delicious. Good, good, murmured the molymo, now you will be well again. Yes, I shall get well, she answered, but oh, what of my father? The fear not, he is still sick, but he will recover also. You shall see him soon. I've drunk all the milk, she broke out. There is none left for him. Plenty, plenty, he answered, waving his thin hand. There were two cups full, one for each. We have not many she-goes down below, but the best of their milk is saved for you. Tell me all that has happened, father. The old priest who liked her to call him by that name smiled again with his eyes and squatted down in the corner of the tent. You went away, you remember that you would go, although I told you that you must come back. You refused my wisdom, and you went, and I have learned all that befell you, and how you two escaped the impie. Well, that night after sunset, when you did not return, came the black one. Yes, yes, I mean Mayor, whom we name so because of his beard, and, he added deliberately, his heart. He came running down the hill asking for you, and I gave him the letter. He read it, and oh, then he went mad. He cursed in his own tongue, he threw himself about. He took a rifle and wished to shoot me, but I sat silent and looked at him till he grew quiet. Then he asked why I had played him this trick, but I answered that it was no trick of mine who had no right to keep you and your father prisoners against your will, and that I thought you had gone away because you were afraid of him, which was not wonderful if that was how he talked to you. I told him too, I am a doctor, that unless he was careful he would go mad, that already I saw madness in his eye, after which he became quite quiet, for my words frightened him. Then he asked what could be done, and I said, that night nothing, since you must be far away, so that it would be useless to follow you, but better to go to meet you when you come back. He asked what I meant by your coming back, and I answered that I meant what I said, that you would come back in great haste and peril, although you would not believe me when I told you so, for I had heard it from the Munwali whose child you are. So I sent out my spies, and that night went by, and the next day and night went by, and we sat still and did nothing, though the black one wished to wander out alone after you. But on the following morning at the dawn, a messenger came in, who reported it had been called to him by his brethren who were hidden upon hilltops, and in other places for miles and miles, that the Matabili impi, having destroyed another family of the Makalanga far down the Zambezi, was advancing to destroy us also, and in the afternoon came a second spy, who reported that you too had been surrounded by the impi, but had broken through them, and were riding hitherwards for your lives. Then I took fifty of the best of our people, and put them under the command of Tamas, my son, and sent them to ambush the pass, for against the Matabili warriors on the plain, we, who are not warlike, do not dare to fight. The black one went with them, and when he saw how so was your straight, wished to run down to meet the Matabili, for he is a brave man. But I had said to Tamas, no, do not try to fight them in the open, for there they will certainly kill you. O over, lady, I was sure that you would reach the top of the port. Well, you reached it, though but by the breadth of a blade of grass, and my children shot with the new rifles, and the place being so narrow, that they could not miss, killed many of those hyenas of our Matabili. But to kill Matabili is like catching fleas on a dog's back, there are always more. Still, it served its turn. You and your father were brought away safely, and we lost no one. Where then are the Matabili now? asked Benita, outside our walls, a whole regiment of them, three thousand men or more, under the command of the Captain Maduna, he of the royal blood, whose life you begged, but nevertheless hunted you like a buck. Perhaps he did not know who it was, suggested Benita. Perhaps not, the mollimo answered, rubbing his chin, for in such matters, even a Matabili generally keeps faith, and you may remember he promised you life for life. However, they are here, ravening like lions round the wall, and that is why we carried you up to the top of the hill, that you might be safe from them. But are you safe, my father? I think so, he replied, with a dry little chuckle in his throat. Whoever built this fortress built it strong, and we have blocked the gates. Also, they caught no one outside, all were within the walls, together with the sheep and goats. Lastly, we have sent most of the women and children across the Zambezi in Canoes, to hide in places we know of, whether the Amandabili cannot follow, for they dare not swim a river. Therefore, for those of us that remain, we have food for three months, and before then, the rains will drive the impi out. Why did you not all go across the river, father? For two reasons, lady. The first is, that if we once abandoned our stronghold, which we have held from the beginning, Lobengula would take it and keep it, so that we could never re-enter into our heritage, which would be a shame to us, and bring down the vengeance of the spirits of our ancestors upon our heads. The second is, that as you have returned to us, we stay to protect you. You are very good to me, murmured Benita. Nay, nay, we brought you here, and we do what I am told to do from above. Trouble may still come upon you. Yes, I think that it will come, but once more, I pray you, have no fear, for out of this evil root shall spring a flower of joy, and he rose to go. Stay, said Benita. Has the chief mayor found the gold? No, he has found nothing, but he hunts and hunts like a hungry jackal digging for a bone. But that bone is not for him. It is for you, lady, you and you only. Oh, I know that you do not seek. Still, you shall find. Only the next time that you want help, do not run away into the wilderness. Hear the word of Manwali, given by his mouth, the molymo of Bambatse. And as he spoke, the old priest backed himself out of the tent, stopping now and again to bow to Benita. A few minutes later, her father entered, looking very weak and shaken, and supporting himself upon a stick. Happy was the greeting of these two, who, with their arms about each other's neck, gave thanks for their escape from great peril. You see, Benita, we can't get away from this place. Mr Clifford said presently, we must find that gold. Bother the gold, she answered with energy. I hate its very name. Who can think of gold with three thousand Mata Bili waiting to kill us? Somehow I don't feel afraid of them any more, said her father. They have had their chance and lost it, and the Makalanga swear that now they have guns to command the gates. The fortress cannot be stormed. Still, I am afraid of someone. Who? Yakomeya. I have seen him several times, and I think he is going bad. The Molymo said that too, but why? From the look of him, he sits about muttering and glowering with those dark eyes of his, and sometimes groans and sometimes bursts into shouts of laughter. This is when the fit is on him. For generally he seems right enough. But get up, if you think you can, and you should judge for yourself. I don't want to, answered Benita Feebly. Father, I am more afraid of him than ever. Oh, why did you not let me stop down below among the Makalanga, instead of carrying me up here again, where we must live alone with that terrible Jew? I wish, too, dear, but the Molymo said we should be safer above, and ordered his people to carry you up. Also, Yakob swore that unless you were brought back he would kill me. Now you understand why I believe that he is mad. Why? Why? gasped Benita again. God knows, he answered with a groan. But I think that he is sure that we shall never find the gold without you, since the Molymo has told him that it is for you and you alone. And he says the old man has second sight, or something of the sort. Well, he would have murdered me. I saw it in his eye. So I thought it better to give in, rather than that you should be left here sick and alone. Of course, there was one way. And he paused. She looked at him and asked, What way to shoot him before he shot me? He answered in a whisper, For your sake, dear, but I could not bring myself to it. No, she said with a shudder. Not that, not that. Better that we should die, than that his blood should be upon our hands. Now, I will get up and try to show no fear. I'm sure that is best, and perhaps we shall be able to escape somehow. Meanwhile, let us humour him and pretend to go and looking for this horrible treasure. So Benita rose to discover that, save for her stiffness, she was but little the worse, and finding all things placed in readiness, set to work with her father's help to cook the evening meal as usual. Of Mayor, who doubtless had prepared them, she saw nothing. Before nightfall he came, however, as she knew he would. Indeed, although she heard no step and her back was towards him, she felt his presence, the sense of it fell upon her like a cold shadow. Turning round, she beheld the man. He was standing close by, but above her, upon a big granite boulder, in climbing which his soft felt-shones, or hide-shoes, had made no noise, for Mayor could move like a cat. The last rays from the sinking sun struck him full, outlining his agile nervous shape against the sky, and in their intense red light, which flamed upon him, he appeared terrible. He looked like a panther about to spring. His eyes shone like a panther's, and Benita knew that she was the prey whom he desired. Still, remembering her resolution, she determined to show no fear, and addressed him. Good evening, Mr. Mayor. Oh, I am so stiff that I cannot lift my neck to look at you. And she laughed. He bounded softly from the rock, like a panther again, and stood in front of her. You should thank the God you believe in, he said, that by now you are not stiff indeed, all that the jackals have left of you. I do, Mr. Mayor, and I thank you too. It was brave of you to come out to save us. Father, she called, come and tell Mr. Mayor how grateful we are to him. Mr. Clifford hobbled out from his hut under the tree, saying, I have told him already, dear. Yes, answered Jacob, you have told me, if I repeat yourself, I see that supper is ready. Let us eat, for you must be hungry. Afterwards, I have something to tell you. So they ate with no great appetite any of them. Indeed, Mayor touched but little food, though he drank a good deal, first a strong black coffee, and afterwards a square face and water. But on Benita he pressed the choicest mortals that he could find, eyeing her the while, and saying that she must take plenty of nutriment, or her beauty would suffer, and her strength wane. Benita bethought her of the fairytales of her childhood, in which the ogre fed up the princess whom he purposed to devour. You should think of your own strength, Mr. Mayor, she said. You cannot live on coffee and square face. It is all I need tonight. I am astonishingly well since you came back. I can never remember feeling so well or so strong. I can do the work of three men and not be tired. Or this afternoon, for instance, I have been carrying provisions and other things up that steep wall, for we must prepare for a long siege together. Yet I should never know that I had lifted a single basket. But while you were away, ah, then I felt tired. Benita changed the subject, asking him if he had made any discoveries. Not yet, but now that you are back, the discoveries will soon come. Do not be afraid. I have my plan which cannot fail. Also, it was lonely working in that cave without you, so I only looked about a little outside, till it was time to go to Meetoo and shoot some of those matabili. Do you know, I killed seven of them myself. Then I was shooting for your sake I could not miss. And he smiled at her. Benita shrank from him visibly, and Mr. Clifford said in an angry voice, Don't talk of those horrors before my daughter. It is bad enough to have to do such things without speaking about them afterwards. You are right, he replied reflectively, and I apologise, though personally I never enjoyed anything so much as shooting those matabili. Well, they are gone, and there are plenty more outside. Listen, they are singing their evening hymn. And with his long finger, he beat time to the volleying notes of the dreadful matabili war chant which floated up from the plain below. It sounds quite religious, doesn't it? Only the words? No, I will not translate them. In our circumstances, they are too personal. Now, I have something to say to you. It was unkind of you to run away and leave me like that. Not honourable either. Indeed, he added, with a sudden outbreak of the panther ferocity. Had you alone been concerned, Clifford, I tell you frankly that when we met again, I should have shot you. Traitors deserve to be shot, don't they? Please stop talking to my father like that, broke in Benita, in a stern voice, for her anger had overcome her fear. Also, it is I whom you should blame. It is a pleasure to obey you, he answered, bowing. I will never mention the subject any more. Nor do I blame you, who could? Not Jacob Mayor. I quite understand that you found it very dull up here, and ladies must be allowed their fancies. Also, you have come back, so why talk of the matter? But listen, on the one point I have made up my mind. For your own sake you shall not go away any more until we leave this together. When I had finished carrying up the food, I made sure of that. If you go to look tomorrow morning, you will find that no one can come up that wall, and what is more, no one can go down it. Moreover, I may be quite certain, in future, I shall sleep near the stair myself. Benita and her father stared at each other. The mollibo has a right to come, she said. It is his sanctuary. Then he must celebrate his worship down below for a little while. The old fool pretends to know everything, but he never guessed what I was going to do. Besides, we don't want him breaking in upon our privacy, do we? He might seize a gold when we find it, and rob us of it afterwards.