Текст книги "Men of Men"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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They broke and fled, leaving four of their number writhing and twisting on the pathway.

Bazo glanced behind him. None of his Matabele had reached the head of the ladder yet. He looked back up the pathway and saw that the real men were coming.

These would be the picked warriors, the best spearmen , there was no mistaking their superiority over the rabble that Bazo had just scattered; they were bigger and more powerful in body, their expressions grim and determined, and their formation ordered and controlled.

They came down in massed ranks to where Bazo stood, their shields raised, their spears poised, and at their head danced a skinny wizened old man with a face ravaged by some terrible disease, his nose and ears rotted away and his cheeks and forehead covered with silver white blotches.

He was hung about the waist and neck with the accoutrements of his magical trade, and he shrieked and gibbered like an enraged ape.

"Kill the Matabele dog."

Bazo was naked, without a shield, but he hefted the assegai and stood to meet them and their horrid master and he laughed again, the wild joyous laughter of a man who was living a lifetime in his last few seconds.

"Bazo!" The cry reached him, even through his rage, and he turned.

Zama had crawled onto the platform, blown from that long scrambling climb up the swinging twisted ladder.

He rose on his knees and sent the great dappled shield skimming across the platform. Like a falcon coming to bate it settled on Bazo's shoulder, and Bazo laughed and went springing forward.

His assegai drove through the wizard's rotting flesh as though it were soft as a boiled yam, and Pemba screeched one last time.

"Bazo, wait! Leave some of them for us!" The shouts of his fifty Matabele behind him, as they scrambled onto the platform, and then Zama's muscled shoulder was touching his as they locked shields and swept the pathway, the way the flash floods of summer scour the dry riverbeds.

It was a beautiful stabbing, a glory which men would sing about. The assegais seemed to hold their keen edge no matter how often they were buried and the spear arms never tired despite the heavy work. The line of Matabele swept the hilltop from end to end, roaring their frustration when the last of Pemba's men threw down their spears and leapt out over the cliff, grudging them that easy death for the assegais were still thirsty and the madness was still on them.

Then they turned and went back through the village, ransacking the huts, throwing a toddling infant high and catching it on the point as it fell, or sending the steel full length out between the withered dugs of some scurrying crone, for the divine madness does not pass swiftly.

With his shoulder, Bazo smashed open another hut, and Zama leaped in at his side, both of them were painted from throat to knee with red running crimson, their contorted faces hideous, blood-glutted masks. Someone tried to escape from the dark interior of the hut.

"Mine!" roared Zama and sped his long steel, and the low early sun struck a ray through the open doorway, sparkling on Zama's assegai and falling in the same instant on the huge slanted terrified eyes and high Egyptian cheekbones of the girl he was killing.

Zama's steel clashed against Bazo's great shield and was deflected past the girl's cheek by the width of a finger, so that the stroke died in the air. Before Zama could strike again Bazo stood over the girl, spreading the shield over her the way a heron covers its chick with a wing, and he snarled at Zama like a leopard whose cub is menaced.

After the first weary day of the return march, while the long file of roped captives was settling exhausted and miserable beneath the grove of msasa trees, Bazo strode down the line and stopped beside the girl.

"You!"he said, and with a careless stroke of his assegai severed the thong at her neck. "Cook my meal!"

While she worked over the fire, Bazo joked loudly with Zama and his men, trying to prevent his eyes from straying from their faces. He ate what she cooked without showing either pleasure or displeasure, while she knelt at a respectful distance and watched every mouthful he took.

Then suddenly when he had finished eating, she came gliding to his side with that disconcerting silent grace, and she lifted the bunch of wilted leaves from the swollen and crusted spear wound in Bazo's flank.

It was an impertinence, and he lifted his hand to strike her, and then let the hand fall. She had not flinched and her manner was assured and competent.

She cleaned the wound with deft fingers and then she unstoppered two of the little buck-horn containers that she wore on her belt and with the powder they contained made a poultice. It burned like fire for a few seconds, but then felt much easier.

Bazo made no acknowledgement, but when one of his Matabele came to rope her back with the other captives, Bazo frowned, and the man passed her by.

When Bazo lay on his sleeping-mat, she curled like a puppy at his feet. He was ready for her to try to escape once the camp settled, but after midnight she had not stirred and he fell asleep.

In the hour before dawn when he rose to check the sentries, there was frost on the grass, and he heard the girl's teeth chattering softly. He dropped his fur regimental cloak over her as he passed and she cuddled down into it quickly.

When he called for the day's march to begin, she had his bedding roll and cooking-pot balanced on her head, and a dozen times during the march, Bazo had to go back along the winding column for no reason that he could explain to Zama, and each time his steps slowed as he came up behind the girl, and he watched the play of muscle down her back, the roll of her plump black buttocks and the joggle of her glossy sable breasts. But when she turned her head and smiled shyly at him, his hauteur was frosty and he stalked back to the head of the column.

That night he permitted himself a nod of approval at the first taste of her cooking, and when she dressed the wound, he said, "The heat has gone from it."

She did not lift her eyes.

"Who taught you this skill" he insisted.

"Pemba, the wizard," she whispered.

"Why?"

"I was his apprentice."

"Why you?"

"I have the gift."

"So then, little witch, make me an oracle," Bazo laughed, and she lifted her head and he looked into those disconcerting slanted tar-bright eyes.

"Do not scoff, lord."

INKOSI, lord," she called him, but Bazo stopped laughing, and felt the spirits tickle the hair at the nape of his neck. That night, when he heard her shiver, he opened a fold of his kaross and she crept into it.

Bazo feigned sleep, but his body was tense and he was aware of each tiny movement that the girl made as she settled to sleep. It would have been so easy to reach out and hold her down with his arm across her chest while he forced his knee between hers. The thought made him twitch and grunt.

"Lord?" she whispered. "Something troubles you."

"What is your name?" he asked, for want of a reply, and found that he was whispering also.

"Tanase."

He measured it on his tongue, and it fitted "Tanase." well enough, although he recognized it was a Rozwl name, one of the splinter tribes of the Mashona, and he did not know the meaning.

"I know your name, everyone speaks it with respect," she said. "Bazo, the Axe."

"I killed your master, Pemba. I struck him down with my own hand." He did not know what compelled him to say that.

"I know," she whispered.

"Do you hate me for that, little witch?"

"I praise you for that!" Her voice shook with quiet vehemence, and her hip touched his under the kaross.

"Praise? Did you not love Pemba as a dog loves its master?"

"I hated him, and when I foresaw his death in the magic calabash, I was filled with joy."

"You saw his death?"

"I saw his death, as I saw your face, long before you came to take me."

Bazo shuddered involuntarily, and she felt it.

"You are cold, lord." She pressed a little closer to him.

Her flesh was hot and soft, he felt his own flesh respond to its touch.

"Why did you hate Pemba?"

"He was evil beyond the telling. The things he forced me to do I will never forget., "He used your body?" There was a rough edge to Bazo's question.

"Not even Pemba would dare tamper with the body of one of the chosen ones, for to tear the veil of maidenhood is to destroy the gift."

"The gift?"

"The gift of foresight which the likes of Pemba value 4 so highly., "What then did he force upon you?"

"Dark things, midnight things, torture not of the body but of the spirit."

Now it was her turn to shudder, and she turned towards him and clung to his broad smooth chest, hiding her face against it so that her voice was muffled and he could hardly catch her next words.

"I did not wish to be chosen, I hate and fear what still lies ahead of me if I follow that road."

"Pemba is dead."

"You do not understand. Pemba was but a little wizard already he had taught me almost all he knew. Then I would have been called by the one whose name I dare not speak aloud. That call will still come, and I shall not be able to deny it."

"You are under my protection."

"There is only one way you can protect me, Bazo Lord."

"How?"

"Make me worthless to them. Destroy this gift which is such a terrible burden."

"How?"

"As you destroyed Pemba with the stabbing spear of steel, destroy it with your great spear of flesh, tear my veil and let this thing pass from me."

she felt him, hot and fierce, pressing against her, and her body seemed to melt and become pliant and yielding.

"Ah yes, Lord. Make me as other women, so that I may feel your noble belly on mine in the nights, that I may feel your son kick in my womb and tug at my breast when I give him suck., "All these things you will have, Tanase." Bazo's voice was hoarse with his wanting. "When we reach Gubulawayo the king will reward me, and give me leave to go in to the women, and take a wife."

Lord, it is dangerous to wait."

"i will not rut on you like a slave girl. You will be the first and senior of all my wives."

"Lord,"

"Enough, Tanase, tempt me no further, for what you feel, hard though it may be, is not stone but flesh only."

INKOSI, you do not know the power of the wizards.

Save me from them."

"I know the law and custom of Matabele, and that is all a man should know and heed."

Bazo's scout came in at a dead run, the sweat snaking down his back and chest, and he shouted his report the moment he came up to the head of the column.

Bazo whirled and barked three sharp orders. Immediately the column closed up, and the captives were forced to squat with a dozen warriors standing guard over them.

The rest of the Matabele formed up behind Bazo and he led them away at that gait between a trot and a ran which lifted the dust to their knees.

Bazo picked his ambush with an unerring eye. He chose a place where broken ground and thick bush allowed only one passage through, and the single horseman rode into it. The long shields were suddenly all around him, fencing him in as his dun-coloured pony snorted and skittered.

The rifle was half-way drawn from the leather boot at the horseman's knee when Bazo stopped him with a shout.

"Too late for that. You were dead, and the jackals feasting already. You grow careless, despite all that I taught you, Henshaw."

Ralph let the rifle slide back into its scabbard, and he threw up his hands, pleasure and chagrin warnng on his face.

"Shake any tree and a Matabele falls out of it., His voice was mock-mournful, and he swung down off Tom's sturdy back and strode to meet Bazo.

"I expected to see the induna's ring on your forehead already, oh mighty slayer of Mashona," he laughed as they embraced.

"Soon, Little Hawk, very soon. But you, I thought your wagon would be heavy with ivory "Done, Little Axe, already done." Ralph stepped back and looked at him. In the months since they had parted, both men had changed.

In Bazo there remained no trace of the young trim labourer who had worked his shifts in the pit and eaten Zouga Ballantyne's rations. Here was a warrior and a prince, tall and plumed and proud.

Ralph was no longer the callow lad, his every action ordered by his father. Instead he was a grown man, with a jaunty lift to his chin and a self-assured set to his shoulder. Yet though his clothes were travel-worn an stained the training of Zouga Ballantyne still showed, for they were recently washed and his jaws had been clean shaven that very morning. They looked at each other and the affection between them was tempered and hardened with respect.

"I shot a young buffalo cow, not two hours ago."

"Yes," Bazo nodded. "It was the shot which brought us."

"Then I am glad of it. The buffalo meat is fat, and there is enough even for a hungry Matabele."

Bazo glanced at the sun. "Though I am in haste, on the king's business, my prisoners are in need of rest. We will help you eat your buffalo, Henshaw, but in the dawn we will go on."

"Then there is much to talk about, and little time to do so."

There was the pop of a trek-whip, and Bazo glanced beyond Ralph's shoulder to see the oxen come plodding between the trees and the wagon lurching and wallowing behind them.

"You still keep bad company,"Bazo scolded with a grin as he recognized Umfaan at the head of the span and Isazi, the little Zulu, on the flank, "but the load you carry is welcome."

From the wagon box hung the raw quarters and shoulders of the freshly-butchered buffalo carcass.

"We have not tasted fresh meat since we left the king's kraal."

Ralph and Bazo sat at a separate fire apart from their retinues, where they could talk freely.

"The king agreed to buy the guns and bottles that I carried up from Kimberley," Ralph told Bazo, "and he paid me generously., He did not go on to describe to Bazo the currency in which he had been paid. He did not describe his own astonishment when Lobengula had offered him an uncut diamond, a big bright first-water stone.

His surprise had immediately been tempered by conscience; he had no doubts about where that stone had come from. His conscience lasted about as long as his surprise, and he haggled with gusto, forcing up the price to six stones, which he had picked with an eye trained by many years on the diggings. He knew they would be worth 10,000 pounds when he got them back to civilization.

Thus in a single stroke he had paid for the wagon and team, his entire debt to Diamond Lil, interest and all and was already many thousands of pounds in profit.

"Then I asked Lobengula to let me hunt elephant, and he laughed and said I was too young and that the elephant would eat me up. He kept me waiting outside his kraal for ten days."

"If he kept you such a short time, then you have found favour with the king," Bazo interrupted. "Some white men have waited from the beginning of the dry season to the middle of the wet, merely for permission to take the road out of Matabeleland."

"Ten days was long enough for me," Ralph granted.

"But when I asked him in which part of his lands I was allowed to hunt, he laughed again and said, "The elephant will be in so little danger from you, Little Hawk, that you may go where you wish, and kill as many as are stupid or lame enough to let you."

Bazo chuckled delightedly. "And how many lame stupid elephant have you found so far, Henshaw?"

"I have fifty good tusks in the wagon already., "Fifty!" Bazo's chuckles died and he stared at Ralph in amazement; then he stood up and crossed to the wagon.

He untied one of the straps and lifted the canvas cover to peer in at the load, while Isazi looked up from his cooking fire, frowned and called to Ralph.

"This boy's great-grandfather, Mashobane, was a thief, his grandfather, Mzilikazi was a traitor, you have every reason to trust him with our ivory, Henshaw."

Bazo did not look at him, but glanced up into the trees.

"The monkeys hereabout make a frightful chatter," he murmured, and then came back to Ralph.

"Fine tusks!" he admitted. "Like the ones the hunters took when I was still a child."

Ralph did not tell him that most of those in the wagon were taken even before that time. He had discovered all but two of the caches that his father had bequeathed to him.

The ivory had dried out, lost almost a quarter of its green weight; but most of it was still in good condition, and would fetch the market price once he got it to the railhead.

Though Ralph had hunted diligently for his own elephant whilst he sought out Zouga's ancient dumps, he had had little success. He had killed five, only one of which was a bull and whose green tusks had weighed just over sixty pounds. The others had been small female barely worth taking.

ivory The great herds that Zouga had described in A Hunter's Odyssey no longer existed. Since those days there had been many hunters, some of them inspired by Zouga's own writing. Boer and Briton, Hottentot and German, they had hunted and harried the huge grey beasts and left their white bones piled on the veld and in the forest.

"Yes, they are good tusks," Ralph nodded. "And my wagon is heavy laden now. I am on the road back to the king's kraal to ask him for permission to leave Matabeleland and go back to Kimberley."

"Then when you have gone, we will see you no more," Bazo said quietly. "You will be like the other white men who come to Matabeleland. You will take what you want, and never come back."

Ralph laughed. "No, old friend, I will be back. I do not have everything I wish, not yet. I will come back with more wagons, perhaps six wagons, all loaded with trade goods. I will set up trading posts from the Shashi river to the Zambezi., "You will be a rich man, Henshaw. I am sure of it," Bazo agreed. "But rich men are not always happy men.

This I have remarked often. Is there nothing else in Matabeleland for you but ivory and gold and diamonds?"

Ralph's expression changed. "How did you know that?"

he demanded.

"I asked, I did not know," Bazo denied, still smiling.

Though I do not have to throw the bones or look in the magic calabash to know it is a woman, you have suddenly the look of a dog that smells the bitch. Tell me, Henshaw, who is she and when will you take her to wife?" Then he laughed aloud. "You have not yet asked her father? Or you have asked and he has refused?"

"It is not a matter for laughter," Ralph said stiffly, and with an effort Bazo wiped the mirth from his face, though it twinkled still in his eyes.

"Forgive one who loves you as a brother, I did not know it was such a heavy matter." And at last he managed to match Ralph's portentous expression, while he waited for him to speak again.

"Once, long ago, while we rode up in the skip, you spoke of a woman with hair as white and fine as the winter grass," Ralph said at last, and Bazo nodded.

"It is she, Bazo. I have found her."

"She wants you as much as you want her?" Bazo said firmly. "If she does not, then she is so stupid that she does not deserve you."

"i haven't asked her yet," Ralph admitted.

"Do not ask her, tell her, and then ask her father. Show the father your tusks of ivory; that will settle the matter."

"You are right, Bazo," Ralph looked dubious. "It will be that simple." And then softly in English, so that Bazo could not understand. "God knows what I shall do if it is not. I don't think I can live without her."

If he did not follow the words, Bazo understood the sense and the mood. He sighed, and his eyes strayed to Tanase at the cooking fire.

"They are so soft and weak, but they wound more deeply than the sharpest steel."

Ralph followed his eyes, and then suddenly his own expression cleared and it was his turn to guffaw and reach across to slap Bazo's shoulder.

"Now I recognize the look you spoke of earlier, the dog with the smell of the bitch in his nostrils."

"It is not a matter for laughter," said Bazo, haughtily, Long after the last gnawed buffalo bone was thrown upon the fire and the last beer pot emptied; long after the Matabele warriors had tired of singing the song of Pemba, the ode to their own prowess and courage on the hill of the wizard, and rolled into their sleeping karosses; long after the last captive girl had ceased wailing, Bazo and Ralph sat on beside their own fire, and the drone of their voices and the munch of the oxen chewing the cud were the only sounds in the camp.

It was as though every last moment was precious to them for both sensed that when they met again they would be changed, and perhaps the world with them.

They relived their youth, remembering Scipio, the falcon, and Inkosikazi, the great spider; they smiled at the stinging mewary of the fighting sticks, and Bakela's wrath when Bazo gave him the shattered diamond; they talked of Jordan and Jan Cheroot and Kamuza and all the others, until at last reluctantly Bazo rose.

"I will be gone before the sun, Henshaw," he said.

"Go in peace, Bazo, and enjoy the honours that await you and the woman you have won."

When Bazo reached his sleeping-mat, the girl was already wrapped in his kaross.

As soon as Bazo lay down beside her, she reached for him. She was as hot as though she was in high fever her body burning and her skin dry. Silent sobs racked her and her grip was fierce.

"What is it, Tanase?" He was shocked and alarmed.

"A vision. A terrible vision."

"A dream." He was relieved. "It was only a dream., "It was a vision," she denied. "Oh, Bazo, will you not take this terrible gift from me, before it destroys us both."

He held her and could not answer her; her distress moved him deeply, but he was helpless to alleviate it.

After a while she was quiet, and he thought that she slept, but then she suddenly whispered.

"It was a terrible vision, Bazo Lord, and it will haunt me unto my grave., He did not answer, but he felt the superstitious chill in his guts.

"I saw you high upon a tree-" She broke off, and another single sob hit her like a blow. "The white man, the one you call Henshaw, the Hawk, do not trust him."

"He is as my brother, and like a brother I love him., "Then why did he not weep, Bazo, why did he not weep when he looked up at you upon the tree?"

Salina Codrington rolled out her pastry with long and expert strokes of the pin. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled high and she was floury to the elbows. Little blobs of pastry stuck to her hands and fingers.

The thatched ceiling of the kitchen at Khami Mission Station was sooty from the open iron stove, and the smell of the dough was yeasty and warm.

A single skein of white-gold hair had escaped the ribbon and now tickled her nose and chin. Salina pursed her lips and blew it away; it floated like gossamer and then gently settled across her face again, but she did not change the rhythm of the rolling-pin.

Ralph thought that little gesture the most poignant he had ever witnessed, but then everything she did fascinated him, even the way she cocked her head and smiled at him as he slouched against the jamb of the kitchen door.

Her smile was so gentle, so unaffected, that his chest squeezed again, and his voice sounded choked in his own ears.

"I am leaving tomorrow."

"Yes," Salina nodded. "We shall all miss you dreadfully."

"This is the first chance I have had to speak to you alone, without the monsters "Oh Ralph, that's an unkind, if totally accurate, description of my darling sisters." Her laughter had a surprising timbre and depth to it. "If you wanted to speak to me, you should have asked."

"I'm asking now, Salina."

"And we are alone."

"Will you not stop still for a moment."

"The baking will spoil, but I can listen well enough while I work."

Ralph shifted his feet, and hunched his shoulders uncertainly. It was not as he had planned it. It was going to be a feat of timing and dexterity to sweep her up in arms all covered with flour and dough and with a heavy rolling-pin clutched in her hands.

"Salina, you are the most beautiful girl, woman, I mean, lady, that I have ever seen."

"That's kind, but untrue, Ralph. I do have a mirror, you know."

"It's true, I swear-' "Please don't swear, Ralph. In any event, there are much more important things in life than physical beauty kindness, and goodness and understanding for instance.

"Oh yes, and you have all those."

Suddenly Salina stopped in mid stroke, and she stared at him with an expression of dawning consternation.

"Ralph," she whispered. "Cousin Ralph "COUSIN I may be," he was stammering slightly in his rush to have it all said, "but I love you, Salina, I loved you from the first moment I saw you at the river.

"Oh Ralph, my poor dear Ralph." Consternation was mingled now with compassion.

"I would never have spoken, not before, but now, after this expedition I have some substance. I will be able to pay off my debts, and when I come back I will have my own wagons. I am not yet rich, but I will be., "If only I had known. Oh Ralph, if only I had suspected, I would have been able to But he was gabbling it out now.

"I love you, Salina, oh how dearly I love you, and I want you to marry me."

She came to him then, and her eyes filled with blue tears that trembled on her lower lids.

"Oh dear Ralph. I am so sorry. I would have given anything to save you from hurt. If only I had known."

He stopped then, bewildered. "You will not, does that mean you will not marry me?" The bewilderment faded, and his jaw thrust out and his mouth hardened. "But why not, I will give you everything, I will cherish and "Ralph." She touched his lips, and left a little dab of flour upon them. "Hush, Ralph, hush."

"But, Salina, I love you! Don't you understand?"

"Yes, I do. But, dear Ralph, I don't love you!"

Cathy and the twins went as far as the river with Ralph. Vicky and Lizzie rode, two up, on Tom's back.

They rode astride, with their skirts up around their thighs, and squealed with delight every few seconds, until Ralph thought his eardrums would split, and he scowled moodily ahead, not replying to Cathy's questions and comments as she skipped along beside him, until the spring went out of her step and she, too, fell silent.

The bank of the Khami river was where they would part. All of them knew that, without speaking about it.

And when they reached it Isazi had already taken the wagon through the drift. The ironshod wheels had left deep scars in the far bank. He would be an hour or so ahead. They stopped on the near bank and now even the twins were silent. Ralph looked back along the track, lifting his hat and shading his eyes with the brim against the early sunlight.

"Salina isn't coming then?" he said flatly.

"She's got a belly ache," said Vicky. "She told me so." If you ask me, it's more like the curse of Eve," said Lizzie airily.

"That's rude," Cathy said. "And only silly little girls talk about things they don't understand."

Lizzie looked chastened, and Vicky assumed a virtuous air of innocence.

"Now both of you say goodbye to Cousin Ralph."

"I love you, Cousin Ralph," said Vicky, and had to be prised off him like a leach.

"i love you, Cousin Ralph."

Lizzie had counted the kisses that Vicky had bestowed on him, and she went for a new world record, a noble attempt, but frustrated by Cathy.

"Now, scat," Cathy told them. "Go, both of you., "Cathy is crying," said Lizzie, and both twins were immediately entranced.

"I am not," said Cathy furiously.

"Oh yes, you are" said Vicky.

"I have something in my eye."

"Both eyes?" asked Lizzie sceptically.

"I warn you," Cathy told them. They knew that expression of old, and reluctantly they retired just out of range. Cathy turned her back to them so they missed half of what followed.

"They are right." Her whisper was blurred as her eyes. "I am crying, Ralph. I hate so to see you go."

Ralph had not truly looked at her, not ever, his eyes had been for Salina alone, but now her frank admission touched him and he saw her for the first time.

He had thought her a child, but he had been wrong, he realized suddenly. It was the thick dark eyebrows and the firm chin that gave strength to her face, so that he sensed that anything that made her cry was deeply felt.

Surely she had not been so tall when first he met her almost a year before. Now the top of her head reached his chin.

The freckles on her cheeks kept her young, but her nose was set in the shape of maturity and the gaze of her green eyes below the arched brows, though flooded now with tears, was too wise and steady for childhood.

She still wore the muddy green dress of sewn flour sacks, but its fit had altered. Now it was baggy at the waist, while at the same time it was too tight across her chest. Yet it could not suppress the thrust of young firm breasts, and the seams strained across hips that he remembered being as narrow and bony as a boy's.

"You will come back, Ralph? Unless you promise, I cannot let you go."

"i promise," he said, and suddenly the pain of rejection by Salina, which he had thought might destroy him, was just supportable.

"i will pray for you each day until you do," Cathy said, and came to kiss him. She no longer felt skinny and awkward in his arms, and Ralph was suddenly very aware of the softness of her against his chest, and lower.

Her mouth had a taste like chewing a stalk of green spring grass. Her lips formed a pillow for his. He had no burning desire to break the embrace, and Cathy also seemed content to let it persist. The pain of unrequited love ebbed a little more to be replaced by a warm and comforting sensation, a most pleasant glow, until with a shock Ralph realized two things.

Firstly, the twins were an avid audience, their eyes enormous and their grins impudent. Secondly, that the pleasant glow which had suffused him had its source considerably lower than his broken heart, and was accompanied by more tangible changes that must soon become apparent to the fresh young innocent in his arms.

He almost shoved her away, and vaulted up onto Tom's back with unnecessary violence. However, when he looked down at Cathy again, the tide of green tears in her eyes had receded and been replaced by a look of satisfaction, a knowingness that proved beyond doubt what he had just come to realize, that she was no longer a child.

"How long?" she asked.