Текст книги "Birds of Prey"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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Every man still aboard her was crowded along the near rail, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the duel. Even the lookout at her main top had trained his telescope on the beach. Not one was aware of the boats that were speeding out from among the mangroves on the far shore. He recognized Sam Bowles in the leading boat, as it raced in under the Golden Bough's tumble home and was hidden from his view by the ship's hull. Sweet Mary, Sam will take her without a shot fired! Cumbrae thought exultantly, and looked back at the arena.

"You have had your turn, sir," said Schreuder quietly. "Now it is mine. On guard, if you please. "With three swift strides he had covered the gap that separated them. The younger man met his first thrust, and then the second with a high parry and block, but the Neptune blade was swift and elusive as an enraged cobra. It seemed to mesmerize him with its deadly shining dance and, darting and striking, slowly forced him to yield ground. Each time he parried and retreated, he lost position and balance.

Then suddenly Schreuder executed a coup that few swordsmen would dare attempt outside the practice field.

He caught up both blades in the classical prolonged engagement, swirling the two swords together so that the steel edges shrilled with a sound that grated across the nerve endings of the watchers. Once committed neither man dared break off the engagement, for to do so was to concede an opening. Around in a deadly glittering circle the two swords revolved. It became a trial of strength and endurance. Vincent's arm turned leaden and the sweat dripped from his chin. His eyes were desperate and his wrist began to tremble and bend under the strain.

Then Schreuder froze the fatal circle. He did not break away but simply clamped Vincent's sword in a vice of steel. It was a display of such strength and control that even Cumbrae gaped with amazement.

For a moment the duel lists remained unmoving, then slowly Schreuder began to force both points upward, until they were aimed skywards at full stretch of their arms. Vincent was helpless. He tried to hold the other blade but his arm began to shudder and his muscles quivered. He bit down on his own tongue with the effort until a spot of blood appeared at the -corner of his mouth.

It could not last longer, and Llewellyn cried out in despair as he saw that the young man had reached the furthest limits of his strength and endurance. "Hold hard, Vincent!"" It was in vain. Vincent broke. He disengaged with his right arm at full reach above his head, and his chest wide open.

"Ha!" shouted Schreuder, and his thrust was a blur, fast as the release of a bolt from a crossbow. He drove in his point an inch below Vincent's sternum, clear through his body and a foot out of his back. For a long moment Vincent froze like a figure carved from a block of marble. Then his legs melted under him and he toppled into the sand.

"Murder!" cried Llewellyn. He sprang into the square and knelt beside the dying youth. He took him in his arms, and looked up again at Schreuder. "Bloody murder!" he cried again.

"I must take that as a request." Cumbrae smiled and came up behind the kneeling man. "And I am happy to oblige you, cousin!" he said, and brought the wheel-lock pistol out from behind his back. He thrust the muzzle into the back of Llewellyn's head and pulled the trigger. There was a bright flare of sparks and then the pistol roared and leaped in the Buzzard's fist. At such close range the load of lead pellets drove clean through Llewellyn's skull and blew half of his face away in red tatters. He flopped forwards with Vincent's body still in his arms.

The Buzzard looked around quickly, and saw that from the dark grove the red rocket was already soaring upwards, leaving a parabola of silver smoke arched against the fragile blue of the early-morning sky, the signal to Sam Bowles and his boarding party to storm the decks of the Golden Bough.

Meanwhile, above the beach, the gunners hidden among the trees were dragging away the branches that covered their culver ins The Buzzard had sited the battery himself and laid them to cover all the far side of the square where the seamen from the Golden Bough stood in a row four deep. The culver ins enfiladed the group, and each was loaded with a full charge of grape shot.

Even though they were unaware of the hidden battery, the seamen "from the Golden Bough were swiftly recovering from the shock of seeing their officers slaughtered before their horrified gaze. A hum of fury and wild cries of outrage went up from their midst, but there was no officer to give the order, and though they drew their cutlasses, yet instinctively they hesitated and hung back.

The Buzzard seized Colonel Schreuder's free arm and grated in his ear. "Come on! Hurry! Clear the range." He dragged him from the roped ring. ""By God, sir, you have murdered Llewellyn!" Schreuder protested. He was stunned by the act. "He was unarmed! Defenceless!"

"We will debate the niceties of it later," Cumbrae promised, and stuck out one booted foot, hooking Schreuder's ankle at the same time shoving him forward. The two men sprawled headlong into the shallow trench in the sand that Cumbrae had dug specially for this purpose, just as the seamen from the Golden Bough burst through the ropes of the ring behind them.

"What are you doing?" Schreuder bellowed. "Release me at once."

"I am saving your life, you blethering idiot," Cumbrae shouted in his ear, and held his head down below the lip of the trench as the first salvo of grape shot thundered from out of the grove and swept the beach.

The Buzzard had calculated the range with care so that the pattern of shot spread to its most deadly arc. It caught the phalanx of sailors squarely, raked the sand of the beach into a blinding white storm, and went on to tear across the surface of the quiet lagoon waters like a gate. Most of the Golden Bough's men were struck down instantly, but a few stayed on their feet, bewildered and stunned, staggering like drunkards from their wounds and from the turmoil of grape shot and the blast of disrupted air.

Cumbrae seized his claymore from the bottom of the pit, where he had buried it under a light coating of sand, and leaped to his feet. He rushed on these few survivors, the great sword gripped in both hands. He struck the head clean from the torso of the first man in his path, just as his own sailors came charging out of the gunsmoke, yelling like demons and brandishing their cutlasses.

They fell upon the decimated shore party and hacked them down, even when Cumbrae bellowed, "Enough! Give quarter to those who yield!"

They took no heed of his order, and swung the cutlasses until the brown blood drops wet them to the elbows and speckled their grinning faces. Cumbrae had to lay about him with his fists and the flat of his sword.

"Avast! We need men to sail the Golden Bough. Spare me a dozen, you bloody ruffians." They gave him less than he demanded. When the carnage was over there were only nine, trussed ankle and wrist and lying belly down in the sand like porkers in the marketplace.

"This way!" the Buzzard bellowed again, and led his crew sprinting down the beach to where the longboats from the Golden Bough were drawn up. They piled into them and seized the oars. With Cumbrae roaring in the bows like a wounded animal they pulled for the Golden Bough, hooked onto her sides and went swarming up onto her deck with cutlass bared and pistols cocked.

There, help was not needed. Sam Bowles's men had taken the Golden Bough by surprise and storm. The deck was slippery with blood and corpses were strewn across it and huddled in the scuppers. Under the forecastle a small band of Llewellyn's men were hanging on desperately, surrounded by Sam's gang of boarders, but when they saw the Buzzard and his gang storm up onto the deck they threw down their cutlasses. Those few who could swim raced to the ship's side and dived into the lagoon while the others fell to their knees and pleaded for quarter.

"Spare them, Mister Bowles," Cumbrae shouted. "I need sailors!" He did not wait to see the order obeyed but snatched a musket from the hands of the man beside him and ran to the rail. The escaping sailors were splashing their way towards the mangrove trees. He took careful aim at the head of one, whose pink scalp showed through his wet grey hair. It was a lucky shot, and the man threw up both hands and sank, leaving a pink stain on the surface. The men around Cumbrae hooted with glee and joined in the sport, calling their targets and laying wagers on their marksmanship. "Who'll give me fives in shillings on that rogue with the blond pigtail?" They shot the swimming men like wounded ducks.

Sam Bowles came grinning and bobbing to meet Cumbrae. "The ship is yours, your grace."

"Well done, Mister Bowles." Cumbrae gave him such a hearty blow of commendation as to knock him almost off his feet. "There will be some hiding below decks. Winkle them out! Try to take them alive. Put a boat in the water and drag those out also!" He pointed at the few survivors still splashing and swimming towards the mangroves. "I am going down to Llewellyn's cabin to find the ship's papers. Call me when you have all the prisoners trussed up in the waist of the ship."

He kicked open the locked door to Llewellyn's cabin, and paused to survey the interior. It was beautifully appointed, the furniture carved and polished and the drapery of fine velvet.

In the writing desk he found the keys to the iron strongbox that was bolted to the deck below the comfortable bunk. As soon as he opened it he recognized the purse he had given Llewellyn. "I am much obliged to you, Christopher. You'll not be needing this where you're going," he murmured as he slipped it into his pocket. Under it was a second purse, which he carried to the desk. He spilled the golden coins out onto the tabletop. "Two hundred and sixteen pounds five shillings and twopence," he counted. "This will be the money for the running of the ship. Very parsimonious, but I am grateful for any contribution."

Then his eyes lit on a small wooden chest in the bottom of the box. He lifted it out and inspected the name carved into the lid. "The Hon. Vincent Winterton." The chest was locked but it yielded readily to the blade of his dirk. He smiled as he saw what it contained, and let a handful of coins run through his fingers. "No doubt the gambling losses of the good. Colonel Schreuder are in here but he need never be tempted to wager them again. I will take care of them for him."

He poured a mug of French brandy from the captain's stores and seated himself at the desk while he ran through the ship's books and documents. The log-book would make interesting reading at a later date. He set it aside. He glanced through a letter of partnership agreement with Lord Winterton who, it seemed, owned the Golden Bough. "No longer, your lordship." He grinned. "I regret to inform you that she is all mine now."

The cargo manifest was disappointing. The Golden Bough was carrying mostly cheap trade goods, knives and axes, cloth, beads and copper rings. However, there were also five hundred muskets and a goodly store of black, powder in her holds.

"Och! So you were going to do a spot of gun smuggling. Shame on you, my dear Christopher." He tutted disapprovingly. "I'll have to find something better to fill her holds on the return voyage," he promised himself, and took a pull at the brandy.

He went on sorting through the other documents. There was a second letter from Winterton, agreeing to the Golden Bough's commission as a warship in the service of the Prester John, and a flowery letter of introduction to him signed by the Chancellor of England, the Earl of Clarendon, under the Great Seal, commending Christopher Llewellyn to the ruler of Ethiopia in the highest terms.

"Ah! That is of more value. With some small alteration to the name, even I would fall for that!" He folded it carefully and replaced the chest, the purses, the books and documents in the strong-box, and hung the key on a ribbon around his neck. While he finished the rest of the brandy he considered the courses of action that were now open to him.

This war in the Great Horn intrigued him. Soon the south-east trade winds would begin to blow across the Ocean of the Indies. On their benevolent wings the Great Mogul would be sending his dhows laden with troops and treasure from his empire on the mainland of India and Further India to his entre pets on the African coast. There would also be the annual pilgrimage of the faithful of Islam taking advantage of the same fair wind to sail up the Arabian Sea on their journey to the birthplace of the Prophet of God. Potentates and princes, ministers of state and rich merchants from every corner of the Orient, they would carry with them such riches as he could only guess at, to lay as offerings in the holy mosques and temples of Mecca and Medina.

Cumbrae allowed himself a few minutes to dream of pigeon's-blood rubies and cornflower sapphires the size of his fist, and elephant-loads of silver and gold bullion. "With the Gull and the Golden Bough sailing together, there ain't no black heathen prince who will be able to deny me. I will fill my holds with the best of it. Franky Courtney's miserly little treasure pales beside such abundance," he consoled himself. It still rankled sorely that he had not been able to find Franky's hiding place, and he scowled. "When I sail from this lagoon, I will leave the bones of Jiri and those other lying blackamoors as signposts to mark my passing, "he promised himself.

Sam Bowles interrupted his thoughts by sticking his head into the cabin. "Begging your pardon, your grace, we've rounded up all the prisoners. It was a clean sweep. Not one of them got away."

The Buzzard heaved himself to his feet, glad to have a distraction from these niggling regrets. "Let's see what you've got for me, then."

The prisoners were bound and squatting in three files in the ship's waist. "Forty-two hardened salt-water men," said Sam proudly, "sound in wind and limb."

"None of them wounded?" the Buzzard asked incredulously.

Sam answered in a whisper, "I knew you wouldn't want to be bothered to play nursemaid to such. We held their heads under water to help them on their way into the bosom of Jesus. For most of them it was a mercy."

"I'm amazed at your compassion, Mister Bowles," Cumbrae grunted, "but in future spare me such details. You know I'm a man of gentle persuasion." He put that matter out of his mind and contemplated his prisoners. Despite Sam's assurance, many had been heavily beaten, their eyes were blackened and their lips cut and swollen. They hung their heads and none would look at him.

He walked slowly down the squatting ranks, now and then seizing a handful of hair and lifting the man's face to study it. When he reached the end of the line he came back and addressed them jovially. "Hear me, my bully lads, I have a berth for all of you. Sail with me and you shall have a shilling a month and a fair share of the prize money and, as sure as my name is Angus Cochran, there'll be sack loads of gold and silver to share."

None replied, and he frowned. "Are you deaf or has the devil got your tongues? Who will sail with Cochran of Cumbrae?" The silence hung heavily over the deck. He strode forward and picked out one of the most intelligent looking of his prisoners. "What's your name, lad?"

"Davey Morgan."

"Will you sail with me, Davey?"

Slowly the man lifted his head and stared at the Buzzard. "I saw young Mister Winterton slaughtered and the captain shot down in cold blood on the beach. I'll not sail with any murdering pirate."

"Pirate!" the Buzzard screamed. "You dare to call me pirate, you lump of stinking offal? You were born to feed the seagulls, and that's what you shall do!" The great claymore rasped from its scabbard, and he swung it down to cleave Davey Morgan's head, through the teeth as far as his shoulders. With the bloody sword in his hand he strode down the line of prisoners.

"Is there another among you who would dare to call me pirate to my face?" No man spoke out, and at last Cumbrae rounded on Sam Bowles. "Lock them all in the Golden Bough's hold. Feed them on half a pint of water and a biscuit a day. Let them think about my offer more seriously. In a few days" time I'll speak to these lovelies again, and we shall see if they have better manners then."

He took Sam aside and spoke in a quieter tone. "There is still some storm damage that needs repair." He pointed up at the rigging. "She's your ship now, to sail and command. Make all good at once. I want to leave this godforsaken anchorage as soon as I can. Do you hear me, Captain Bowles?"

Sam Bowles's face lit with pleasure at the title. "You can rely on me, your grace."

Cumbrae strode to the entry port and slid down into one of the longboats. "Take me back to the beach, varlets." He jumped over the side before they touched the sand and waded knee-deep to the shore where Colonel Schreuder was waiting for him.

"My lord, I must speak to you, he said, and the Buzzard smiled at him engagingly.

"Your discourse always gives me pleasure, sit. Come with me. We can talk while I go about my affairs." He led the way across the beach, and into the grove.

"Captain Llewellyn was-" Schreuder began, but the Buzzard cut him off.

"Llewellyn was a bloody pirate. I was defending myself from his treachery." He stopped abruptly and faced Schreuder, hauling up his sleeve to display the ridged purple scar that disfigured his shoulder. "Do you see that? That's what I got for trusting Llewellyn once before. If I had not forestalled him, his desperadoes would have fallen on us and slaughteied us where we stood. I am sure that you understand and that you are grateful for my intervention. It could have been you going that way."

He pointed at the group of his men who were staggering up from the beach, dragging the corpses of Llewellyn and Vincent Winterton by their legs. Llewellyn's shattered head left a red drag mark through the sand.

Schreuder stared aghast at the burial party. He recognized in Cumbrae's words both a warning and a threat. Beyond the first line of trees was a series of deep trenches that had been freshly dug all over the area where once Sir Francis Courtney's encampment had stood. His hut was gone but in its place was a pit twenty feet deep, its bottom filled with seepage of brackish lagoon water. There was another extensive excavation on the site of the old spice go down It looked as though an army of miners had been at work among the trees. The Buzzard's men dragged the corpses to the nearest of these pits and dumped them unceremoniously into it. The bodies slid down the steep side and splashed into the puddle at the bottom.

Schreuder looked troubled and uncertain. "I find it difficult to believe that Llewellyn was such a person." But Cumbrae would not let him finish.

"By God, Schreuder, do you doubt my word? What of your assurance that you wanted to throw in your lot with me? If my actions offend you then it's better that we part now. I will give you one of the pirmaces from the Golden Bough, and a crew of Llewellyn's pirates to help you make your own way back to Good Hope. You can explain your fine scruples to Governor van de Velde. Is that more to your liking?"

"No, sir, it is not," said Schreuder hurriedly. "You know I cannot return to Good Hope."

"Well, then, Colonel, are you still with me?"

Schreuder hesitated, watching the grisly labours of the burial teams. He knew that if he crossed Cumbrae he would probably end up in the pit with Llewellyn and the sailors from the Golden Bough. He was trapped.

"I am still with you," he said at last.

The Buzzard nodded. "Here's my hand on it, then." He thrust out his huge freckled fist covered with wiry ginger hair. Slowly Schreuder reached out and took it. Cumbrae could see in his eyes the realization dawning that from now onwards he would be beyond the pale and was content that he could trust Schreuder at last. By accepting and condoning the massacre of the officers and crew of the Golden Bough he had made himself a pirate and an outlaw. He was, in every sense, the Buzzard's man.

"Come along with me, sir. Let me show you what we have done here." Cumbrae changed the subject easily, and led Schreuder past the mass grave without another glance at the pile of corpses. "You see, I knew Francis Courtney well we were like brothers. I am still certain that his fortune is hidden hereabouts. He has what he took from the Standvastigheid and that from the Heerlycke Nacht. By the blood of all the saints, there must be twenty thousand pounds buried somewhere under these sands."

At that they came to the long, deep trench where forty of Cumbrae's men were already back at work with spades. Among them were the three black seamen he had bought on the slave block at Good Hope.

"Jiri!" the Buzzard bellowed. "Matesi! Kimatti!" The slaves jumped, threw down their spades and scrambled out of the ditch in trepidation to face their master.

"Look at these great beauties, sir. I paid five hundred florins for each. It was the worst bargain I ever struck. Here before your eyes you have living proof that there are only three things a blackamoor can do well. He can prevaricate, thieve and swive." The Buzzard let fly a guffaw. "Isn't that the truth, Jiri?"

"Yes, Lardy." Jiri grinned and agreed. "It's God's own truth."

The Buztard stopped laughing as suddenly as he had begun. "What do you know about God, you heathen?" he roared and, with a mighty swing of his fist, he knocked Jiri back into the ditch. "Get back to work all three of you!" They seized their spades and attacked the bottom of the ditch in a frenzy, sending earth flying over the parapet in a cloud. Cumbrae stood above them, his hands on his hips. "Listen to me, you sons of midnight. You tell me that the treasure I seek is buried here. Well, then, find it for me or you won't be coming with me when I sail away. I'll bury all three of you in this grave that you're digging with your own sooty paws. Do you hear me?"

"We hear you, Lardy," they answered in chorus.

He took Schreuder's arm in a companionable grip and led him away. "I have come to accept the sad fact that they never truly knew the whereabouts of Franky's hoard. They've been jollying me along all these months. My rascals and I have had just about a bellyful of playing at moles. Let me offer you the hospitality of my humble abode and a mug of whisky, and you can tell me all you know about this pretty little war that's a-going on between the great Mogul and the Prester. Methinks, you and I might well find better occupation and more profit elsewhere than here at Elephant Lagoon."

In the firelight Hal studied his band as they ate, with ravenous appetite, their dinner of smoked meat. The hunting had been poor in these last days and most of them were tired. His own seamen had never been slaves. Their labour on the walls of the castle of Good Hope had not broken or cowed them. Rather it had hardened them, and now the long march had put a temper on them. He could want no more from them. they were tough and tried warriors. Althuda he liked and trusted, but he had been a slave from childhood and some of his men would never be fighters. Sabah was a disappointment. He had not fulfilled Hal's expectation of him. He had become sullen and obstructive. He shirked his duties and protested at the orders Hal gave him. His favourite cry had become, "I am a slave no longer! No man has the right to command me!"

Sabah would not fare well if matched against the likes of the Buzzard's seamen, Hal thought, but he looked up and smiled as Sukeena came to sit beside him.

"Do not make an enemy of Sabah," she whispered quietly.

"I do not wish that," he replied, "but every man among us must do his part." He looked down at her tenderly. "You are the worth of ten men like Sabah, but today I saw you stumble more than once and when you thought I was not watching you there was pain in your eyes. Are you sickening, my sweetheart? Am I truly setting too hard a pace?"

"You are too fond, Gundwane." She smiled up at him. "I will walk with you to the very gates of hell and not complain."

"I know you would, and it worries me. If you do not complain, how will I ever know what ails you?"

"Nothing ails me," she assured him.

"Swear it to me," he insisted. "You are not hiding any illness from me."

"I swear it to you, with this kiss." She gave him her lips. "All is as well as God ever intended. And I will prove it to you." She took his hand and led him to the dark corner of the stockade where she had laid out their bed.

Though her body melted into his as sweetly as before, there was a softness and languor in her loving that was strange and, though it delighted him while his passion was in white heat, afterwards it left him with a sense of disquiet and puzzlement. He was aware that something had changed but he was at a loss as to exactly what was different.

The next day he watched her carefully during the long march, and it seemed to him that on the steeper ground her step was not as spry as it had been. Then, when the heat was fiercest, she lost her place in the column and began to fall back. Zwaantie went to help her over a rough place in the elephant path that they were following but Sukeena said something sharply to her and thrust away her hand. Hal slowed the pace, almost imperceptibly, to give her respite, and called the midday halt earlier than he had on the preceding days.

Sukeena slept beside him that night with a deathlike stillness while Hal lay awake. By now he was convinced that she was not well, and that she was trying to hide her weakness from him. As she slept her breathing was so light that he had to place his ear to her lips to reassure himself. He held her close and her body seemed heated. Once, just before dawn, she groaned so pitifully that he felt his heart swell with love and concern for her. At last he also fell into a deep dreamless sleep. When he woke with a start and reached out for her, he found her gone.

He lifted himself on one elbow and looked around the stockade. The fire had died down to a puddle of embers, but the full moon, even though it was low in the west, threw enough light for him to see that she was not there. He could make out the dark shape of Aboli. the morning star was almost washed out by the more brilliant light of the moon, but it burned just above his head as he sat his watch at the entrance. Aboli was awake, for Hal heard him cough softly and then saw him draw his fur blanket closer around his shoulders.

Hal threw back his own kaross, and went to squat beside him. "Where is Sukeena?" he whispered.

"She went out a short while ago." "Which way?"

"Down towards the stream." "You did not stop her?"

"She was going about her private business." Aboli turned to look at him curiously. "Why would I stop her?"

"I am sorry," Hal whispered back. "I meant no rebuke. She worries me. She is not well. Have you not noticed?" Aboli hesitated. "Perhaps." He nodded. "Women are children of the moon, which lacks but a few nights of full, so perhaps her courses are in flood."

"I am going after her." Hal stood up and went down the rough path towards the shallow pool where they had bathed the previous evening. He was about to call her name when he heard a sound that silenced and alarmed him. He stopped and listened anxiously. The sound came again, the sound of pain and distress. He started forward and saw her on the sandbank kneeling beside the pool. She had thrown aside her blanket, and the moonlight shone on her bare skin, imparting to it the patina of polished ivory. She was doubled up in a convulsion of pain and sickness. As he watched in distress, she retched and vomited into the sand.

He ran down to her and dropped on his knees beside her. She looked up at him in despair. "You should not see me thus, she whispered -hoarsely, then turned her head. away and vomited again. He put his arm around her bare shoulders. She was cold and shivering.

"You are sick," he breathed. "Oh, my love, why did you not answer me straight? Why did you try to hide it from me?

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You should not have followed," she said. "I did not want you to know."

"If you are sick, then I must know. You should trust me enough to tell me."

"I did not want to be a burden to you. I did not want you to delay the march because of me."

He hugged her to him. "You will never be a burden to me. You are the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins. Tell me now truthfully what ails you, my darling."

She sighed and shivered against him. "Oh, Hal, forgive me. I did not want this to happen yet. I have taken all the medicines that I know of to prevent it."

"What is it?" He was confused and dismayed. "Please tell me "I am carrying your child in my womb." He stared at her in astonishment and could neither move nor speak. "Why are you silent? Why do you look at me so? Please don't be angry with me."

Suddenly he clasped her to his chest with all his strength. "It is not anger that stops up my mouth. It is joy. Joy for our love. joy for the son you promised me."

That day Hal changed the order of march and took Sukeena to walk with him at the head of the column. Though she protested laughingly, he took her basket from her and added it to his own load. Thus relieved she was able to step out lightly and stay beside him without difficulty. Still he took her hand on the difficult places, and she did not demur when she saw what pleasure it gave him to protect and cherish her thus.

"You must not tell the others," she murmured, "else they will want to slow the march on my behalf."

"You are as strong as Aboli and Big Daniel," he assured her staunchly, "but I will not tell them."

So they kept their secret, walking hand in hand and smiling at each other in such obvious happiness that even if Zwaantie had not told Althuda and he had not told Aboli, they must have guessed. Aboli grinned as if he were the father and showed Sukeena such special favour and attention that even Sabah, in the end, fathomed the reason for this new mood that had come over the band.