Nobody's Slave (3 page)

At last the drums around them fell silent, though they could hear the message being passed on, rumbling around the distant hills. Birdsong began again in the forest, and the younger boys jabbered excitedly, questioning their elders. Madu looked around at Temba, and realised from his friend's face that it was true, he had not imagined it. Temba understood the same as he.

‘Come on, you boys, move those goats,’ said Temba. ‘We must get back to the village quickly - they'll be needing us.’

The younger boys, excited, hustled the goats, and scurried ahead in a rabble, Madu hobbling along in the rear.

The village was a strange mixture of stillness and wild activity. Everywhere women were hurrying, shouting, scolding the little children, shaking their heads in dismay. Madu saw his own mother, Ezinma, bending over a great bundle of pots and pans which she was wrapping to put on her head, and scolding his ten-year-old sister, Ekwefi, who was trying to help. Next to her was a group of young men, his stepbrother, Ikezue, amongst them, carrying their war spears and shields and heading for the Council Tree, scattering chickens and children out of their path.

But here, at the Council Tree, was the stillness at the heart of the flurry. The older men stood there, solemn and stern, conferring about what they should do. Occasionally one of them would stride away as a new decision was reached, taking a group of the younger warriors with him. Madu saw the witchdoctor, Mganza, walking past, the whites of his eyes gleaming more fiercely than ever out of the black swirls and patterns on his tattooed face, and he wondered what sacrifice he was going to make to ensure their safe journey, and whether he would brew new poisons for their spears and arrows before they went.

In all the bustle and confusion Madu and Temba were ignored at first. But the moment had to be faced, even in this new chaos. Madu took back the burden of the leopard from the two younger boys, and together they hobbled, slowly, across the square towards the Boys' House.

The first to see them were half-a-dozen boys of their own age, who came and clustered excitedly around. But before they could say anything much, a man came striding over from the Council Tree - a tall man, with a wide strong forehead, grave eyes, and the long leopard's tooth of the hunter piercing his ears: Nwoye, Madu's stepfather. He looked at them impassively, while Madu felt the weight of the leopard press ever heavier on his shoulder.

‘So - you have your leopard. And some wounds from him, too, it seems. That is not so good.’

Madu said nothing, but the breath caught in his throat, as though he had been running.

‘But the story of that must wait. You have heard the drums?’

‘Yes, Nwoye.’ Temba spoke up, clear and unabashed. As Nwoye continued, Madu felt the eyes of others turn to them - a little island of stillness in the midst of the scurrying square.

‘So you know the drums spoke of war. We are summoned to the city, Conga. We shall leave tomorrow at dawn. So you must skin the leopard tonight, if you wish to keep it.’ He frowned at Temba, who was still holding the kid by its rope. ‘And perhaps somone will help you with the leopard - if you, Temba, can find it in your heart to leave care of the goats to their owners, and to the boys of the first years.’

‘But it's our goat now, Nwoye, isn't it? That is why I lead it.’

‘Your goat?’ Nwoye looked at the little kid in surprise. His eyes flicked from Temba to Madu. ‘Yours as well, Madu?’

‘Yes, Nwoye. It is the kid that was given to us to catch the leopard, but it is still alive. Does that not make it ours to keep?’

There was a quick, indrawn hush of breath among the boys, noticeable even in the hubbub around them. Everyone looked at Nwoye to see what his reaction would be. For a long moment he said nothing, while his grave brown eyes examined the two boys' faces - Temba's confident, triumphant; Madu's wary and anxious, and yet defiantly proud too, underneath.

‘Then it is yours to keep, as are your wounds, Madu. I hope that neither will slow you, when we march tomorrow.’

There was a flicker in Nwoye's eyes that could have been either irritation or amusement; Madu could not tell which, just as he could not tell whether his words were those of praise, or blame.

‘But I think I must hear more of this, even in the present hurry. Leave your leopard in the Boys' House, and come with me to Nyanza, both of you. That foot will need to be treated, if you are not to be a burden to others, tomorrow.’

A burden to others!
The words hurt, as Nwoye's often did. But when they were in Mganza's hut, and the healer had probed his foot, and pronounced it not broken, and bound it tightly in a hot poultice to reduce the pain and the swelling, Nwoye did not seem angry. He listened quietly to the story, whilst Mganza cleansed the wounds on Madu's back, and bound them together with clay.

‘When the leopard broke out of the cage and you ran, did you think of Temba?’ Nwoye asked, at last. ‘Did you know where he was, or think of his danger?’

Madu hesitated, a hot flush of guilt prickling his skin.

‘Not ... not at first, Nwoye,’ he said, afraid even of what Temba might think. ‘I … I was afraid, it was too quick. But after - as soon as I heard him yell, and I had my spear, I turned ...’

‘As you said. At least you do not lie, Madu. That is good. But you should always think of your partner in a hunt, or a fight, always. That way lies strength. Where were you, Temba, when Madu was setting free the kid?’

‘I was coming from my tree, Nwoye. With my spear. I had not reached the cage, yet.’

‘Hadn't you planned for this? Wouldn't it have been wiser for you both to have waited for the other, so that Madu knew you were there with your spear, Temba, when the leopard tried to break out? Would there have been so much danger if you had both faced it together, from the beginning?’

‘No, Nwoye.’ Both boys bowed their heads, thoughtfully, and then sought each others' eyes. Each had the same thought; my friend could have died because of my thoughtlessness.

Nwoye sighed deeply, in a way they had come to know over the last year. It was a sign that he had reached a judgement. ‘Nonetheless, you have your leopard - as well as a kid, which you will probably have to kill for food, in the city. You will have no punishment from me, for having done it in a way more difficult than necessary. But you will profit most from this, if instead of boasting of your cleverness, you think of what might have been, and how each of you could better have shielded the other. Now go, and prepare for the journey tomorrow.’

And so they stumbled out into the last of the sunlight, and Temba put his arm under Madu's to help him across the square. As soon as they were far enough away from Mganza's hut, Madu let out a great sigh of relief, and grinned.

‘No punishment! Do you think perhaps he was pleased, a little, Tembi?’

Temba snorted. ‘A little, perhaps, the old misery. But he was right about shielding you. I should have been there before.’

‘Don't worry. I'll think of it next time, and tell you before.’

Temba scowled at Madu indignantly. ‘You'll think of it! Huh!’ Then the scowl faded to a grin. ‘All right, then. And I'll tell you when the Sumba spears are coming for me too, so you can stand in the way!’

‘For you, anything.’ Madu grinned back. It was not wholly a joke, but they laughed anyway, and hobbled away through the village, to skin their leopard together, and prepare for tomorrow's journey to Conga.

‘Y
OU, BOY! Get up there and tell me what you can see!’

The ship's master, Robert Barrett, boomed his order at the boy, Simon Ashton, who stood beside him, grimly clutching the rail. Tom Oakley, watching, saw the wind flatten his friend's hair across his cheeks as he turned to the Master, and the horror in his eyes.

‘Me, sir? Up there?’ As Simon spoke the ship rolled to a cross-wave, and Tom saw the maintop sweep in another dizzying circle overhead, far out over the starboard side.

‘Yes, you sir! You can climb like a monkey, can't you? Tell me what ships are in sight!’

Tom saw Simon look up, his face pale with fright, like a ghost in this heaving world of grey and white, and then begin to clamber his way forwards, along the slanting quarter-deck to the ladder that led down into the lowest part of the ship, the waist. A great fountain of spray burst over the maindeck, and Tom felt his heart leap with love of the venture.

‘Can I go too, sir? Two can see more than one.’

The Master, Robert Barrett, looked at him sternly. A solid, square man, his black hair and beard wet with spray, he stood with his great seabooted feet firmly apart, and one hand resting lightly on the rail, as though no hurricane in the world would move him. He laughed briefly, sharing the boy's joy of the storm.

‘Aye, if you will. But take care how you climb, both of you. There'll be no putting about for ye in this.’

Tom nodded; then, choosing his moment, followed Simon down to the waist. Young Simon was clinging nervously to the foot of the ladder, staring at the green water surging across the deck, a few feet ahead. The whole ship leant over, away from the wind, and for a moment the whole lee side of the maindeck was awash, part of the very ocean itself; then the clumsy, top-heavy ship lumbered upright, water streaming from its sides, and lurched ahead, like an old weary dog that could not last much longer.

The two boys made their way quickly, cautiously forward as the ship lifted to the heave of a following wave. They seized hold of the shrouds, the web of stout ropes that supported the mainmast, forming a rope ladder up which they would have to climb to the maintop. Tom saw Simon gulp as he looked first up, and then out, across the grey, relentless, hungry sea. He knew Simon's nerves might make him clumsy, and smiled to encourage him.

‘We'll go after this one. When we reach its crest. All right?’

‘Well, I ... yes, all right.’ Simon gulped again, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat as the green sea surged again to within a foot of the rail, and strained his pale face into a weak, seasick smile. Tom, the older boy, grinned cheerily back, his blue eyes bright with excitement, his ruddy face half-hidden by the wet strands of hair that were flattened across it by the wind.

‘Don't worry, Si!’ he said. ‘It’s drier up there - and nearer heaven too!’

Simon stared at him, his dark eyes desperate as a dog's for reassurance. Tom laughed, embarrassed, and then looked up to where the great, basket-like platform of the maintop swung in dizzying circles forty feet above their heads. The mad glory of it sang in his heart, and he laughed again, exultantly, forgetting Simon and his fears.

But even as he did so he felt the deck and the sea fall away beneath his feet, and his hands tightened on the shrouds as the old ship slid backwards off the top of the wave it was on and began its great wallowing dive into the trough behind. Down they went, further and further, as though they would fall stern first straight to the bottom of the ocean. The Master and the Admiral on the quarter-deck were almost level with them now, so steeply the ship was tipped.

‘Lord Jesus save us! Give me courage!’ Simon's muttered prayer became suddenly loud as the ship almost stopped for a moment, her one reefed foresail slatting idly, out of the wind in the quiet at the foot of the trough. Tom glanced at Simon and saw he was staring aft, past the high, painted quarter-deck and poop which formed the after-castle at the back of the ship, to the grey advancing menace of the following wave, forty yards and more astern.

Already the wave was in sight high above them, and as the ship levelled out it stayed there, rising higher as it approached, the pale grey of the sky disappearing behind the darker grey mountain of monstrous, moving water that surged inexorably towards them. It really was a mountain; as Tom stared - almost straight up into the clouds now it seemed - he saw a great white mass of foam begin to break and fall from its summit like an avalanche, threatening to crash down on the ship and tumble it over and over into fragments like the frail bundle of sticks and rags that it was.

‘St Christopher!’ he said. ‘Come on, Si, into the shrouds, quick!’ He slapped his friend hard across the shoulder to wake him out of his terrified trance, and they both sprang up into the wet web of stiff ropes like mad monkeys, clambering up without a thought for the rotten ratlines that snapped beneath their feet, or the sudden lurch that almost flung them forwards into the empty air as the wave caught the ship's stern and she began to surge heavily forward.

Then the angle was too great for climbing, and they could only cling on tightly and stare down and aft as the miracle - the incredible miracle which not even Tom, perhaps not even the Master and the Admiral could believe in beforehand - began to happen again. The stern of the clumsy old ship lifted, her top-heavy bows pitched forward, and she began to climb, slowly at first, and then with increasing, irresistible speed backwards up the side of the mountain. The avalanche of foam burst around them, pouring into the waist where the boys had just been, sluicing in from both sides so that for the moment it seemed that the boys had nothing but sea below them, with the fore- and after-castles like two rafts ahead and astern. But she kept her nose downwind and then suddenly the brief avalanche was past, subsiding ahead of them, and they were safe on the summit of the wave, the wind flattening their clothes to their backs and the horizon extending over endless grey mountains of sea.

‘Come on! Now's the time!’ Tom yelled, and clambered furiously upwards, being careful, for all his bravado, to cling on with three good holds before he ventured to seek a new one with hand or foot. The rigging in the old ship was rotten at the best of times; two more ratlines snapped under his feet before he came up through the floor into the maintop.

As soon as he was there he stood up, one hand on the mast and the other on the maintop rail, delirious with the wild, bird-like swoop of motion and the blast of the gale from astern that threatened to lift him forwards into the air like an oakleaf in autumn. He felt the ship roll and for a moment he was way out over the starboard side, nothing below him but sea, and then, as he came back, the ship began to pitch backwards off the top of the wave, so that the Master and the Admiral were below him, and he had to cling on to the rail to avoid being pitched out of the top altogether.