Guardian (25 page)

Precise times are of little import now, but I will never forget even the smallest unfolding detail of that day's events. Not the sights, nor the sounds, nor the smells. Nothing. Roz and I had risen early to take advantage of the coolness of the day. I could move much more easily now and had no difficulty keeping pace with her. No matter what she was doing, I wanted to be there. Never tiring in my longing to observe and be entranced by not only her singular beauty, but also her remarkable personality. In fact, every thought of her was a study in unreserved tenderness. That morning we quickly prepared our simple breakfast, packed some fruit and water into a shoulder bag and were well clear of the community before the first of our neighbours had shown their sleep-clogged faces. Walking always seemed to do me considerable good, so we had been pushing further and further each day and had, for the first time, decided to range well outside the domain inhabited by our friends, intending to head south towards Malindi for approximately five miles.

But first, we had to commandeer and paddle one of the local outrigger canoes across the creek, there to leave it until its owner no doubt saw it from afar. Not difficult and it wasn't extreme walking by anyone's standards, but to us it felt like a delightful little adventure and would, anyway, give us the opportunity to see something more of the coast that, like Roz, I now regarded as home. In any case, I had come to prize the solitude of the hushed, pristine white coral beaches. To delight in the almost relentless, gentle hissing of aquamarine breakers marching in solemn succession up the gently sloping sands, all set off by the salty warmth of the constant sea breeze. And, not least, the euphoria we derived from the closeness of intertwined fingers and the supreme awareness of each other's presence. As we trudged through the damp sand at the sea's edge, always seeking a firm footing and trying to ignore the lesser heat of early morning, we exulted in the calling of the spotted ground thrushes flittering in and out of the nearby bushes and revelled in the sheer splendour of our surroundings. Thrilled by the surpassing joy of being alive, together and in love.

Perhaps it was simply this beauty that touched Roz, but after we'd ambled our way through about a mile, kicking idly at the sand and searching for the less common cowries, she evidently decided the time and mood were ripe to share some very private thoughts about her memorable visit to Moiben church. I soon discovered that for some time the matter had not only weighed heavily on her mind, but closer analysis had persuaded her she needed to share the event, which she still failed to understand but, at the same time, couldn't deny. Why this should be, she had no idea, but urgent it remained and, for peace of mind, she felt compelled to open a discussion. And as I listened, I realised she was focusing on something entirely spiritual. Something in which, I must confess, I still had little or no interest, despite Adam's best efforts. Religion just wasn't my thing. But if Roz wanted to speak about her feelings, so be it. I would happily listen to her voice at any time, on any subject. I told myself, “
That's what love does
”, but not for a moment did I think such issues could, or even would apply to me. Anyway, it seemed that what had really impressed itself on her was a very clear and unequivocal sense of peace. Someone or something had apparently imparted a quiet calm unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Added to which, inexplicably, she had been subjected to much the same manner of encounter on more than one occasion since. Impressions that, she insisted, she'd already tried to share with me but that, apparently, had fallen on deaf ears. No doubt ears distracted by pain (I told myself). Anyway, this experience (whatever it was) evidently included a definite sensation of something or someone standing very close and exuding a strangely comforting love towards her. Now that got my interest. Love (for her at least) was my territory, for sure. As far as I was concerned, there was only one person with any right to love her and that was me. Not that this was going to prevent her from rehearsing the whole experience right in front of me. And then came the bombshell. Even as she spoke, I could tell she was beginning to understand that something profoundly important lay behind it all. And despite myself, I was a little shaken.

“Paul, tell me. Have you ever talked to or thought about God?”

The question came out of left field and I had to confess I hadn't. And nor would I have welcomed any such discussion. Religion had simply never interested me and, to reiterate, never would. And in my less than humble opinion, given what I'd recently experienced, I could hardly be blamed. And yet, even as I complacently justified myself, the memory of an unforgettable fellow slave, my friend Adam, who had willingly laid down his life for me, jumped unbidden to my mind. He was perhaps the one solid enigma I couldn't get around. A strong, clear faith, accompanied by an enviable and frankly inexplicable peace, had coloured everything he did. Even choosing death to give me a chance of life was the product of this faith. And, if truth were told, I wasn't the only prisoner to have been struck by his attractive qualities. But enough of that. I was in no mood to concede the argument.

Which fazed Roz not one whit. “Since I was a kid, I haven't discussed the subject either. I haven't even given it much thought, with the exception of that occasion in Moiben. I don't know why, but a moment ago the whole subject of God just popped into my head. I certainly wasn't thinking about anything within a million miles of it, but I remember my parents did make me go to Sunday school. And my teacher certainly believed in God. I know she did, because she not only talked about her faith, it sort of shone out of her somehow and she was always kind to us, even the ones who didn't much like her and usually played her up. There was just something about her that was attractive. Attractive to all of us, actually. I once asked her about this and she said something about being friends with the Messiah, Jesus, even though you couldn't see Him. I didn't understand her answer and I didn't really believe her anyway, so that was as far as we got. But now I'm beginning to wonder. Do you think there could be a God, Paul? Suppose she was right and you can actually get to know Him? That would be something, wouldn't it, if you could be friends with God? The God who's supposed to have created the universe?”

I didn't respond, but that didn't stop her. She simply carried on, musing aloud.

“Whenever I've heard anyone talking about God, they always seem to end up with this Jesus. They call him the ‘Son of God' and they say He loves us and offers forgiveness for the things we've done wrong. Apparently He wants to save us from Hell so we can be with Him in Heaven. Heaven? Hell? I don't know. Where did they get all that? Can any of it be true? I just don't know, but come to think of it, I'm pretty sure it would feel weird to have a friend you couldn't see.” After a slight pause, Roz burbled on. “Actually, I suppose my brother did when he was small. He had a made-up friend. Maybe it isn't such a weird thing after all. And there's something else too, now I come to think of it. Until recently, I was convinced I hadn't done anything particularly wrong. But right now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm not as good as I thought I was. Maybe I do need this forgiveness, although for what, well, I'm not sure. What do you think, Paul? Come on, speak to me. Do you think we need forgiveness? Do you suppose my old teacher could have been right and Jesus is for real? Then what? Where does that leave me? Where would it leave us? Paul, please, at least tell me what you think.”

But even in the face of this earnest appeal I wasn't much help. Religion was the last thing I wanted to talk about right then, so all I managed to say was, “If He's so concerned about us, why wasn't He there when I needed help?” And then, warming to my theme, “Why didn't He do something about that slaving dhow? Plenty of people there who could have done with some help.”

These unhelpful comments left Roz slightly confused and dismayed, because whilst she was obviously concerned and interested, all I'd managed to do was pour cold water over her ideas. She stopped talking at that point, but I could see she was still tantalised by her thoughts and for some minutes obviously continued to chew through the options. But even if I'd been inclined to humour her, all thought of this fled from my mind moments later, when our circumstances changed so rapidly, there was virtually no time to think. Almost no time to even react.

Israfel was back and eager to get stuck in. First, he'd hooked up with Roz's newly assigned Guardian, Nadab. He remembered him as the angel who was on leave at the time, but who had distracted Arcturus for him when he'd had a run-in on the slave ship. He had immediately warmed to the junior angel, who he'd only recently learned had been appointed to look after Roz, so it was a pity their association as Guardians was only going to be short-lived. One of the distinct drawbacks to knowing something about the future. However, Nadab was excited and bursting to tell him about Roz's renewed interest in her experiences back in Moiben church when, amongst other things, the Spirit of God had calmed her and quietly spoken peace into her heart. Sensing her drift, he had apparently given her a little nudge or two and was now as certain as he could be that she was on the brink of committing herself to the King's cause.

But for now, what he presumed was Nadab's unauthorised interference with a human being was not Israfel's main concern. He had been de-briefed by the temporary Guardian before formally taking me back, only to discover that Roz and I were heading down a beach straight towards some of Ahmed's hired thugs. An armed and dangerous gang searching their way slowly north. Progress had been slow, because it involved stopping and closely examining every village they'd reached. Plus the use of a little unauthorised persuasion now and then, particularly when it involved young women. And that invariably ended in something of a bloodbath, as they were forced to cut off pursuit by incensed family members.

But the gang had their orders and these were not only to search carefully, but to do so without wasting too much time. The ginger-haired white boy was the prize. That was the important thing. And Ahmed had known he was unlikely to persuade the locals to talk, even if presented with generous bribes. The best he could do was employ a little common sense and start a search northwards from just a short distance north of Malindi itself. He was convinced that, if still alive, my physical state would, so far, have prevented me from venturing inland, needing time to heal sufficiently to allow easier movement. And he was equally certain that whilst I would be well hidden by friends, any hideout would, of necessity, be close to where a small boat could be brought ashore, as well as within easy reach of such medical help as might be available along the coast. Which necessitated a break in the reef. So it was his guess the boat would have beached near a small village, within an easy sail of Malindi. Probably that meant the first gap in the reef, or maybe just north of it. The winds close inshore and the chronic inability of lateen sails to tack crosswind would have seen to that. And gaps only occurred where there was an outflow of fresh water. As with a river.

So he had the makings of a plan, but probably little time if it was going to be successful. Consequently, straight after leaving his aunt, he had hired a new dhow and brought in one of his favourite captains and, with the southern monsoon winds abating by the day, ordered him to sail north with half the crew from the
Majid an-Najdi
, until he reached the first gap in the reef north of Malindi, the creek at Kipini. In the meantime, he'd had the remaining crew members driven overland to a point just south of the village of Mkondo with orders to start walking north, following the coast until they fetched up opposite his newly hired and pre-positioned dhow. Secretly, he remained certain I would be somewhere near Kipini – perhaps even Abdullah might be there – but it was best to be thorough. And now, unwittingly, the men coming up from the south were heading straight towards me and Roz as they ambled northwards. And at this late stage, constrained as he was, there was little Israfel could do about it.

Fatih was in the lead. His rifle slung carelessly at his side and paying little attention to his surroundings. His thoughts were still with the last village they'd checked. A particularly striking native girl had caught his eye and he'd wasted little time in the niceties. Some would call it rape. He just thought of it as his due for having had to waste his time with these people and now they were well north of the village and presumably beyond the likely range of any further hotheads. Having summarily shot the villagers who'd been foolish enough to mount an immediate pursuit virtually unarmed, none of them were expecting further trouble from any remaining firebrands. So it was with some astonishment that his attention was dragged back to the present upon catching sight of a white boy and a white girl strolling arm in arm along the beach towards him, apparently oblivious to anything but each other. A hissed command caught the attention of the others, dragging their eyes round to this unusual sight. It was young Ghazi, named as ‘conqueror' by his doting mother, who was first to react. Fatih could only surmise that youthful energy meant he was less inclined to doze on his feet than the rest. At any rate, Ghazi, clearly alert, immediately blurted out, “Allah be praised, these must be the ones for whom we're searching.”

At which point, we spotted them and, dropping the basket, which promptly scattered its meagre contents across the sand, started to run for the treeline. Fatih couldn't believe his luck. Ghazi must be right, judging by my rather obvious hair colour and the frantic way in which we had started running. Fear like that didn't originate in innocence. Not in his book, anyway. Swiftly issuing some terse commands, Fatih took off for the treeline himself, intent on angling his way in our direction, but out of sight, using the nearby trees and bushes as cover. Quickly, he directed all but two of his party to follow, indicating that they should spread themselves out in a line at right angles to the shore, that is, all except the last pair who were to continue along the beach, expressly to discourage us from retreating back the way we'd come. Once off the beach, the air was hot and still and the men rapidly started to sweat copiously as they brushed through the thick undergrowth, stepping carefully to avoid snakes and swatting warily at the dozens of enormous spiders sitting in their carpet-like webs, each net capable of covering a complete bush. Although that at least meant arachnophobes could clearly see where each of their feared enemies lay in wait. However, the brush was so dense they almost immediately lost sight of each other, although, by dint of much swearing and irritated whispering, they still managed to make steady, if somewhat erratic, progress.

Up ahead, Roz and I had dropped into a dense stand of bushes and were trying frantically to get control over our breathing, whilst at the same time burying ourselves ever deeper out of sight. The moment we had seen the dozen or so brutish-looking men coming our way and clutching guns, we'd known that whoever they were and whatever their intentions, they were trouble for us. Hiding in the depths of a stand of bushes, with scant time to assess our situation, we quickly realised this was far from a coincidence. It simply couldn't be. And if it wasn't, then they had to be from the slave ship and that meant we were in serious trouble if they found us. Which was not only deeply shocking but rocked us to the core. We'd been so confident of our concealment from the world in general that all these weeks on from my rescue, we'd almost come to believe ourselves immune. And now here was living proof that not only were we far from safe, but, careless in the extreme, we were probably the architects of our own downfall.

It took me a while to get my breath back and the pain of the violent exercise was reminding me of just how recently I'd been flat on my back. But it was Roz who really caught my eye. For some reason or other, she hardly seemed to be disturbed by the sudden change in circumstance. Not even vaguely. And no doubt about it, there was an unfamiliar radiance about her and an aura of tranquillity that, for my money, seemed totally misplaced. I can clearly remember almost breaking her arm in my anxiety to get over to her just how dire our circumstances had suddenly become.