Lord Tyger (26 page)

This had been the cause of the exultation. The apprehension had been caused by the possibility that the Sharrikt might come in force to rescue Gilluk. It had been necessary to keep additional guards on the village and also to send out scouts to check on the Sharrikt movements. This had worked a hardship, because the Wantso could not afford to tie up so many men with such duties. The guards and scouts should have been hunting. The reduction in the meat supply had already caused complaints. Tibaso, the chief, had made a speech to the men in which he had urged them to be patient and enduring. They were to silence their wives if they complained. This was a time of grave crisis but also a time for great jubilation. Nothing so good occurred without a need for self-sacrifice, hard work, and unceasing devotion and unremitting vigilance.

The Wantso would keep a united front and would defeat any invasion force, as they had done in the past. The Wantso were a great people--in fact, The People, the meaning of the word Wantso--and they must, by the very nature of things, win out over the Sharrikt, a kind of two-legged, very depraved animal. And so forth.

There had been loud shouts of approval, a mass repeating of his most fiery phrases, and much clashing of spears and drinking of beer. The whole village, men, women, and children, including the guards, had got so drunk the first night that the Sharrikt could have walked in before dawn and taken their king out without disturbing anybody except the chickens and hogs. Ras had heard this from the women, who had been laughing about it and also passing back and forth some gossip about events that night.

Tibaso had reprimanded his people the next day and said that they must stay sober until they were sure the danger was past. While making his speech, he had drunk beer to wet his throat and kill his hangover.

Ras had had no difficulty in learning how Gilluk had come to be captured. The women, and the guards, had gone over the event many times in much detail. It seemed that the Sharrikt made one raid a year. This always took place during the seventh day after the seventh new moon of the year. And so two Wantso juveniles had been stationed on a platform on a tree near the place where the river suddenly became the Many-Legged Swamp. They had seen the war canoe containing the seven Sharrikt enter the river mouth just before dusk. The invaders had stopped to camp on the bank a mile up the river, and the Wantso boys had paddled by them in the dark an hour later.

The next day, as the Sharrikt had crept toward the village, they had been ambushed. A heavy piece of mahogany dropped from a tree had knocked the king out. The Wantso had come down out of the trees and from the bushes to struggle for the unconscious body of Gilluk. The Sharrikt, outnumbered, with three wounded in the first volley of arrows and spears, nevertheless had charged the Wantso around Gilluk. One Sharrikt had been killed, and two more wounded. They had fled then and escaped, although the Wantso could easily have overtaken them. The Wantso had not pursued, because they had won a glorious victory with no dead or wounded on their side, so why should they push their luck?

Although the Sharrikt had left Gilluk behind, they had rescued the
bibuda,
as the Wantso called it. Ras had recognized
the weapon that the king had carried, because the women had described it. It was, in English, a
sword.
Apparently, it was the only one in existence, even among the Sharrikt, and the king alone was entitled to carry it. In fact, if the Wantso were to be believed, the sword was the true king of the Sharrikt. The man who earned the right to bear it was only the keeper of the sword, and he was called king by courtesy only.

Gilluk, the man in the cage, was as dark as the Wantso. He was very tall and slim, unlike his short, stocky captors. His hair looked very curly, not kinky, although Ras could not be sure at his distance. It was long and coiled into a beehive shape on top of his head. The face was long and narrow, and the forehead was high and smooth. His eyes were dark and large. His nose was as eaglish as that of Ras's mother. The cheekbones were prominent; the lips, thin; the chin, jutting. His clothing was, except for the short, leopardskin cape, unlike anything Ras had ever seen before. He had worn a long-sleeved robe that had covered his body and fallen to his knees. It had been of some sort of cloth, white, with red and black symbols, geometric figures, around the hem.

Gilluk had stood in his cage, gripping the bars, and stared at his captors. These had jeered at him and poked sharp sticks at him. He had refused to flinch, except when a stick threatened his eyes. Then he had turned his head.

Ras had known what the Wantso would do to him. When Ras had been with Wilida and the other children, he had listened to vivid descriptions of the torture of the last captive. The children had rolled their eyes and licked their lips or giggled or shivered in mock horror. Only Wilida seemed to be even a little sorry for the Sharrikt. This was one of the traits that had endeared her to
Ras. However, he had not understood why he liked it because she felt some sympathy for the fellow. If the Sharrikt had stayed away from the Wantso, he would not have had to suffer so. Why hadn't he minded his own business and remained south of the swamp?

Probably he hadn't, Ras had told himself, for the same reason that he was now taking a chance by spying on the Wantso. It was exciting and daring. But if you were caught, you had to suffer the consequences.

Curiosity, and the boldness of the idea, not a desire to save Gilluk from torture, had made Ras decide to steal the king. There had also been his hurt at his rejection by the Wantso men, and a wish for vengeance. And there had been the devilry of it. What an exciting deed and what fun it would be! He had shivered with anticipation.

He had known it wouldn't be easy. He had had to take his time. The first night, he had climbed the sacred tree to observe more closely. A fire was kept going by the cage, and one man sat on guard at all times. He was relieved at roughly two-hour periods, and the new guard and the man being relieved usually squatted by the fire and talked for a long while.

The cage had had one side that swung open and was tied shut by a rope of antelope-hide. There had been nothing except the guard's vigilance to keep Gilluk from untying it himself.

There had also been guards on the platforms inside the palisade, one for each of the four gates. Theoretically, these were supposed to keep watch on the area outside the village. However, they had kept looking inside at the prisoner.

The following day, the village had resumed a more or less normal routine except for the unusual number of guards. The
women had gone into the fields, and two men and two juveniles had left to hunt or to scout. Tibaso had sat in his chair and stared at Gilluk while drinking beer. Wuwufa, the spirit-talker, wearing a tall, conical headpiece and a wooden mask, had danced around the cage while he whirled a bull-roarer. Its deep humming and the twang of a harp played by old Gubado had gone on all day.

At noon, most of the men had gone off in small groups, probably, Ras thought, to scout for Sharrikt. The Wantso did not paint their faces when hunting unless they were after some unusual leopard or crocodile, one that had gotten a reputation, hence, a name. And when they did this, they traveled in one large band.

The only adults left in the village had been Tibaso the chief, Wuwufa the spirit-talker, old man Gubado, and three women taking care of the younger children. The other women and the older children had been working in the fields. Two men had been left as guards, one on the platform above the gate of the wall across the neck of the peninsula, and another man on the platform of the western gate.

Ras had thought that if there was a Sharrikt war party watching from the jungle, it could easily rescue the king. But the Wantso had not really been careless. There had been little chance that the original war party would have tried anything. And it would have taken some days for the invaders to return to the land of the Sharrikt, organize a large party, and return to the area of the village.

Ras, watching the scouts leave, had had an idea so daring that he had had to resist it. Why not enter now, through the northern gate, and uncage the king? By the time the western gate
guard got down off his platform--if he had the courage to face the ghost--Ras would have the cage door untied. He would hand the king a spear and a knife, and they would kill the guard if he dared attack. Fat Tibaso and old Wuwufa would be no obstacles. Ras and the king could take one of the dugouts beached on the mud outside the village to get across the river and into the jungle. Gilluk might not want to go north with Ras, whose white skin would shock him because of the ghostly implications, but expediency would doubtless override this. If it didn't then Gilluk was stupid and probably not worth the effort by Ras.

On the other hand, Ras had liked the idea of stealing in at night, overcoming the guard, and whisking the king out. The biggest difficulty with this had been that entrance and exit would have to be via the branch over the spirit-talker's hut and the hut itself. If there was much noise, if anyone gave the alarm too soon, the entire population would be popping out of the huts. And while Ras trusted his speed and agility in getting away, he was uncertain of the king's. And if the first attempt failed, a second would have little chance. The guards around the king would be increased. Moreover, the gate guards were sure to see Ras as soon as he ventured out into the light of the fire by the cage.

"I'll do it now!" Ras had told himself. He had not known why he had decided that this was the time; he had just known that it was.

He had climbed down the tree and dodged behind other trees and bushes until he had stood outside the northern gate. It had been closed but not secured by the big timber bolt on the inside. It had squealed as he had swung it wide enough to slip between it and the wall sidewise. The bull-roarer, the harp, and
Wuwufa's chanting had drowned the noise of the wooden hinges. Past the gate, he had run to Wuwufa's hut, under which he had crouched for a moment. There had been no outcry. Chufiya, the western gate guard, had had his back turned at the moment. Sazangu, the boy on guard on the wall at the eastern edge of the fields, had been drinking from a gourd.

Ras's heart had thudded like a Wantso stomping the hard earth during a dance. He had shaken, but he had taken a firm grip on his spear, breathed deeply, stepped out from under the house, and walked into the center of the village in the midafternoon sun as if he had lived there all his life. He had been twenty yards from the cage before anyone saw him.

Wuwufa had stopped twirling and chanting. The wooden bull-roarer at the end of the string had gone on whirling over his head, because the one arm holding the string had been rigid. The bull-roarer had slowed down; the noise of the air rushing through the holes in it had died to a whistling. The children had screamed and fled in all directions except toward Ras. Tibaso had heaved himself up from his chair, dropping his wooden cup and splashing beer onto the dust. He had yelled and then tried to get under his chair. Chufiya, the western gate guard, had howled. Wide-eyed, Gilluk had gripped the bars of his cage and shaken.

Wuwufa had come out of his rigidity to fall to the ground, where he had begun to roll back and forth, yipping like a wounded jackal. Ras had strode by him but had not been able to resist stopping long enough to give Tibaso's huge rump a little kick. Tibaso, his head stuck under the chair, had squalled and tried to crawl even farther under.

Ras had laughed and gone to the cage, where he had
slashed at the antelope-hide rope with his knife. In Wantso, he had said, "Come on out, Gilluk! We have to get away fast!"

If Gilluk had understood him, he had given no indication of doing so. He had been gray beneath the deep-brown pigment, and his teeth had chattered. He had not resisted when Ras had taken him by the hand and pulled him from the cage. He had acted as if he were being taken away by Death Himself.

"I am not a ghost. I am the son of God," Ras had said. Gilluk had groaned and continued to act as if his soul had left him.

"Do you understand Wantso?" Ras had said, and then, "Never mind."

He had decided not to give Gilluk a weapon. When Gilluk came out of his shock, he might attack his rescuer.

Ras, pushing Gilluk ahead of him, had walked toward the western gate. Chufiya, the chief's half-wit son, his eyes shut, had been standing on the platform and jabbing his spear in all directions while mumbling something. Ras and Gilluk had passed through the gate under him, and still he had blindly jabbed the spear.

There had been no pursuit. Gilluk had sat in the front of the dugout while Ras had paddled. By then, Ras had decided that he would go up the river for several miles before taking to the jungle, instead of crossing the river and plunging immediately into the cover of the green. It would be some time before the scouting party returned, and no one now in the village was going to try to track them down.

As they had left the dugout and walked toward the place where the king was to be kept, Ras had laughed. He had been happy. The whole event had seemed so delicious, now that the
danger was over. He had felt like rolling on the ground and laughing for hours. He had danced a few steps. The Sharrikt king had flinched and quivered every time Ras had come near.

And so Ras had brought the king to his prison for the next six months. It had been a bamboo cage that Ras had originally built as a leopard trap. It had been in the forest near the edge of the cliffs below which the country of the Wantso began. Gilluk had crawled into it at Ras's gesture, and Ras had secured the door. Gilluk, being a man, would have been able to unlock himself in a few minutes, but Ras had arranged a device that would have shot an arrow into Gilluk if he had lifted the door. Moreover, if Gilluk had lain down to avoid the arrow, he would have had to push the heavy door out at an angle that would have required the muscles of a very strong man. At the same time, while the door was being opened, a mechanism would lower another, which had been fitted with sharpened bamboo stakes on its lower edges. These would come down on the man lying on the floor as he lifted the outer gate. When the outer gate reached a 45-degree angle, the arrow, which had been very close, would be released, and the mechanism would release the inner gate so that it would fall upon the man. Ras had been proud of the device and had had moments when he had wished that Gilluk would try to escape, so that he could see how well the mechanism worked.