The Mer- Lion (77 page)

That gave the team a distinct advantage. For one thing seven could comer the speedy, cranky critters more easily than one. And seven could herd it into a wall, where it had to turn and try to fight its way out. And, thanks to John the Rob's extras, seven ropes would find more targets more quickly than one rope.

They roped the sixth bird around one leg, ignoring the furiously pecking head, gang-tackled it, and trussed both legs together. Ogilvy was left to guard it while the rest went back for others.

Cornering the seventh, Gilliver took a glancing kick on his right leg, the talons raking deep gashes in his thigh. But the group subdued the squawking bird, and de Wynter looked around for John the Rob to hold tins one while they went for more.

A strange sight greeted his eyes. Down the center of the great amphitheater came a bird running full tilt, dragging a man at the end of a rope. It was John the Rob and they ran to his aid.

"How did you catch this one?" de Wynter asked.

"Some fellow decided he didn't want it any longer," John the Rob shouted, spitting dirt from his mouth.

"Oh," said de Wynter. "I suppose the one heading this way has simply changed his mind and wants it back."

The others looked where de Wynter was pointing, to see an angry contestant bearing down on them. With Carlby holding the eighth bird, five of the group lined up to face the irate man.

"That's my bird, and he stole it," he screamed, pointing a finger at John the Rob.

"Forget it, friend," de Wynter shouted above the din, tossing the man a rope. "Go get yourself another one." As he spoke, the five stepped forward menacingly toward the man; he held his ground for a long minute, then decided he didn't really want that particular bird.

"Just one to go," de Wynter cried. And the five sped off looking for another ostrich to subdue.

The crowd had watched the spectacle with fascination, especially the teamwork. Some thought it clever. Others considered it unfair. The judges, too, had frowned, conferred, and found that there was nothing in their rules to prohibit such action, though they certainly had not expected it.

Of the five birds still speeding around the arena, they needed but one. At that moment they heard a shout—Gilliver's charge had gotten away. All turned to run this one down, Cameron making a dangerous and daring tackle of one leg, with the others then piling on before the beast could seriously hurt him. Gilliver, whose right leg was still bleeding, was again put in charge of the bird. Now de Wynter, John the Rob, and Menzies could set off to track down their final prey. Horrified, de Wynter looked around the arena to see that there were no more ostriches on the loose. "Now what?" he said.

John the Rob said, "I'll get us another one. Watch." Twirling the rope about his head, he finally let go, and the rope found its target, wrapping itself about another contestant's neck. Startled, the man let go of his bird, and it took off for freedom. As one, the three took after it, as did every other contestant without a bird.

Desperation showed on every face. Anyone who got in someone else's way was jostled, tripped, shoved, or belted. John the Rob concentrated on stripping contestants of their ropes, many of them never knowing whad had happened. The result was that out of the eleven pursuers only five had ropes: two others besides de Wynter and Menzies and John the Rob.

Still moving as fast as his legs would take him, John the Rob knotted his extra ropes together, making them into one long rope. Tying knots at each end, he threw one end to de Wynter and snouted, "Grab hold, milord, we've got to slow these fellows down a bit."

So saying, he darted off at an angle, taking his end of the rope with him, so that it stretched out on the ground between them. De Wynter took only a moment to see what was on the other's mind. Then with a grin, he carried out his end of the plan. Circling around one end of the group pursuing the ostrich, he dragged the rope behind him, the other end of which was held tightly in John the Rob's hand. Now he cut sharply back across their path, and yanked the rope tight at knee level. Down went the pursuers in a heap, wondering what hit them. All except one. Kenneth Menzies leaped over the rope and sped after the bird, with de Wynter and John the Rob right behind him. The long rope was hopelessly tangled jn legs and bodies and had to be abandoned, but both Menzies and de Wynter had theirs. What's more, the bird still trailed the one by which it had been held captive.

Menzies caught up to the bird by anticipating which way he would turn as he reached the end of the arena, then cutting him off. Cornered by the three contestants, the bird decided to stand and fight. Too late. While two men made a feint to one side, Menzies dived for the rope. Scrambling to his feet, he pulled with all of his strength. As the bird answered the tug, de Wynter tossed another rope over his head, then pulled it taut, and dragged the creature back to where the rest of their group awaited them, fighting off other contestants as they went.

Now to figure put how to get the still kicking and struggling birds under better control. "Hobble them," de Wynter decided. "It works for horses and camels." By combining their strength and talents, one by one they trussed the birds' legs together with about a hand’s breadth between.

"Check all the knots on those loops," de Wynter said. "We don't want to lose any at this stage. Damn, there should be a way to keep these together without each of us holding one."

"As you command," said a grinning John the Rob, producing from around his middle the long length of rope used to trip up their competitors. It was short work to join all of the neck ropes with the long rope. Now, to steal one, all must be stolen. All but de Wynter and Carlby were assigned to sit on, pin, or otherwise control the still irritable but tired ostriches until the ram's-horn blared again.

"So far so good," de Wynter said as the pair squatted several
paces in front of the group, ready to do battle with any birdless one who came too close. But their aspect was too formidable. They were left alone.

"Are we really going to try to ride those creatures? We must be mad," Carlby said, rubbing his sore stomach.

De Wynter ignored both words and gesture. "We've got to fashion some bridles to steer the bloody beasts. Damn. If we didn't need the extra rope to hold the birds, we could use it for bridles."

"Suppose we bury one's head in the sand while you turn his rope into a bridle," Carlby suggested facetiously.

De Wynter ignored his sarcasm. "You have the makings of a good idea there. Suppose we blindfold one with a loincloth then use the neck rope to make the bridle? Come on, it's worth a try."

Before they could experiment, a loose ostrich went'screaming and flapping down the arena, squawking shrilly as its captor chased it, six men chasing him. No one lifted a hand to help. At that moment, the ram's horn sounded and the silent ones entered the arena, herding the birdless ones, including the seven would-be captors of the loose bird, inexorably toward the Gate of Death. None went willingly. Some tried to scale the arena wall. Others tried to take shelter among the captive birds. At this, the stentorian voice announced, "He who harbors a birdless one will sacrifice his own chance to compete." At that, the luckier ones expelled their fellows, allowing the silent ones to round up all the others. As the Moulay had commanded, each man's name was announced as he was shoved through the Gate of Death. The Moulay, satisfied that the one he was interested in was still in the arena, announced, "I am tired. Hold the games until I return from my nap." Before Ramlah or Aisha could protest, he had left the royal box on his way to the couching room prepared by the slaves days before.

The slaves, for one, welcomed the chance the delay gave them. While Fionn and Ogilvy wrapped themselves around the hobbled legs of one bird, de Wynter gave his loincloth to Carlby to blind the bird. The bird struggled once, then lay still while de Wynter experimented, knotting the rope various ways. Eventually, he devised a double loop: one for the top of the neck, a smaller one for around the beak. The two free ends would be grasped like reins, one in each hand.

"No good. It's not quite long enough," de Wynter said. "We're
going to have to use two ropes for each bridle. Otherwise, when they stretch out their necks, they'll pull the reins free."

Redoing the two loops closer to one end of the two-meter rope^de Wynter had Gilliver untie one length from the tether, and tied it on the long end of the bridle. Now the reins formed a long loop of their own, one which the rider could tie behind his back and still have plenty of rope to rein with. Putting it on the bird was not easy, but as Carlby said, nothing had been these last four days.

"We still have a problem," Carlby pointed out. "Only six extra ropes and nine birds."

"The three of us with the longest arms will have to make do; we have no other choice," de Wynter said. "Let's get started."

Over the next hour, the group painstakingly, and painfully, put bridles on each of their plumed steeds, tying the reins to each other to keep the big birds tethered. When the last one was done, de Wynter rescued what was left of his loincloth: a shredded rag.

"Thank God, I'm not proud," de Wynter said, holding it up.

"Nor modest," Fionn added.

While the others laughed, John the Rob disappeared, only to return with a fresh loincloth.

"Now, how did you do that? Strip a man naked without his knowing it? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. It was Eulj Ali's I stole, and he doesn't look too happy about it."

"I'll lend him my rag; it might remind him of his good times rowing."

"If you two are finished chatting?" Carlby prodded them. Then the men were all business; it was time to learn to ride their winged, two-legged beasts. It took two men to control one in the beginning. While one clambered aboard, the other held the bridle and then led the bird.

They soon discovered riding an ostrich was not easy. To compound matters, they dared not exhaust the beasts, for the birds must race that afternoon. By the time the ram's horn sounded at the Moulay's return from his nap, the dust-covered men were exhausted, and none was absolutely sure he could stay aboard his rolling, jolting steed, let alone guide him or urge him on faster.

"With the Moulay's great and glorious permission," the crier
shouted, "there will be five races. Plus a final one for the five winners, this winner to receive an advantage in tomorrow's contest. The slaves passing among you bear pots. Within them are discs to draw for position. Yellow races first. Then red, followed by blue, white after that, and black racing last. The blessings of Allah on him who competes."

De Wynter, first to draw, drew yellow. Cameron and Menzies, drawing one after the other, both came up with red discs. Angus and Ogilvy found themselves in the third and fourth heats respectively. Carlby's disc was blue, Fionn's white. John the Rob, whose dextrous hands managed to take one disc and palm a second, came up with two white ones, to his disgust; there were already three of them in the fourth heat. Gilliver drew last and prayed it wasn't a sign, for his disc was black.

De Wynter, seeing Gilliver's face, put an arm around his friend's shoulders and quietly reassured him, "Henry, don't worry. The main tiling today is not to get injured. If you have a chance to win without taking any risk, fine. If not, don't worry. They may have already done their winnowing for today. So just cling to your bird and stay on. Understand?"

Gilliver nodded and smiled tremulously. Whatever Jamie said, Gilliver believed implicitly, religiously.

De Wynter took his own advice and approached the first heat with a lighthearted feeling that was not appropriate for the occasion but totally in character. He loved competition, the element of danger only adding to the excitement. The ram's horn signaled the start, and de Wynter, who had been given a boost up by his fellows, kicked the feathery beast in the sides and took off in a cloud of sand along with seven other angry, rambunctious ostriches. Most of them went as much laterally as forward, fouling everybody's well-laid plans and bumping one rider unceremoniously from his perch to crash upon the sun-hardened sand.

The bridle that de Wynter had fashioned was superior to any of the crude halters the others in the heat had managed, and it gave him an advantage that served him well. By tugging with all his might on one rein or the other, he could actually steer the headstrong beast. His biggest problem turned out to be getting it to move fast enough.

But enough kicks in the side and enough shouts of encouragement brought him to the finish line before the others. In fact, only three of the-eight managed to get across the finish line within the time allowed.

"Nothing to it," said a sweat-soaked, hard-breathing de Wynter as he rejoined his friends at the starting line. His steed had been led away by slaves to be held until the final race of the day.

"I would suggest that you two," he said to Cameron and Menzies, "delay your start just a few seconds. Let the crazy birds get spread out a bit heading in the right direction, and then you can take off. It might save you a spill."

"Good idea," said Menzies.

"Makes sense," George said, not at all confidentiy. He was more than a little worried because he, like de Wynter and Fionn, was using the short reins.

At the blast of the ram's horn, five of the eight birds leaped from the starting line in a melee of bumping, jostling, and shouting. One refused to move, instead, to his rider's horror, squatting down as if nesting. Cameron and Menzies, who lagged behind, saw their openings; they kicked their birds into action and sped forth in a near-straight line, soon passing four erratic birds. But the fifth stubbornly held his lead, streaking down the length of the arena. It was a three-man, or ostrich, race, and Cameron and Menzies lost in a close finish.