Country Of The Falcon

They didn’t stop at lunch-time, but Vasco chewed a hunk of the mandioca bread and drank some beer while Alexandra opened a tin of Coke and peeled two bananas. The fresh fruit was infinitely more delicious than any she had tasted in England, and if the Coke was a little warm, it couldn’t be helped. The Indians had nothing to eat, but grabbed the tins of beer Vasco threw to them with eager fingers, tearing open the tops and drinking greedily, the liquid dripping out of the corners of their mouths in their haste. Alexandra tried not to watch them, aware that her interest might be misconstrued, but their behaviour both repelled and fascinated her.

She fell asleep after lunch. She had not intended to do so, but she slept so fitfully at night that it was almost impossible to stay awake during the heat of the day. She was awakened by the sound of an aircraft overhead, but by the time she had pulled herself together it had disappeared. At least the intense heat had lessened somewhat, and she had been long enough in the river-basin to know that at night it could be bitterly cold. She yawned and stretched her legs, turning up the trouser cuffs to allow the air to get at her bare legs, and then rolled them down again at the awareness of having an audience.

Late in the afternoon, Vasco turned off the boat’s engine and secured the craft to the jutting stump of a long dead tree by the means of a thick rope. ‘We stay,’ he announced, mainly for Alexandra’s benefit. ‘Go on—amanha.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Alexandra licked her dry lips. ‘Couldn’t we go a little further today?’

Vasco shook his head. ‘Rapidos, senhorita. Nao caminho!’

Alexandra wished she had a Portuguese phrase book. She had the distinct suspicion that Vasco knew more English than he let on. It made it simpler for him if she couldn’t argue with him.

Now she was forced to acquiesce, and watched with astonishment as the two Indians dived over the side to swim and play in the water. Alexandra was almost sure there were piranhas in the river and she waited in horror for something terrible to happen. But nothing did. The two Indians swam to the river-bank, climbed ashore, and soon began gathering twigs to make a fire.

Dragging her attention from them, Alexandra became aware that Vasco was rigging up a kind of fishing line. He dangled it over the side, and before too long he caught an enormous fish, hauling it in and killing it mercilessly.

‘Tucunare!’ observed Vasco, with evident satisfaction. ‘You like?’

Alexandra shook her head vigorously. ‘No, thank you,’ she declined politely. A tin of beans or corned beef might be less appetising, but definitely safer. Even so, when Vasco started a fire in a kind of brazier and barbecued the fish he had caught, the smell was irresistible. It was almost dark by this time, and the towering trees around them seemed to be pressing in on them. Alexandra felt very much alone, and when Vasco again proffered some of the fish she found herself accepting.

It was absolutely delicious, and Alexandra ate ravenously, enjoying it more than anything she had had since leaving Manaus eight days ago. Licking her fingers afterwards, she looked towards the river-bank and saw the glow of the fire the Indians had lighted. Seemingly they did not find the forest frightening, and were equally capable of providing for themselves when it came to food.

Vasco doused the fire and lighted a lamp. Then he sat cross-legged in the bottom of the boat, poking his teeth with a sliver of wood. Alexandra wished he would stare at something else instead of her all the time, but as he had been kind enough to provide her with a delicious supper perhaps she ought to try and behave naturally.

‘Do—er—do you have any children, Vasco?’ she ventured tentatively.

The wizened face grimaced. ‘Filhos? Nao, senhorita.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Me? Me—repugnante! Who like Vasco?’

Alexandra felt a surge of compassion. ‘Why—why, that’s nonsense, Vasco. I—I’m sure there are lots—of girls who would be—be proud to marry you.’

Vasco’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You theenk so?’ he asked, shuffling a little nearer to her.

Alexandra quelled the urge to shift her legs from out of his reach. ‘I—I’m sure of it.’

‘And you, senhorita? You have muitos namorados, sim?’

Alexandra understood what this meant. ‘I—I have boy-friends, yes,’ she admitted.

‘Naturalmente, the senhorita esta muita formosa!’

Alexandra gave what she hoped was a deprecatory smile and forced a glance towards the camp-fire glowing among the trees on the bank. ‘The—the—er—Indians seem quite at home in the forest, don’t they?’ she said hurriedly.

‘Is their home,’ replied Vasco, without interest. ‘Tell me, senhorita, tell me about your boy-friends, sim? Do they—touch you? Do they—make love to you?’

Alexandra was revolted by the perversion of his curiosity. Pressing her lips together, she said coldly: ‘Where are you going to sleep, senhor?’

Vasco was unperturbed. ‘Where would the senhorita like Vasco to sleep?’

Alexandra gasped. ‘I—I beg your pardon?’

Vasco got to his knees, grasping her ankles with horny fingers. ‘The senhorita need not be afraid with Vasco,’ he said, his English improving all the time. ‘Vasco will not leave you alone.’

‘The senhorita is not afraid,’ snapped Alexandra, struggling to free her ankles, and trying to squash the feeling of panic that was rising inside her. ‘Please let go of me, or— or—–’

‘Or what will you do?’ Vasco’s face twisted into the semblance of a smile. ‘Will you shout for help? From whom? Who can hear you here?’ He flicked a contemptuous glance towards the Indians’ fire. ‘They? Nao. They would like to take their turn.’

‘You’re—you’re disgusting!’

Alexandra wrenched her feet out of his hands and lunged to one side. She had no clear idea of what she was about to do. Diving into the river or escaping into the forest were two equally impossible alternatives, but she had to do something or she would scream. She fell against the equipment in the well of the boat and something scraped painfully along her hip. It was a rifle.

Grasping it like a lifeline, she swung round on her knees pointing the barrel towards Vasco. ‘If—if you move, I’ll shoot!’ she declared in a ridiculously tremulous voice, but Vasco sat back on his heels and roared with laughter. ‘I—I mean it,’ she added fiercely. ‘I have used a gun before.’

‘Have you, senhorita?’ Vasco shook his head. ‘Veja—you have me in fear and trembling!’ And he held out one hand and deliberately shook it in front of her face.

Exactly what Vasco might have done next Alexandra was never to know, because almost simultaneously they heard the sound of an engine throbbing on the still night air. It was a boat coming down-stream, Alexandra thought, and her heart leapt and then subsided again. What now?

Sounds carried a tremendous distance in the uncanny silence of this watery maze and it was some time before the craft appeared round the bend in the river. There were lights on board and the sound of men’s voices, but it was impossible to tell yet what language they were speaking. Alexandra sat in frozen apprehension, hardly aware of the rifle still in her hands.

The occupants of the other boat saw them. It would have been impossible for them not to have seen the light of the lamp, and Alexandra tensed as the craft drew nearer. It was a smaller vessel and a tall man was profiled near its bow, standing looking towards them, saying something to the other men in the boat as it drew alongside. Then he hailed Alexandra’s companion:

‘Bem, Vasco, tu velho patife, como esta?’

The boats ground gently together and the other craft’s motor was cut as Vasco scrambled to his feet, completely disregarding the possible menace of the rifle Alexandra was holding.

A stream of Portuguese issued from his throat as he greeted the stranger, shaking his hand warmly as the other man vaulted into their boat, glancing back at Alexandra and then continuing to talk excitedly.

Alexandra got unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the rifle. If this man was a friend of Vasco’s, what possible assistance could she expect from him? She stared intently at him. It was impossible to distinguish his features as he was still in the shadows, but his height seemed to negate his being an Indian. He kept turning his head in her direction, however, and she wondered with increasing alarm whether he imagined she was easy game, too.

Eventually he seemed to take command, for he silenced Vasco with an unmistakable gesture and then stepped across the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat into the light.

Alexandra took a step backward, her eyes widening as she realised he looked almost European. He was deeply tanned, of course; no one could be otherwise who lived in this area, and his hair was very dark and longer than Vasco’s, but his lean, harshly arrogant features and thin mouth were almost patrician in cast. Even so, there was a certain sinuous quality about the way he moved that few Europeans possessed, and his eyes were amazingly as pale as blue fire. He was a handsome brute, Alexandra had to concede that, and from the way his eyes were assessing her with almost insolent appraisal he was perfectly aware of it.

‘Boa tarde, senhorita!’ he greeted her politely, with a faint but perceptible bow of his head, which went rather oddly with the close-fitting denim pants he was wearing and the denim shirt which was opened almost to his waist. ‘Isn’t that rifle a little heavy for you?’

He spoke English without any trace of an accent, and Alexandra stared at him in amazement. Her fingers slackened for a moment round the rifle and then tightened again.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded tautly.

The stranger cast a mocking glance back at Vasco, and then, while Alexandra was off guard, he stepped forward and twisted the rifle effortlessly out of her hands. ‘That’s better, is it not?’ he enquired, examining the weapon expertly. ‘Now—as to who I am, I suggest you tell me your name first.’

Alexandra was rubbing her fingers where his determined removal of the rifle had grazed them, and she stared at him a trifle desperately. ‘Look,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I don’t see why I have to tell you anything. I—I—this man here——’

‘Who? Vasco?’

‘Yes, Vasco. He—he was threatening me.’

‘Nao!’ Vasco was openly indignant. ‘I did not have espingarda, senhorita...’

The stranger ignored the other man’s outburst and went on calmly: ‘With what was he threatening you?’

Alexandra looked down at her hands. ‘I’d really rather not talk about it.’

The stranger’s lips twisted sardonically. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘A woman—or should I say, a girl?—who is prepared to travel unescorted must be prepared to look after herself.’ He tossed the rifle carelessly back to her and she managed to catch it before it fell on the deck at her feet. ‘Look at it,’ he commanded. ‘Not only is it not loaded, but the safety catch is still on.’

Alexandra looked rather warily down at the gun in her hands. She had never handled a rifle before this evening, not any gun if it came to that, in spite of her vain boast to Vasco. And if this man had known that, Vasco, with his awareness of its lack of bullets, must have known it, too.

‘Please,’ she said, suddenly feeling that it was all too much for her. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’

The stranger dropped the butt of his cigar over the side of the boat and she heard the faint plop as it hit the water and was extinguished. Then he leant forward and removed the rifle from her unresisting fingers, and stood it against the other equipment beside him.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he remarked quietly, folding his arms. ‘You see, I came here to find you, Miss Tempest.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a minute of complete silence when all Alexandra could hear was the heavy beating of her own heart. She tried to recollect whether she had heard Vasco mention her name in his initial outburst and then decided he must have done, for how else could this man know who she was? And yet he had said he had come here to find her. It didn’t make sense!

‘Who are you?’ she asked at last, unable to find anything more original to say.

‘My name is Declan O’Rourke, Miss Tempest. Vasco will vouch for that, I am sure. I live—some distance up-river.’

Declan O’Rourke!

Alexandra felt more than ever confused. Apart from the pale blue eyes between the thick black lashes there was little to indicate his Irish heritage.

‘But——’ She sought for words. ‘How did you know where to find me? And how did you know I was here?’

‘Explanations of that sort can wait.’ He glanced round at Vasco’s expectant face. ‘I will escort Miss Tempest from here. You can go back to Los Hermanos and tell Santos——’

‘No! I mean—wait!’ Alexandra bit her lower lip hard. ‘How do I know who you are? I mean, you can’t just come along and—and take me over!’

‘Would you rather stay with Vasco?’ O’Rourke’s eyes were mocking. ‘Did I misunderstand that scene I interrupted?’

‘No, no, of course you didn’t.’ Alexandra wrung her hands. ‘But—but you can’t expect me to go with you just like that—without any kind of an explanation.’

‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Miss Tempest,’ he returned politely, and she stared impotently at the sweat-stained shoulders of his shirt as he turned away.

Vasco sidled up to him and said something in an undertone and Alexandra wished desperately that she understood Portuguese. She had no liking for Vasco, nor any real trust, but he had brought her this far. How was she to be sure that this man O’Rourke was not some kind of thief or adventurer who, the minute they were out of Vasco’s sight, would ditch her and take what little money and possessions she had brought with her. Her fingers encountered the narrow gold watch on her wrist. Her father had bought it for her sixteenth birthday just over a year ago, and it was insured for almost two hundred pounds. It, at least, was worth stealing. Perhaps even Vasco was in league with him. Perhaps this was some crooked sort of deal they had cooked up between them.

Declan O’Rourke was beginning to manhandle her suitcases into the other boat and his actions inspired retaliation. She rushed forward and grasped his arm, preventing him from slinging over the pigskin holdall that contained her heavier clothes. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingers, and there were hairs on his arm that roughened the skin. This close she could smell the heat of his body, but it was not an unpleasant smell, and the aroma of tobacco still lingered about him.

He was turning at the moment she grabbed his arm and his elbow caught her in the rib-cage so that she gasped and released him, collapsing awkwardly on to the pile of blankets.

‘I’m sorry.’ There was a faint smile on his face as he hauled her to her feet at once, making sure she was not hurt by holding her for a moment until she drew free of him. ‘That was careless of me. I’m sure you want to help, but I can manage.’

Alexandra glared at him frustratedly. ‘You know perfectly well that was not my intention!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh—this is ridiculous! What are you doing with my belongings? What do you intend to do with me?’

Declan O’Rourke regarded her mockingly. ‘You really don’t trust anyone, do you?’

‘I haven’t had much encouragement!’ retorted Alexandra unsteadily, her momentary anger dissipating beneath other anxieties.

‘Very well. I—heard—there was a young woman waiting at Los Hermanos, waiting to come to Paradiablo.’

‘How did you hear that?’

‘You would call it a—grapevine, I think. We have quite an efficient one, believe me.’

‘Senhor O’Rourke lives at Paradiablo,’ put in Vasco, and was silenced by a piercing look from those chilling blue eyes.

‘I see.’ Alexandra was trying to make sense of this. ‘Do you know my father, Mr. O’Rourke?’

‘Professor Tempest? Yes, I know him.’

Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then you know he is at Paradiablo, too.’

‘Professor Tempest has been working at Paradiablo for several months, yes.’

Alexandra’s warm mouth curved into a smile. ‘Thank heavens for that! Oh—does he know I’m here, too?’

‘No.’ Declan O’Rourke sounded quite definite about that. He bent and completed his transference of her belongings to the other boat. Then he straightened. ‘I presume you are prepared to come with me now?’

Alexandra hesitated. ‘But I thought—oughtn’t we to stay here overnight? Vasco said something about—rapids?’

Declan O’Rourke cast a wry glance in Vasco’s direction. ‘Did he? Yes—well, there are rapids further upstream, but we will not be negotiating them this evening.’

Alexandra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will.’ Declan O’Rourke indicated his boat. ‘Do you need any assistance to climb across?’

Alexandra shook her head and then looked uncomfortably towards Vasco. How did he feel about losing his passenger?

‘Er—how much—how much do I owe you?’ she began.

‘I’ll attend to that.’

Declan O’Rourke spoke before Vasco’s greedy little mouth could voice a figure, and Alexandra had no choice but to leave him to it. She scrambled over into the adjoining boat, flinching away from the Indian hands which reached to help her, and standing rather uneasily in the well of the vessel watching the two men complete their business. She was still not entirely convinced that she was doing the right thing. There were still a lot of questions left unanswered. But she had made her decision and she had no choice but to stick to it.

A few moments later, Declan O’Rourke vaulted back into his own boat again and with a raised hand to Vasco he nodded to his Indian pilot and they began to move away. In no time at all the darkness had sucked them into its waiting void and Alexandra hugged herself closely, huddled on the plank seat, wondering what on earth her father was going to say when she saw him. She had the uneasy conviction that he was not going to be at all pleased.

Declan O’Rourke did not speak to her as the small vessel moved steadily upstream and apart from an occasional word between him and the Indian pilot the only sounds were the slapping movements of the water against the bows of the boat.

They travelled for perhaps half an hour and then Alexandra realised they were pulling across to the bank. Her nerves tightened. What now? Was this where they were going to abandon her—to be eaten alive by alligators or crushed to death by the giant anaconda of her nightmares?

The boat crunched against the spongy roots of dead undergrowth, and Declan O’Rourke sprang across on to marshy ground and secured a rope. Then he came back to where Alexandra was sitting and said:

‘Have you got boots?’ in a curt, uncompromising tone.

Alexandra blinked. ‘Boots? Oh—yes, of course.’

‘Put them on then. We’re going ashore.’

‘Ashore?’ Alexandra looked in horror at the menacing belt of tropical forest. ‘But——’

‘Don’t argue right now. Just do as I say.’

Declan turned away with the air of one accustomed to command and what was more, accustomed to being obeyed. Alexandra found herself fumbling for her boots and pushing her feet into them. When they were fastened she stood up and Declan came back to her shouldering a load of blankets and carrying a powerful torch.

‘Come along,’ he said, indicating that she should follow him and with a reluctant look at her belongings strewn in the bottom of the boat she obeyed.

The two Indians who were accompanying him were apparently remaining in the boat and Alexandra forced herself into a fatalistic frame of mind. Whatever happened now, she was powerless to prevent it.

Declan leapt on to the marshy river-bank and lent a hand as she jumped across the lapping shallows to land beside him. Her boots sank into the soggy ground and squelched as Declan switched on the torch and went ahead, urging her to follow him.

There was a path worn through the jungle at this point and it was surprisingly easy walking. Of course, all around them were the poisonous liana creepers that fought their way upward in a strangling spiral round the trunks of trees, and there might be any number of minor monsters underfoot, but Alexandra refused to think of them. The uncanny silence created an illusion of complete isolation, and the thought crossed her mind that these forests had existed here longer than man had peopled the earth. It was a shattering realisation.

An unearthly roar that echoed and re-echoed around them caused Alexandra to gasp and stumble, but she managed to right herself with resorting to clutching at her escort. All the same, she glanced back rather fearfully over her shoulder, half expecting to find a jaguar with dripping jaws panting malevolently behind her, but then her head jerked forward again as her companion said calmly:

‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s miles away. But sound carries in the forest.’

Alexandra nodded, not trusting herself to say anything and then walked into him without realising he had stopped and was pointing to a light a few yards away.

‘Our destination,’ he observed dryly, propelling her away from him again. ‘It belongs to a friend of mine and his family.’

Alexandra’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—people actually live out here?’

‘Why not?’ His voice had cooled perceptibly.

‘But—I mean—how can they?’ She spread her hands in an encompassing movement.

He looked down at her and even in the faint light from the torch she could sense his displeasure. ‘To live means different things to different people, Miss Tempest. I realise that in your society material things are the criterion by which success in life is judged, but here we have a more basic appreciation of happiness.’

Alexandra coloured and was glad he could not see it. She wanted to retaliate, to tell him that he knew nothing about the kind of society she moved in. How could he, living here in this remote part of the world, the rivers his only link with civilisation? But to stand arguing with him in the middle of the jungle with the darkness of night pressing all around them seemed the height of absurdity, so she remained silent.

He walked away towards the hut from which the light was coming and Alexandra stumbled after him. She was beginning to feel the coldness that came from too much exposure to the damp night air and the shivering that enveloped her was as much to do with that as nervousness. Even so, she was nervous, although her blind panic had left her.

A man emerged from the hut as they approached, carrying a lamp. Alexandra saw to her relief that he was at least wearing a pair of torn, but adequately covering, shorts, although his appearance was not encouraging. His brown Indian features were battered and scarred, and his teeth were blackened by the usual chewing of tobacco root. Behind him clustered his wife and a group of children of varying ages from two to teenage. He greeted Declan O’Rourke as warmly as Vasco had done, but their conversation was conducted in one of the Indian dialects Alexandra had heard since coming to Los Hermanos.

His wife and the children were more interested in Alexandra. Clearly they had seen Declan O’Rourke before, but a white girl was a different matter. Alexandra, shivering in her shirt and jeans, wondered however they managed to keep warm in such a minimum amount of clothing.

They were invited inside. The hut was larger than she had at first imagined, but it soon became apparent that they were all expected to share the same sleeping area. In the light of the lamp, Declan O’Rourke’s eyes challenged her to find some fault with this arrangement, and rather than create any unpleasantness Alexandra made no demur. She supposed she ought to feel grateful that she was at least warm again, even though the charcoal fire burning in one corner of the hut filled the air with smoke before escaping out of a hole in the thatched roof, but it was infinitely better than sleeping in the open boat as she had expected to do.