The Temple Dancer (20 page)

Pathan looked away, his face hard. "I don't know, madam." Thunder
rumbled in the distance.

He took off his turban and quickly wound the long cloth tightly
around his left hand. Then he unsheathed his sword. "The poet says life is a
caravan, madam, and we sleep, he says, in many different tents. Tonight
maybe we shall sleep in a new tent, madam." He looked very small in the
mountain shadows, his bare torso muscular and taut, but too slender for
what was to come. His hair fell to his shoulders.

The hoofbeats echoed around the cavern walls around the bend in the
road.

"Madam, maybe ..." Pathan looked at her hard, refusing to be distracted by the sound of the oncoming horses. "Meeting you has been a
great pleasure and a great lesson. If you wish it ... when I have fought to
my last breath for you, I mean, and only if all hope is gone ... if you wish
it ... I could see that no more hurt would come to you.... Do you understand me?"

Lucinda stared at his anguished face, and slowly the meaning of his
words came clear. "Do not say such foolish things, Captain."

"We have passed the time for foolishness."

"Somehow you will triumph. I know it." He gave her one of his rare
smiles. She saw more clearly than ever that smiling was hard for him.
"Have no fear, dear captain, as I have none."

But now the hoofbeats were too loud for any more talk.

When she was little, Lucinda had seen a demon painted on the wall of an
old temple: wild-eyed, misshapen, red-skinned, horrible. Blood dripped
from his fanged jaws. She only saw it once, just a glance, but the image had
been planted. It haunted her dreams. Over time the nightmare demon became more human, and more frightening. Some nights she'd wake to find Helene shaking her out of her screaming, for in her dreams the demon was
advancing, more human now and more terrifying than ever.

It was that face Lucinda now saw. The bandit had cinched a leather
braid around the stump of his wrist to slow its bleeding. He must have
pulled it tight with his teeth, for blood stained his face and streaked his
shirt. Even his hair was sticky with blood. His eyes burned with pain and
hate. He had wrapped his reins around the bleeding arm; in his good hand he
held as a club a heavy branch of dead wood. Ropes of foam hung from his
pony's muzzle.

Pathan placed himself directly between Lucinda and the bandit. The
sun glistened on the sweat of his shoulders; Lucinda could see each twist
and ripple of his muscles as he swung his sword in slow circles. His long
hair fell and hid his face. Lucinda wished that she might see his face just
once more, just once, but he did not turn around.

She thought that the bandit would cry out before he attacked, but he
spurred his mount without a word. Pathan raised his sword, but the bandit
clubbed the blade with the branch. Pathan's curved sword whirled from his
hand and clattered down the embankment. When Pathan spun around, Lucinda saw the terror in his eyes and covered her mouth to keep from
screaming. She crawled to the chasm's edge, and saw the blade glittering far
below.

The bandit wheeled on the narrow road and drove back for another attack. This time, Pathan ducked the branch as it swung at him. He leaped
up, and grabbed the bandit's shirt, nearly toppling him. But the bandit
hung on; and Pathan hung on behind him, half-dragged as the pony galloped madly on. The bandit swung at him with awkward blows until
Pathan tumbled against the stones.

Pathan staggered to his feet while the bandit watched. The braid had
loosened on his stump, and blood now seeped from it with every heartbeat.
His eyes had the brutal stare of a dying tiger.

The bandit spurred his pony. It had reached a full gallop when the bandit's club smacked Pathan's side. Pathan arced through the air with the
force of the blow, sliding on his belly when he fell. He struggled to lift his
head.

Again thunder rumbled, and shadow filled the sky. A raindrop so large
it felt like a splattering egg struck Lucinda's face. The bandit wheeled
around once more. Blood from his stump had stained his pants now. Rain began to pelt the road, each drop spraying into the air as it struck the
stones.

Too desperate to heed his danger, Pathan pushed up to his feet. The
rain pummeled him; his long hair hung in wet streaks across his shoulders.
He tried to walk, but staggered, barely keeping his feet. He could not focus
his eyes but stared half-blind into the distance. Twenty yards away, the
bandit faced him.

Lucinda watched in horror as the bandit spurred to a gallop. Pathan did
not move; he seemed unaware of the danger. Get down, get down, she
whispered in Portuguese. How could he even be standing after the blows
he had taken?

The bandit came on, swinging his club. Pathan staggered blindly. Then
the club struck his head, so hard Pathan's feet left the ground. He slammed
to the road, flopping onto his back landing so close to the road edge that one
of his arms hung in the chasm air. Pathan's body shuddered and grew still.

"Pathan!" Lucinda shrieked. Her cry was lost in the bandit's scream of
triumph. "I have won! I have killed him!" The bandit's face was deathly
pale, the wild eyes rimmed yellow. Another man might have collapsed
from losing so much blood, but the hate that coursed through the bandit's
veins kept him alive.

He dropped the branch club and ran toward Lucinda. Come on, she
thought as she hobbled to her feet, fists clenched. I'll hurt you before I die.

But she hadn't counted on the bandit's spirit, which seemed on fire despite his injuries. As he passed he grabbed her arm, and by some trick
twisted her so she ended up sprawled across his pony once more.

"You are mine!" he crowed. Lucinda bounced against the beast's hot
flanks. He pressed her down so that she could not move. She smelled the
bandit's blood, and saw Pathan's body, and she wept.

"Get ready," Da Gama said. "Use the mare for cover." He propped his pistola on the horse's rump. Maya swallowed hard and followed his example,
sighting down the barrel toward the sound of the hoofbeats.

"Shoot! Shoot! Why don't you shoot!" Slipper screamed.

"There's nothing to shoot at, eunuch."

At that moment the rain abruptly stopped. Where there had been before a cascading tumult there was now sudden silence. The air fell still, and
the approaching hoofbeats echoed from stone to glistening stone.

"Shoot!" Slipper whispered. The bandit's pony swung into view. "Shoot!"
he screamed.

"No!" Da Gama shouted. "Hold your fire! He has Lucy!"

"Shoot him, whore!" Slipper bawled into Maya's ear.

"Didn't you hear Deoga?" she answered. But Slipper's face was livid,
and he grabbed for her pistola.

"Give it! Give it! I'll show you cowards how to shoot!" In an instant he
wrenched the pistol from Maya's grasp and raised it toward the road.

"No!" screamed Deoga. He grabbed the eunuch's arm just as Slipper
pulled the trigger. Da Gama fell backward beside him.

"I'm hit! I'm bleeding!" Slipper screamed. Clutching his fat cheeks, he
stumbled back toward the bushes and fell to his knees. His face was covered with blood.

But not his own. His shot had pierced the eye of Da Gama's tethered
mare. A stillness fell over the animal. It sagged on its hooves, and canted
slowly sideways, as if made from moist clay. Da Gama dropped his pistola
and pushed against it. His posture reminded Maya of the way a heartbroken man leans against a wall and sobs. Slowly she realized that the beast
was collapsing, and Da Gama was trying to keep it from crushing them
both. She leaped away, but at that moment the horse toppled over, trapping
Da Gama's legs.

Da Gama howled as the horse toppled on him. Maya hurried over and
leaned her back against the carcass, but Da Gama could not free his legs. "I
don't think they're broken, but I can't get out," he whispered through
clenched teeth. Maya didn't need to ask if it hurt. Da Gama's eyes, however,
had now swept down the road back to the approaching pony.

"Look! Look at this!" The bandit's voice was a dull rasp. "This is justice, this is! Look!" He slid from the pony and grabbed Lucinda around
the neck. "This is pretty justice. All day you've been killing my brothers,
but now there will be justice. I will kill your daughter, bastard, and then I'll
kill you." He shoved Lucinda forward, using her body as a shield. Somewhere he'd found a knife.

"I paid, you son of a bitch!" Da Gama shouted. "The chauth! The baksheesh. Goddamnit, is there no honor anymore?"

"It is I who paid, all day, but you'll pay now, that's certain. You'll pay,
she'll pay. Everyone will pay."

"Can't you shoot him, Deoga?" Maya whispered. "Let me get you a
pistola. "

Flinching and gritting his teeth, Da Gama checked the range. "Not
from here. I'd as likely hit Lucinda."

The bandit shoved Lucinda forward. Da Gama watched in agony, fearing the bandit would cut her. She lifted her hands to him. Da Gama's face
grew hot.

"So, papa: Can you kill me before I kill her?" The bandit's face was
pale, and his eyelids and lips drooped. "Throw me your sword."

Da Gama couldn't do it, not by himself. Maya helped him unbuckle
his belt, and tossed the sword, scabbard, and all. "Do you want more
money? Is that what you want? Can't we work a deal?"

"I'll have all your money soon enough." Staggering, the bandit pulled
Lucinda to some rocks. From there he had a comfortable view of Da Gama
struggling under the dead horse, and Maya beside him. He yanked Lucinda
to her knees: she whimpered with the pain. He was fading, but was still
strong enough to hurt her.

"Throw away your guns."

"I can't move, you bastard. Let her go!"

"You do it," the bandit said, glaring at Maya. Da Gama gave a grimacing nod. Maya crawled behind him, picked up the leather bag of pistolas
that were just beyond his reach. "Throw them here," the bandit called.

"They might go off!" Da Gama said. The bandit twisted Lucinda's hair
for answer. When he heard her whimper, Da Gama's face grew hard. He
nodded, and Maya from a crouch threw over the guns. But she kept one
hidden behind her back.

"That's a good papa. Now-unfinished business." Saliva mixed with
the dried blood on his cheek as he sneered at Da Gama. "Business before
pleasure. I lost a hand over this bitch. I hope she's worth it."

There was little left of him but hate, but his hate was strong and Lucinda was exhausted. The bandit twisted her arm until she could do no
more than fall. Her nightmare of the river began again. Worse this time.
Wet this time, dirtier this time. Worst of all, Pathan dead this time.

Stained by his own blood, half-dead, the bandit showed no imagination. He placed a knee on each of Lucinda's shoulders to hold her down and gripped his knife between his teeth. He began once more to tug at his
pants.

"Stop It!" Da Gama cried. He sounded in agony.

"Oh, papa. Just enjoy the show," the bandit said. He meant to shout,
but his voice was no more than a whimper. His belly was streaked with
blood, and he could barely find his shrunken lingam. Finally his hand was
working at it, and at his own touch his head fell back in a long, growling
grunt. "That's good. That's good."

"Wait," Maya said, rising from Da Gama's side. "Let me show you
what a nautch girl can do."

The bandit's eyes flickered from Lucinda to Maya and back. "What's
your game?"

"Am I not pleasing? Let her go, and I'll give you pleasure."

"You're crazy." He blinked at Maya. His eyes were having trouble focusing.

"After I've pleased you, take me with you."

"What about him?" the bandit nodded to Da Gama.

"Kill him if you like. He's nothing to me."

"You really a nautch girl?"

"Oh, yes," Maya sighed. Her arm ached, and her ear rang, and as she
walked her vision spun, but she forced her face to an elegant serenity, and
she moved as graceful as flowing water. "I won't fight. Why should I? How
often does a slave get to have a real man? A man like you ... a bandit
prince? I'll be your slave. I'll do anything you ask." Maya had covered half
the distance. "You could make me beg. A man like you could make me
beg." By now the bandit was lost in her eyes. "Let her go. Take me."