Country Of The Falcon

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 (#ulink_05b107c8-021b-5dcb-a4b1-a6d762e50e8a)