"Wilbur Smith - Courtney 03 - Blue Horizon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

"I'm fine, just not hungry." Jim glanced down at the pie he had barely touched, then at the circle of faces. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to die."

Sarah was still watching him. "What happened today?"

Jim knew she could see through him as though he was made of glass. He jumped to his feet. "Please excuse me," he said, pushed back his stool and stalked out of the kitchen into the yard.

Tom lumbered to his feet to follow him, but Sarah shook her head. "Leave him be, husband," she said. Only one person could give Tom Courtney orders, and he subsided obediently on to his stool. In contrast to the mood of only moments before, the room was plunged into a heavy, fraught silence.

Sarah looked across the table. "What happened out there today, Mansur?"

"Jim went aboard the convict ship in the bay. He saw things that upset him."

"What things?" she asked.

"The ship is filled with women prisoners. They had been chained, starved and beaten. The ship sinks like a pig-sty," Mansur said, repugnance and pity in his voice. Silence descended again as they visualized the scene Mansur had described.

Then Sarah said softly, "And one of the women on board was young and pretty."

"How did you know that?" Mansur stared at her with astonishment.

Jim strode out through the archway and down the hill towards the paddock at the edge of the lagoon. As the track emerged from the trees he put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The stallion was a little separated from the rest of the herd, grazing on the green grass at the edge of the water. He threw up his head at the sound, and the blaze on his forehead shone like a diadem in the sunlight. He arched his neck, flared his wide Arabian nostrils and stared across at Jim with luminous eyes. Jim whistled again. "Come, Drumfire," he called. "Come to me."

Drumfire glided from a standstill into a full gallop in a few strides. For such a large animal he moved with the grace of an antelope. Just watching him Jim felt his black mood begin to evaporate. The animal's coat gleamed like oiled mahogany and his mane streamed out over his back like a war banner. His steel-shod hoofs tore chunks out of the green turf with the thunder of rapid fire from a massed battery of cannon, the sound for which Jim had named him.

Riding against the burghers of the colony and the officers of the cavalry regiment, Jim and Drumfire had won the Governor's Gold Plate last Christmas Day. In doing so Drumfire had proved he was the fastest horse in Africa, and Jim had spurned an offer of two thousand guilders for him from Colonel Stephanus Keyser, the commander of the garrison. Horse and rider had won honour but no friends that day.

Drumfire swept down the track, running straight at Jim. He loved to try to make his master flinch. Jim stood his ground and, at the very last instant, Drumfire swerved so close that the wind of his passing ruffled Jim's hair. Then he came to a dead stop on braced front legs, nodding and neighing wildly.

"You great showman," Jim told him. "Behave yourself." Suddenly docile as a kitten Drumfire came back and nuzzled his chest, snuffling at the pockets of his coat until he smelt the slice of plum cake. "Cupboard love," Jim told him firmly.

Drumfire pushed him with his forehead, gently at first but then so demandingly that Jim was lifted off his feet. "You don't deserve it, but..." Jim relented and held out the cake. Drumfire drooled into his open palm as he picked up every last crumb with velvet lips. Jim wiped his hand on the shining neck, then laid one hand on the horse's withers and leaped lightly on to his back. At the touch of his heels, Drumfire glided again into that miraculous stride, and the wind whipped tears from the corners of Jim's eyes. They raced along the edge of the lagoon,

but when Jim touched him behind the shoulder with his toe the stallion did not hesitate. He turned and plunged into the shallows, startling a shoal of mullet into brief flight like a handful of spinning silver guilders across the green surface. Abruptly Drumfire was into the deep and Jim slipped into the water beside him as he swam. He grasped a handful of the long mane, and let the stallion tow him along. Swimming was another of Drumfire's great joys and the horse gave loud grunts of pleasure. As soon as he felt the bottom of the far shore under the horse's hoofs Jim slid on to his back again, and they burst out on to the beach at full stride.

Jim turned him down towards the seashore, and they crossed the high dunes, leaving deep hoofprints in the white sand, and went down the other side to where the surf crashed on to the beach. Without check Drumfire galloped along the edge of the water, running first on the hard wet sand, then belly deep through salt water as the waves came ashore. At last Jim slowed him to a walk. The stallion had galloped away his black mood, his anger and guilt left on the wind. He jumped up and stretched to his full height on Drumfire's back, and the horse adjusted his gait smoothly to help him balance. This was just one of the tricks they had taught each other.

Standing high Jim gazed out over the bay. The Meeuw had swung on her anchor so that she lay broadside to the beach. From this distance she looked as honest and respectable as a burgher's goodwife, giving no outward sign of the horrors hidden within her drab hull.

"Wind's changed," Jim told his horse, who cocked an ear back to listen to his voice. "It'll blow up a hell-storm in the next few days." He imagined the conditions below the decks of the convict ship if she were still anchored in the bay, which was open to the west, when it came. His black mood was returning. He dropped back astride Drumfire and rode on at a more sedate pace towards the castle. By the time they arrived below the massive stone walls his clothing had dried, although his velskoen boots made of kudu skin were still damp.

Captain Hugo van Hoogen, the quartermaster of the garrison, was in his office beside the main powder magazine. He gave Jim a friendly welcome, then offered him a pipe of Turkish tobacco and a cup of Arabian coffee. Jim refused the pipe but drank the dark, bitter brew with relish his aunt Yasmini had introduced them all to it. Jim and the quartermaster were old accomplices. It was accepted between them that Jim was the unofficial go-between of the Courtney family. If Hugo signed a licence stating that the Company was unable to supply provisions or stores to any ship in the bay, then the private chandler designated in the document was allowed to make good the shortfall.

Hugo was also an avid fisherman, and Jim related the saga of the steenbras, to a chorus from Hugo of "Ag nee, man!" and "Dis nee war nee! It's not true!"

When Jim shook hands with him and took his leave, he had in his pocket a blank licence to trade in the name of Courtney Brothers Trading Company. "I will come and drink coffee with you again on Saturday." Jim winked.

Hugo nodded genially. "You will be more than welcome, my young friend." From long experience he knew that he could trust Jim to bring his commission in a little purse of gold and silver coin.

Back in the stables on High Weald Jim rubbed Drumfire down, rather than letting one of the grooms do the job, then left him with a manger of crushed corn, over which he had dribbled molasses. Drumfire had a sweet tooth.