a far beacon calling them onward.
Over the short crisp grass, the four vehicles roared forward joyously,
bumping through an occasional ant-bear hole and flattening the clumps
of low them that stood in their way as they plunged ahead.
In the last glimmering of the day, just when Jake had decided to halt
the day's march, the flat land ahead of them opened miraculously and
they looked down into the steep boulder-strewn gorge of the Awash
River fifty feet below them. They climbed out of the parked vehicles
and gathered stiffly in a small group on the lip of the ravine, "There
is Ethiopia, two hundred yards away. It's two years since last I stood
upon the soil of my own country," said Gregorius, his big dark eyes
catching the last of the light.
He stopped himself and explained. "The river rises in the high country
near Addis Ababa and comes down one of the gorges into the lowland. A
short distance downstream from here it ends in a shallow swamp. There
its waters sink away into the desert sand and disappear.
Here we are standing on French territory still, ahead of us is
Ethiopia, there far to the north is Italian Eritrea."
"How far is it to the Wells of Chaldi?"Gareth interrupted.
That for him was the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold.
Gregorius shrugged. "Another forty miles, perhaps."
"How do we get across this lot?" Jake muttered, staring down into the
dim depths of the ravine where the shallow pools still glowed dull
silver.
"Upstream there is an old camel route to J ibuti," Gregorius told him.
"We might have to dig out the banks a little, but I think we'll be able
to cross."
"I hope you are right," Gareth told him. "It's a long way home, if we
have to go back." The view of water that she had glimpsed in the
depths of the ravine haunted Vicky Camberwell during the night. She
dreamed of foaming mountain streams and spilling waterfalls, of
moss-covered boulders, swaying green ferns about a deep cold pool, and
she awoke, restless and tired, with sweat plastering her hair to her
neck and forehead. There was just the first promise of dawn in the
sky.
She thought that she was the only one awake and she crept into the
vehicle and fetched her towel and toilet bag, but as she jumped down to
the ground she heard the clink of spanner on steel and she saw Jake
stooped over the engine compartment of his car.
She tried to sneak away before he saw her, but he straightened
suddenly.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. "As if I didn't know. Listen,
Vicky, I don't like you wandering around out of camp on your own."
"Jake Barton, I feel so filthy I can smell myself. Nothing and nobody
is going to stop me getting down to the river." Jake hesitated. "I'd
better come down with you."
"This isn't the Folies Berg&e, my dear," she laughed, and he had
learned enough not to argue with this lady. He watched her hurry to
the lip of the ravine and disappear down the steep slope with vague
misgivings, for which he could find no real substance.
The earth and loose stone rolled easily underfoot, and Vicky restrained
her impatience and picked her way carefully towards the water, until
she reached a narrow game trail that tipped down at a more comfortable
angle, and she followed it with relief. Her footsteps, falling
silently on to the soft earth, followed faithfully the string of round
five- toed pad marks, larger than a saucer, which had been plugged
deeply by the heavy weight of the animal that had made them. Vicky did
not look down, however, and if she had, it was doubtful if she would
have recognized what she was seeing. The faintly reflected light of
the pools drew her like a beacon.
When she reached the bottom of the ravine, she found that the river was
so shrunken that it was no longer flowing.
The pools were shallow, stagnant and still warm from the previous day's
sun. The storm waters of the awash had cut down through the softer
upper layers of earth until they exposed the sheet of hard black
ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.
Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and stepped down into one of
the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasurable feel of water on her
skin. She sat waist-deep and scooped handfuls of water over her face
and breasts, washing away the dust and salt-sticky sweat of the
desert.
Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottle of shampoo
from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftly worked up a thick
coating of white suds that covered her head and ran down her neck on to
her bare shoulders.
She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wet head like a
turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool and soaping her entire
body, delighting at the slipperiness of the suds and their fragrance.
By the time she was finished, the light had strengthened and she knew
that the others would be up and chafing to resume the march.
She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded the pool and
stood for a moment to feel the first gentle movement of the morning
breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly she had a strong sensation
