Prisoner of the Seraglio

 

A Cordelia Delacourt Adventure

 

lespion@msn.com

 

Chapter 11  Burton

 

“I must thank you again, Mr. Burton for saving me and my companion from those savages,” Cordelia said.  She had come to the end of her story.  Burton had listened with patience and without interruption as Cordelia described her adventures, but now he spoke.

 

“Savages?” Burton questioned.  “Tell me Miss Delacourt did the Seranaga treat you any worse than the German madman who held you prisoner on board his ship; or the Songhay bey who took you into his harem; or the British kidnappers who stole you from your father?”

 

Cordelia stared at him open-mouthed.  She had not expected the British explorer to defend the Seranaga, but then she thought for a second.  It was true that the king of the Seranaga had forced her to submit to him, but so had all of the others, except Janessic who had his own reasons for not raping her. 

 

Burton was still waiting and Cordelia finally answered.  “What should I call them then?”

 

“The Seranaga are a people like any other.  When their king took you as his wife he was according you a great honour, not the other way around.”

 

“But he forced me,” protested Cordelia. 

 

“Did he actually rape you?  Or did you consent?”

 

“How could I consent?  I spoke not a word of his language?”

 

“But you offered no resistance.  So he did not actually force you.  I see a strong similarity to many arranged marriages in Europe.”

 

“That is ridiculous.  In England I would have been free to marry whom I chose.”

 

Really?” Burton smiled.  “And if your parents selected another for you would you have refused?”

 

“You really are the most infuriating man, Mr. Burton.  You twist everything I say.”

 

Burton’s smile widened.  He had a maddening way of speaking to her, treating her almost as if she were a child.  “I am merely trying to point out that marriage customs among the Seranaga are not quite so different from those of so-called civilized countries as you might think.  At least among the Seranaga most brides are sure that they are getting a man who can care for them.”

 

“How so?” inquired Cordelia.

 

“Bride price,” Burton answered.  “The man wishing to take a wife must pay the bride’s family for the privilege.  It is a way of compensating the family for the loss of a daughter and at the same time proving that the groom is wealthy enough to support a wife.”

 

“But, we do the same thing in Britain in a way,” Cordelia said.  “The father of the prospective bride inquires as to the background of the prospective groom.”

 

“So the English and the Seranaga are not so different after all,” Burton said.

 

Cordelia saw that she had been trapped, but was not quite willing to concede defeat.  “But Chulo gave me up willingly enough.  No Englishman would do that.”

 

“Perhaps not,” Burton agreed.  “But I certainly paid enough for you.”

 

“You paid for me!” Cordelia cried, completely astounded.

 

“Five thousand glass beads, two hundred feet of copper wire, five good steel axes, seven bolts of cloth, and five head of cattle.  I think it was the cattle that finally sealed the deal.    You were most expensive.  Why else do you think Chulo agreed to let you and Miss Brown go?”

 

“But that would mean…” Cordelia began.

 

“That I own you?” Burton grinned.  “Indeed by Seranaga custom so it would.  But do not worry Miss Delacourt, I do not intend to collect my debt, not even from Miss Brown.”

 

“What do you mean ‘Not even from Miss Brown?’  What is wrong with my companion?”

 

“Just that she is not really your companion.  Come come, Miss Delacourt, do you really think I believe that a girl with an accent as atrocious as Miss Brown’s is in the same social class as you are?  Do you think that I have not observed how she addresses you and the way you address her?  You are clearly a well bred upper class young lady, whereas Miss Brown most clearly made her living in ways considered a good deal less savoury.”

 

“Liz is my friend,” Cordelia protested, “not my servant.”

 

“Then why does she never call you by your first name?  I note that she always calls you ‘miss,’ which certainly denotes a position of inferiority.”

 

Cordelia was snookered.  She had never thought too deeply about her relationship with Liz, merely accepting it the way it was, but she realized that Burton was right.  Liz clearly acted toward her as if she was the servant and Cordelia was her mistress.  It was a situation that Cordelia now decided to remedy. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Burton,” she said, as she got to her feet.  “Now if you will please excuse me I have something to attend to.”

 

Burton did not ask where she was going he merely called after her as she left.  “Careful where you walk, Miss Delacourt.  The long grass frequently harbours poisonous snakes.”

 

Cordelia went carefully.  She found Liz where she had left her, splashing in the cool waters of the pool.  Burton had not left the vicinity of the village and seemed quite unconcerned about the closeness of the Seranaga.   The girl waded to the edge and came out as Cordelia approached.  “Ah, that’s so refreshing, miss.  I feel so much better.”

 

“Liz,” said Cordelia awkwardly, “I want you to call me Cordelia, not ‘Miss,’”

 

Liz looked at her strangely.  “Miss,” she answered, ignoring Cordelia’s directive, “it hain’t my place to speak to like that.”

 

Cordelia reflected that Liz still had a long way to go with her English, but didn’t comment on it.  There was a more important issue at stake.  “Liz,” she said quietly, “didn’t you ever have a friend?”

 

The girl thought and then answered.  “Well, not as what you call a real friend not like…  I knew some people once I was friendly with.”

 

“And did you call them Miss so-and-so or Mr. So-and-so?”

 

Liz shook her head and smiled shyly.  “I guess you are a real friend after all, Miss Cordelia.” 

 

“That’s Cordelia,” Liz.  I won’t answer to Miss any more.”

 

“All right, m… Cordelia,” Liz answered hesitatingly . 

 

“There that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Cordelia smiled.  “Now get dressed.  We have to go and see Mr. Burton.”

 

 

Mr. Burton’s canvas chair was empty when Cordelia returned.  He had left half a glass of wine on the table when he left.  Cordelia reflected that for an adventurer Burton traveled in style.  He had brought several hundred porters with him as well as an armed escort of about thirty Arabs and mixed bloods.  When he was not meeting with his various henchmen and guides he usually sat under a large awning in front of his tent, his chair pulled up beside a portable writing table. 

 

His negotiations with Chulo were not quite finished.  Burton had explained that he needed porters to complete his journey into the African interior.  Those that had come with him were now well beyond their tribal territory and were returning home.  He required replacements if he was to travel any further.

 

Part of the problem was the huge number of trade goods that Burton brought with him.  Cordelia had wondered about that.  Her visions of daring explorers usually brought to mind small bands of daring white men accompanied by a few native guides.  She had never imagined that a typical expedition would stretch out for almost a half mile. 

 

Burton had explained that the large number of trade goods was needed for new porters as well as to obtain permission from each local king or chieftain to cross their territory. 

 

And then, of course, there were Burton’s travel essentials.  To say that the explorer didn’t travel light would have been a heroic understatement.  In addition to several portable chairs and his writing table, his personal effects consisted of a complete English tea service; numerous scientific instruments; a tent large enough to hold six men; several cases of whiskey, table wine, brandy, and port; his personal firearms and ammunition; several changes of clothing; and a considerable amount of preserved food.  And those were only the items that Cordelia knew about.  He might have considerably more stored in the numerous chests the porters had arranged neatly near his tent.

 

Cordelia and Liz made themselves comfortable while waiting for Burton’s return.  His personal servants had been instructed to serve them as they served him and they had no sooner seated themselves in the shade of the awning than two servants immediately approached and began to cool them with large palm fans.  Another, who had been introduced as “James” bowed before them.

 

“Is there anything I might get you, miss?” he said to Cordelia. 

 

Cordelia shook her head.  “No thank you, James.  I’ll just sit here until Mr. Burton returns.”

 

James bowed.  “He should be back soon, miss.  He is just paying off some of the porters who are heading back.”

 

Cordelia nodded and settled back to wait.  She and Liz chatted idly, glad to be safe once more.  Henry Burton seemed like a proper English gentleman in spite of his rather brusque manner.  Cordelia put that down to simply being used to ordering large numbers of people about.  He certainly had been most courteous to her and Liz, in spite of their conversation this morning.

 

In a way even that conversation was refreshing.  Most young men she had known had not cared to talk to her about anything more serious than the weather.  It was partly why she had found most of them so uninteresting.  Burton’s candid manner was quite unusual.  He almost treated her as if she had a mind.

 

The sound of Burton approaching had Cordelia’s instant attention.  She smiled as he came up.  At first he seemed not to notice her as he was in animated conversation with the captain of his Arab escort, then he nodded his recognition and came over to her.  Unlike most men Cordelia had known he did not bother to bow or take her hand instead he got right to the point.

 

“Looks like we’ll be here a few more days.  King Chulo is proving a bit stubborn when it comes to the number of porters I’ll need.  But he has given me permission to hunt provided I give him a share of the kills.  Would you and Miss Brown like to accompany me?”

 

“I would be delighted,” Cordelia answered.  She and Liz had been three days in Burton’s camp, and had recovered from their ordeal in the Seranagan village.  She was feeling a bit bored.  Besides, she liked Burton’s company. 

 

“Excellent,” Burton said.  “I trust you have handled a rifle before?”

 

“I’ve fired a fowling piece,” Cordelia answered, “but I don’t think Miss Brown has had much experience.”

 

Liz shook her head, showing her agreement with Cordelia’s assessment.

 

“A fowling piece,” Burton mused.  “Well that’s something at least.  As for Miss Brown she’ll just have to learn.”

 

“Baako will be your gun bearer, Miss Delacourt and Juma will look after Miss Brown.  Now shall we go?”

 

They went.  Even a hunting party was not a small expedition.  In addition to the three African gun bearers there were two porters carrying their lunch and another packing an open tent to keep the sun off while they ate, and several others to carry any hapless animals they happened to shoot.

 

The country through which they walked consisted of rolling hills covered with a mixture of forest and grassland.  For the first part of the hunt they passed Seranagan farms and herds of cows and goats and then they passed beyond the area touched by man and into the wild. 

 

Here they carefully stuck to the path, when they could find one, and sent a porter ahead to beat the grass when they could not.  For a moment Cordelia thought that the man was trying to flush game birds the way her father’s beaters had in England, but Burton soon divested her of that notion.

 

“Snakes, ladies,” he said.  “Bushmaster and king cobra.  No chance of survival if bitten by one of them I assure you.”

 

After that the two girls stepped more carefully, although no one else seemed the least concerned about the possible danger. 

 

Cordelia found the African landscape fascinating.  Used as she was to the colours and contours of the English countryside she was intrigued by the vastness and colours of Africa.  Flat-topped trees, interspersed with clusters of thorn bush and stretches of grassland, created a blend of greens and browns that were totally alien to her English eyes. 

 

She remained alert for any signs of wildlife, but saw only a few animals off in the distance.  And then they topped a rise a came upon a sight that took Cordelia’s breath away.  It was a herd of cow-like animals that stretched as far as the eye could see. 

 

“Gracious,” Cordelia exclaimed, eying the massive curved horns of each animal.  “What are they?”

 

“Wildebeest, Miss Delacourt,” Burton answered, matter-of-factly.  “Not bad eating.  Would you like to take the first shot, Miss Brown?”

 

Liz looked decidedly dubious about the situation, but nodded her head.  Her gun bearer passed her the heavy rifle and Burton showed her how to cock and aim the large bore firearm.  “Be sure you pull it well into your shoulder Miss Brown.  Otherwise you will certainly wish you had.  Sight along the barrel, select a target and gently squeeze the trigger.”

 

Liz squinted along the barrel, holding the rifle awkwardly and gave a spasmodic jerk with her finger.  There was a sound like thunder, a cry of alarm from Liz, and suddenly the girl was sitting on her backside, an expression of shock, pain, and embarrassment on her face.  Incredibly in spite of the huge number of potential targets not a wildebeest was down.

 

Immediately Burton was at the girl’s side.  “Are you all right, Miss Brown?” he asked solicitously. 

 

“I…I think so,” Liz said slowly.  “But me shoulder hurts like ‘ell.”

 

Burton ignored Liz’s momentary relapse in her pronunciation.  He helped her to her feet.  “Well, you’ll just have to try again as soon as we find another target.” 

 

The herd of wildebeest, spooked by the explosion was in full flight over the nearest rise.  Burton looked after them and grinned.  “A rifle is like a woman, Miss Brown.  The closer you hold it to your body the better it behaves.”

 

Liz just smiled at the remark, but Cordelia felt slightly outraged.  How dare Burton conjure up such an image?  “Mr. Burton!” she exclaimed.

 

“Ah, sorry Miss Delacourt.  I forgot about your middle class sensibilities.  Shall we continue the hunt?”

 

“Please do,” Cordelia said stiffly.  She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly out of sorts, but there was something about Burton’s comments to Liz that had set her on edge.

 

“Perhaps you could try your hand at the next target,” Burton offered.  “I think Miss Brown’s shoulder is a bit sore.”

 

They walked for another quarter hour marching up a grassy incline.  Cordelia kept her eyes peeled for game, but the long grass, which was almost up to her shoulders, concealed whatever animals might have been hiding there.  And then they topped the rise.  If her sighting of the herd of wildebeest had amazed her, what she now saw left her speechless.  She stared, wide-eyed at the panorama that spread out before her.

 

As far as she could see vast herds of animals filled the low plain below her.  Many she recognized from animal picture books she had read when a child, but others were new to her.  Beside her she heard Liz gasp. 

 

“Ooooh, what a sight!” Liz exclaimed.  “It’s incredible!”

 

“Indeed it is, Miss Brown,” Burton said.  “A sight never to be forgotten.”

 

“Oh,” Liz continued.  “What are those stripey horses?”

 

“They’re called Zebras, Miss Brown.  “And those tall blonde and black animals with the long necks are giraffes.”

 

“Oh,” Liz repeated.  “I didn’t even see them, and they’re so tall.  We aren’t going to shoot them are we?”

 

“No,” Burton smiled.  “They got hides an inch thick and their meat is just about as tough.  Perhaps one of the gazelles.”

 

“One of those pretty things?” Liz asked.  “Oh I don’t think I could shoot one of those.”

 

“Well, Miss Brown, what did you think you had for tea last night?”

 

“Oh,” said Liz, her voice sinking.  I thought it was veal.”

 

“Miss Delacourt,” Burton said, switching to his other female guest, “would you like to try your hand?”

 

I’d be delighted,” Cordelia answered, determine to succeed where Liz had failed.  She took the rifle from her gun bearer, a little surprised at its weight.  This was no fouling piece.  It was a firearm intended to bring down big game. 

 

She tried to appear nonchalant as she hoisted the heavy rifle to her shoulder.  Carefully she pulled back the hammer, noted that the percussion cap was in place, and then lay her check along the stock so that she could sight down the long barrel. 

 

The weight of the rifle dismayed her.  It took all of her strength to hold it steady and she knew that she would have only seconds to find her target before her muscles began to tremble.

 

About a hundred and fifty yards away a large gazelle stood grazing calmly.  No doubt it had never encountered anyone with a rifle and thought itself safe.  It was one of the most beautiful creatures Cordelia had ever seen, but she put that thought out of her mind.  She was not going to fail in the task she had set for herself.  She held her breath and gently squeezed the trigger.

 

The explosion of the rifle, the cloud of smoke it created, and the recoil obscured her target.  But Liz’s glad cry told her that her bullet had struck true.

 

“You got it, Cordy, you got it!”

 

“Cordy?”  It was a nickname Cordelia detested, but she had encouraged Liz to call her by her first name.  She had just not expected the girl to shorten it. 

 

“Excellent shot, Miss Delacourt,” Burton said.  “You dropped it in its tracks.”

 

Cordelia almost grinned in pride, but she was torn between the pleasure of her success and the realization that she had just killed a most beautiful animal. 

 

“Let us, go see shall we?” Burton said, striding forward. 

 

They quickly reached the dead gazelle.  “Right behind the shoulder, Miss Delacourt.   Doubt the animal even knew what hit it.”

 

“Well,” Cordelia thought, “that was something at least.”  The gazelle had not suffered.  She watched while Burton cut its throat to bleed the carcass.  He then stood up, leaving it to the porters to dress the animal.

 

The hunt continued for another hour with Burton bringing down two more gazelles.  “This should do for now,” he said.  “We don’t want to kill more than we can eat,”

 

The trek back was uneventful except for the conversation.  “So, Miss Delacourt, you can shoot.  That’s something at least.  Can you defend yourself in any way?”

 

“Defend myself?” Cordelia asked, surprised.  “I’m just a girl.  What could I do to defend myself?”

 

“You are a woman,” Burton growled.  And then continued in a softer tone, “and a most damned attractive one at that.  However, your inability to defend yourself marks you as the perfect victim.”

 

“But men are so much bigger and stronger than I am.  How could I possible defend myself?”

 

“Not all techniques of self-defence depend on strength,” Burton countered, his voice calm once again.  He turned to Liz.  “How about you Miss Brown?  Are you as helpless as your companion?”

 

“I can use a knife,” Liz said brightly. 

 

“Well,” Burton replied, “that’s an interesting talent for a young lady.  And just how well do you use a knife?”

 

“Well enough to discourage the last bludger that came at me.”

 

“Really?” Burton asked raising his eyebrows.  “And so unlike Miss Delacourt you were not subjected to any indignities by the men who took you prisoner?”

 

Cordelia coloured and to her surprise so did Liz, her complexion turning bright red. 

 

“So,” Burton continued relentlessly.  “Neither of you knew how to fight back and were therefore used by your captors as they saw fit.”

 

“Mr. Burton,” Cordelia protested.  “I find this conversation in very poor taste.”

 

“I apologize, Miss Delacourt.  But the fact remains that both you and your companion are ignorant of even the simplest means of self-defence.”

 

Cordelia could not control her anger.  It was bad enough to be kidnapped and then subjected to rape and torture, but to be blamed for it as well was simply too much.  “Then why don’t you show us how?” she demanded hotly.

 

Burton grinned.  “That’s the spirit, Miss Delacourt.  I was beginning to despair of arousing any emotion in you.  I will show you.  Beginning today you will have your first lesson.”

 

The remainder of the walk continued without further conversation, but Cordelia’s mind buzzed with curiosity as to what Burton intended.  It had never occurred to her that any woman could or should actually fight back when confronted by any threat.

 

Burton wasted little time once they reached camp.  She and Liz were allowed only a few minutes of relaxation before Burton called them from their tent.

 

Cordelia was more than a little mortified to find that Burton had stripped to the waist and had removed his boots and socks, but the explorer simply ignored her shocked expression and launched into an explanation. 

 

“What I am going to teach you is a mixture of martial techniques I have acquired during my lifetime.  I will show you a little each day and you will work on each technique until I judge you proficient.  Quite frankly, I do not expect either of you to make much progress, but you will at least know more than most English women.”

 

Cordelia was not quite so sure that she wanted to learn how to defend herself.  It sounded extremely unladylike and she said so.

 

“I apologize, Miss Delacourt,” Burton replied, however his voice held not the slightest element of contrition.  “I should not have assumed that you might want to learn how to protect yourself.  A young woman of your breeding would no doubt prefer to remain at the mercy of every man who seeks to take advantage of her.”

 

Cordelia coloured.  Without saying so Burton had given her a very unsubtle reminder that she had been forced to submit to the sexual attentions of strangers on no fewer than three occasions in as many months.  At the tender age of sixteen she was no more pure than Liz, no matter how much she might try to deny it. 

 

She bowed her head.  “No Mr. Burton, it is I who should apologize.  You are only trying to help.  I will participate in your training.”

 

Liz smiled and took her hand.  “It’s alright, Cordy; I’ll be right beside you.”

 

Cordelia returned the smile.  “Thank you, Liz,” she said.  “There is just one thing.  Please don’t call me Cordy.”

 

 

The next few weeks passed rapidly.  The day after the hunting expedition the Chulo gave his permission for Burton to cross his lands and supplied the needed porters.  With new human pack-mules the huge convoy began to move, winding its way across the African countryside.

 

It was an exciting time for the two girls.  The porters moved at a pace they had no difficulty matching.  Burton often took them hunting; Liz eventually learning to fire a rifle without being knocked over, and Cordelia improving her mastery of the weapon. 

 

And then there were the short, but intense training sessions each evening.  Cordelia learned that there was no point in washing up after the day’s march until she had completed her daily lesson.  She invariably finished each session bathed in perspiration and panting in exhaustion.

 

Burton proved to be an excellent teacher; patient and extremely knowledgeable.  Cordelia was amazed at the number of ways it was possible to hurt or maim a male opponent.  She also improved her conditioning, eventually able to survive an hour of intense training without collapsing onto her cot. 

 

Liz made an excellent training partner and after two weeks of basics, Burton allowed them to spar with one another.  Cordelia wasn’t sure exactly what form of self defence she was being shown.  Burton gave no name to it simply stating that it was a collection of fighting techniques he had picked up during his adventurous life. 

 

Something else happened as well.  In spite of her longing for home, Cordelia began to thoroughly enjoy herself.  For the first time in her life she was on her own and free of the stringent restrictions of Victorian England.  Burton asked nothing of her other than her willingness to accompany him on his expedition without complaining. 

 

In spite of the forty year difference in their ages she felt strangely attracted to the plain-spoken explorer.  He was intelligent, incredibly knowledgeable about all things African, and did not speak down to her or Liz simply because they were young women.  For the first time in her life Cordelia was treated as if she had a brain. 

 

It was difficult not to be drawn toward the charismatic explorer.  Although brusque in his demeanor he was invariably polite and soft-spoken, and ran his expedition with discipline and a sense of fair play that all seemed to admire.  In spite of the large number of men under his command his very presence could often settle minor disputes, and few dared to argue with him.

 

Each evening Cordelia and Liz ate supper with him and then retired to their tent.  The two girls were usually much too tired to do much more than that, but Cordelia found she enjoyed the demanding regime.  She felt herself getting stronger each day and it gave her a sense of independence and well-being that she had never experienced before.

 

Liz too seemed to prosper under the unusual routine.  Cordelia realized that the young woman had grown up in a very harsh environment.  Freed from the brutality of her past life, Liz blossomed, changing from a shy subservient member of the underclass to confident self-possessed young woman.  It was a change that filled Cordelia with pride, in that she had been partly responsible for it.

 

“I can’t thank you enough, for helping me to speak more like a lady,” Liz said one morning as they prepared to accompany Burton on a hunt.  It was a Sunday and Burton had stopped where a small stream flowed over a cliff, forming a place where the porters could shed a week’s worth of dust and sweat.  It also gave him a chance to replenish their supply of meat. 

 

Cordelia reflected that Liz still had a strong strain of the London docks in her speech, but had to admit that she could probably survive in polite company for a few minutes.  In any case, she still had several months to work with the girl before Burton retraced his steps to the coast.  She had high expectations that Liz would be much improved by then. 

 

The hunt went well, as it usually did.  Liz bagged an antelope, Cordelia a wildebeest, and Burton brought down a pair of warthogs. 

 

“In spite of its comical appearance it is a rather tasty beast, especially when cooked whole,” Burton explained, when the two girls looked askance at the pig-like creatures.

 

“It is fortunate,” Cordelia thought, “that he doesn’t like giraffe.  She would certainly have drawn the line at shooting one of those beautiful and gentle giants. 

 

For some reason the walk back to the camp seemed much longer than the walk out and Cordelia was sweating profusely by the time they reached the tents.  That was not surprising considering the hunt had begun in the morning and it was now late afternoon.  They had stopped for an elaborate lunch on the way back, but the heat had stolen Cordelia’s appetite.  She briefly considered walking down to the pool and having a swim, but abandoned it in favour of a lie-down. 

 

She thanked Burton for the hunt and retired to the tent he had provided for her and Liz.  The cot looked incredibly inviting.  “I’ll just lie down for a bit,” she thought.  “I’ll join Liz and Burton later when it’s a bit cooler.”  She took off her boots and lay down on the cot, closing her eyes.

 

She awoke shivering.  Her clothing was soaked in perspiration and she felt as weak and limp as a rag doll.  “What’s the matter with me?” she muttered.  She tried to sit up and her head swam.  A wave of nausea washed over her, and she had to fight hard not to bring up the little bit of lunch she had eaten. 

 

She managed to struggle into a sitting position.  Beside her cot was a small collapsible table and on it was one of the tiny mirrors that Burton used as part of his trade goods or gifts when dealing with the various chieftains.  She picked it up.  Peering back at her was a face that was so pale it looked as if it belonged on a corpse. 

 

The tent flap was pulled back and Liz entered.  “Cordy, are you…  Blimey, I’ll get Burton.”

 

“It’s all right,” Cordelia began, but Liz was already gone.  Less than a minute later the tent flap was pulled aside again and Burton entered.  He took one look at her and placed his hand on her forehead.

 

“You’re burning up, Miss Delacourt.  Looks like you’ve come down with a case of malaria.”

 

Cordelia fell back on the cot.  “Is that serious?” she asked.

 

“Hmm,” Burton mused.  “It can be.”  He straightened.  “I may have something that will help you in my medical kit.  I’ll get it right away.”  He turned to Liz.  “Get her into some dry clothing and have some cloths soaked in water.  We’ve got to try to keep her cool.”

 

“But she’s shivering,” Liz protested. 

 

“Yes, and five minutes from now she’ll be burning up.  Please do as I say.  I’ve dealt with this before.”

 

“Right,” Liz responded.  She sped out of the tent.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Burton said to Cordelia. 

 

He returned a few minutes later, enough time for Liz to help Cordelia undress and tuck her into the cot under dry sheets, although by this time Cordelia was sweating so profusely that they would remain dry only a few minutes. 

 

Burton open a small box and took out a vial of white powder.  He mixed it with water and lifted Cordelia’s head.  “What is it?” she asked weakly.

 

“Quinine,” Burton answered.  “It should help.  But you are going to need lots of rest and fluids.”  He turned to Liz.  “She has chills now, that is why she is shivering, but in reality her temperature is elevated.  Soak the cloths in water and bathe her forehead.  I’ll relieve you in an hour.” 

 

Cordelia lay back, her body shaking violently.  She felt as if she would never be warm again.  Her joints ached and she was constantly on the verge of vomiting. 

 

An hour later she was on fire, her body consumed by a dry heat.  Liz dutifully bathed her forehead and other parts of her body to keep her cool while two of the porters were recruited to fan her. 

 

For the next week Liz stayed by her almost constantly, except when ordered by Burton to get some rest.  While she was absent Burton took her place.  When she was not sleeping or too delirious to know what was happening, Cordelia was aware of the fact that her almost nude body was barely concealed by the thin bed coverings, but she was too weak and ill to care what Burton or anyone else saw. 

 

Her fever lasted a week, finally breaking after a pronounced sweat that left Cordelia so exhausted she simply wanted to sleep, a desire that was fully supported by Burton.  “Rest now, Miss Delacourt.  You’re on the way to recovery.  In a week or so you should be right as rain.”

 

Cordelia smiled her thanks; she was too weak to do much else.  She doubted that she would have survived without his care and that of Liz. 

 

“I’ll send in Miss Brown when she is awake,” Burton finished as he pulled back the tent flap to leave her.  “She is quite tired.  You may not remember, but she spent about sixteen hours a day looking after you.”

 

Cordelia closed her eyes.  A few seconds later sleep washed over her.

 

 

It took her a full week to recover, but Burton did not wait until she could walk.  Instead he loaded her upon a litter carried by four porters and had her carried.

 

“I am sorry to be in such a hurry, Miss Delacourt,” Burton explained.  “But I have only one more month before the rains set in.  I would just as soon not have to spend any time slogging through the rain before reaching my objective.”

 

Cordelia smiled weakly.  “What exactly is your objective, Mr. Burton?  It seems you are expending a great deal of effort in this remote part of the world.”

 

“The furtherance of human knowledge, Miss Delacourt.  Africa is the so-called ‘Dark Continent.’  Do you know that Europeans have known about the existence of Africa for over two thousand years, but know almost nothing of its interior?  I intend to try to remedy that.”

 

“Ah,” Cordelia replied.  “So you have no motive of personal gain?”

 

“Only fame, Miss Delacourt, Burton grinned.  “Only fame.”

 

 

The trek continued for the next two weeks.  Cordelia rode the litter for the first week and then walked a bit the second in an attempt to recover her conditioning.  She was able to walk farther each day although she still tired easily. 

 

She still slept by herself, Burton insisting that she might still be suffering from the residual effects of malaria.  “It would be unfortunate if Miss Brown were to come down with the disease,” he explained.  “It is better if you both sleep alone.”

 

Cordelia had to agree, although she missed Liz’s company at night.  From infancy she had slept in her own room.  It was only since her kidnapping that she had been forced to share a room with others.  Now, however, she found that the tent seemed empty without her cheerful companion. 

 

Liz was remarkably good company, as was Burton.  The explorer was incredibly knowledgeable about all things geographical and could identify most of the exotic wildlife that they encountered.  Those he could not, he carefully catalogued, even taking the time to sketch a few of them. 

 

Here Cordelia found that she had something she could offer to the expedition.  Part of her education as a young lady had included sketching and painting with watercolours.  Her skills far surpassed Burton’s and he soon let her take over the task of drawing the various species they encountered. 

 

There was also ample time to further work on Liz’s diction.  As the girl walked alongside the litter they went over and over common phrases, further attempting to eliminate the girl’s gutter accent. 

 

By the third week of her recovery Cordelia was able to resume walking on her own.  The pace they kept was not an especially arduous one - three hundred porters simply could not move particularly quickly - and she was able to keep up without difficulty after the first few days. 

 

She was also able to accompany Burton on his hunting trips.  Game was plentiful and most animals seemed completely unafraid of humans.  It was as if they had never been hunted before, which Burton surmised was quite possibly the case.  They were in very wild country now and all traces of human habitation had disappeared.  There was, however, a rough track that they could follow.  It appeared that even if no one lived in the region now someone had at one time.

 

The terrain was also much more uphill than it had been before, although there was no sign of any mountain range.  Burton confirmed their change in elevation with daily readings of air pressure.  It helped him determine their height above sea level. 

 

“We’ve just passed the five thousand foot mark,” he remarked, carefully putting away his instruments. 

 

“I think we will set up camp here for today,” he continued, “but I would like to scout a bit ahead.  Would you and Miss Brown care to accompany me?”

 

“Certainly,” Cordelia replied.  She looked at Liz and the girl smiled and nodded. 

 

Together they went ahead for another mile of so, climbing a gentle slope through scattered clumps of vegetation.  They topped a slight rise and then stopped in amazement.  Cordelia found herself looking upon one of the most incredible sights she had ever seen.

 

Before them the ground fell away, forming a gigantic bowl so far across that its far rim was shrouded in a haze of distance.  In the centre of the bowl, and about five miles in diameter was an almost circular lake.  It picked up the sky reflecting it in a shade of turquoise that made it seem almost unreal. 

 

“Do you see it?” Burton cried.  “Do you see it?  The Lake of the Sky!”

 

“It is wonderful,” Cordelia gasped, almost overwhelmed by the beauty of the panorama that spread out before her.  “But how do you know what it is called?  Or did you decide that is what its name should be?”

 

Burton seemed almost overwhelmed by emotion.  “Do you know what this place is, Miss Delacourt?  My search for it has occupied the last twenty years of my life.  And now I have found it.”

 

Cordelia looked at Burton in some confusion.  “I thought you were exploring new ground, Mr. Burton.  But you speak as if you were searching for this particular place.”

 

“You are most observant, Miss Delacourt,” Burton replied.  “I have indeed been searching for this place and it has taken half my life to find it.”

 

“It is beautiful almost beyond description,” Cordelia said, “but it seems a strange thing to spend half one’s life to find.”

 

Burton smiled mysteriously.  “You will see, Miss Delacourt.  You will see.”

 

They walked back to the camp.  Cordelia was lost in thought and did not engage in the conversation, but Liz chattered excitedly to the explorer about his discovery while he explained its importance.  Something did not fit.  Burton had stated that he was an explorer, but he had not mentioned that he was actually looking for something he had already known about. 

 

There was certainly nothing wrong with that.  Many pervious explorers had been searching for something that they knew existed; Columbus and many others being examples of such men, but Cordelia felt that there was something special about Burton’s Lake of the Sky.  For some reason she felt a little uneasy.

 

“A celebration, ladies,” Burton said when they got back to camp.  “We must do something special to mark this occasion.  I am close to fulfilling my dream.”

 

Cordelia did not comment.  There would be time enough for that later.  She waited until the porters had set up her tent and then retired to remove the day’s accumulation of dust from her face and neck.  The campsite Burton had chosen was not near a large source of water and so she could not bathe as she had at other campsites, but the porters had brought up enough water that she could wash herself. 

 

Somewhat refreshed she joined Liz and Burton for supper.  On this special occasion Burton had broken out his finest vintages.  Cordelia drank sparingly as she had been taught.  The wine was excellent, but that was no reason to drink to excess.  She kept her eye on Liz, a bit concerned that the girl might be less inclined to watch what she drank.  After all, the girl had told her that she used to drink gin straight from the bottle.  A little wine might seem a very mild beverage by comparison.

 

Liz, however, drank carefully, lifting her glass only when Cordelia did.  Burton on the other had, showed little restraint.  Not surprisingly, the drink loosened his tongue, but not until he had polished off two full bottles unaided.

 

“Mr. Burton,” Cordelia began.  “Perhaps you could tell us more about this Lake of the Sky.”

 

“Indeed I can, ladies,” Burton began.  “It all started when I was thrown out of my family for attempting to murder my brother.”

 

The two girls were struck dumb at this startling revelation, but Burton didn’t seem to notice their horror and disbelief.  Without missing a beat he continued his tale of attempted fratricide.  He helped himself along by continually refilling his wineglass before switching to brandy.

 

Cordelia thought she had never seen a man consume such huge quantities of liquor, but other than taking away his sense of reserve it seemed to have no effect on him.  His speech didn’t even slur as he revealed that as second son of a noble house he had quarreled with his older brother over his place in the family and had attempted to settle the manner by putting a bullet through his sibling’s chest. 

 

The fact that it had been a duel seemed to make little impact on the authorities and Burton had fled the country.  As it turned out the brother did not die, but Burton did not learn of that until years later.  By that time his lifetime of adventuring had taken him from England to India and from India to China.  It was there, in a game of fan tan, that he won the map and the text that spoke of the Lake of the Sky.

 

Believing the map to be genuine, Burton had spent the next few yeas of his life in various adventures in an attempt to raise enough money to fund his exploration of Africa.  He had then spent another fifteen years wandering through eastern Africa in a search for the vague landmarks that were sketched onto the crude map.  And now he had found the key landmark.  He was certain that he was very close to his goal; certainly, there could be few other places like the Lake of the Sky.

 

“And what is there, now that you have finally found it, that makes the Lake of the Sky so remarkable, Mr. Burton?”

 

Burton turned his bright blue eyes upon her.  He smiled mysteriously.  “Well, Miss Delacourt, that remains to be seen.  But I am hoping that it will prove most interesting.”

 

Burton’s tale was at an end and Cordelia and Liz retired to their respective tents.  For the first time in months, however, Cordelia could not sleep.  Burton had spoken freely of his quest up until the point where she had asked that final question.  Then he had shut up like a clam, giving Cordelia reason to believe that there was still more to his story.  It bothered her that after all this time he would still not completely confide in her.  After all, she and Liz would soon learn all there was to know about the Lake of the Sky so why not tell them now?  She lay awake puzzling over the problem and then heard a sound she had not expected to hear.

 

Her eyes opened wide, and her heart skipped a beat as the sound increased in volume and then suddenly died, but she knew what it was.  It was the unmistakable sound of a woman in the throes of coitus. 

 

Cordelia threw off the covers and stood shaking in the tent.  “Liz,” she thought, “how could you?” 

 

Now she knew the truth behind Burton’s insistence that she and Liz not share a tent.  There was no danger of Liz catching malaria from her.  It had all been a sham so that Liz could share Burton’s bed.  She wondered how long the explorer and her supposed companion had thought that they could conceal their nightly liaisons. 

 

Suddenly weak-kneed, she sat down again.  Why should she be feeling this way?  What was it to her if Burton and Liz had decided to seek comfort in one another’s arms?  After all, Burton was more than three times her age.  Somehow, however, she felt betrayed. 

 

“Liz could have at least told me,” she thought.  “I would have understood.”  Liz was, after all, very attractive and immensely experienced.  She had been pleasing men for almost a decade and Burton was certainly an attractive man for his age. 

 

“Damn,” she muttered, using uncharacteristically strong language.  “I’m jealous.  I’m jealous of my best friend and a man the age of my grandfather.”

 

She wrapped her arms about her long legs, and rocked back and forth on the cot.  “Oh no,” she wondered.  “What am I going to do?”

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