Chapter 3
The next days were filled by the preparations for the Ball. Food was delivered in quantities vast enough to make me imagine a guest list that would include half of Peru. Servants hastened to prepare the Hacienda, polishing and moving furniture, rolling back rugs to reveal glistening parquet floors and draping swags and garlands throughout the house and garden. The effect was startling. The Hacienda, which had looked like a grim, fortified house, was being transformed into a thing of beauty. The removal of furniture to give guests the room to walk and dance had revealed the elegant dimensions and scale of the place. I was finally able to see Don Ferdinand's hand in the decoration. I'd had the second fitting for my dinner jacket. Whatever style I might have asked for, it had turned out as an American style tuxedo. Oh, well, when in Rome…
The guests started to arrive from Friday morning. It was like something out of an earlier century. They arrived in carriages accompanied by liveried escorts or on horseback. I realised that I hadn't seen more than half-a-dozen cars since I'd disembarked from the steamer and boarded the train to Cajamarca back in Trujillo. I guessed it to be something to do with the thin air and the high altitude, or perhaps the frequent steep inclines of the roads. I'd meant to ask, but just hadn't got around to it.
I made myself absent from the house during the day, and took the opportunity to find out how Salvador and Domingo had been coping. It turned out that they were billeted in the collection of huts hidden from the main house that passed as servants' quarters. Both men looked sullen and ill at ease as I approached. Domingo had acquired a black eye that was only now beginning to fade.
"Buenos dias, my lord," greeted Salvador warily. I caught the implicit warning in the 'my lord'. It had been the first time since I had engaged his services that he had addressed me by the title. The previous easy friendliness was gone replaced by carefully distant courtesy.
With a slight jerk of my head, I indicated that they should accompany me. Once we were out of earshot of the huts, I halted and looked pointedly at Domingo's black eye. "What the hell happened to you?"
"No importante," he muttered truculently.
"Yes, it bloody is 'importante'!" I retorted. My anger, which had been growing for the past few days, was bubbling to the surface. I had always hated the sort of deception that I was involved in. I just had the misfortune to be good at it. Then I saw the guarded expressions on their faces, the same sort of expressions I'd seen on some of the faces on the men from the quarry. At the very least, they thought I was working with Don Ernesto. I had to tell them the truth: I needed one of them to carry the message through to Cajamarca.
I spoke for about fifteen minutes and they listened in cautious silence. I told them of my suspicions about Don Ferdinand's death, Don Ernesto's mention of a business cartel of which he was a part, and finally I told them about the quarry. I think, more than anything else, it was the anger that I was unable to keep out of my voice that persuaded them of the truth of my words. Their previous diffidence shifted to a concern for my welfare when I told them of my plans to try and learn more through attending the Ball.
"Why do you choose to interfere, Senor? It is unnecessary. What is it about this that makes it your fight, that you risk your life for people you do not know and owe nothing to?" Salvador sounded genuinely confused.
I tried to think how to answer. Once I had apprehended there was something wrong here, it had never seriously occurred to me that I ought not to interfere in some way. A part of me felt guilty that all I was considering doing was informing the authorities, that I should be doing more than that to help them. As to the reasons why? Because I could, because someone had to, because if I did nothing then how many more would suffer from my lack of action. I could not help but appreciate the irony: in forcing that shooting match at the quarry, Don Ernesto had given me the first inklings of some sense of responsibility for the welfare of those people. It was he who had forced me to get involved.
Salvador and Domingo were waiting for an answer. I offered them the only one I could under the circumstances: "It needs doing."
Still not really understanding, they left. I wasn't surprised they didn't understand. To a certain extent, I didn't understand myself. I simply knew that I felt something needed to be done, and that since I was there, it might as well be I that did it. I wandered through the ornamental gardens on the way back to the house, thinking that whoever had designed them had possessed an understanding of the desire of young couples to be out of sight whilst courting. Only that could explain the maze of hedges and hidden groves. It was too early in the season for many of the flowers or shrubs to be in bloom, leaving the sculptured lines of the garden clear to see.
I walked slowly, thoughtfully, not noticing that I was instinctively walking softly as if stalking prey. Apart from the thin, high altitude air and the clarity of the light, I could almost have been walking through the maze at Hampton Court. I stopped, thinking I'd heard something, then:
"Pendejo! Estupido tonto!" The voice was faint: a woman's voice held down to an angry half shout, hissing abuse at someone. "What did you think you were doing? We don't know if he is with us, yet. How dare you endanger us all with your pathetic self gratification, your desire to be known as un cazador estupendo."
I froze, recognising the voice at last: Dona Maria. But whom was she talking to? It could only be Don Ernesto. He was the only one who had revealed anything to me that prudence dictated ought to have been kept hidden.
"But, mi hermana, you did not see the expression on his face after the shooting match, when he had been forced to shoot only the peon's hat. He is a hunter: he wanted to make the kill."
I had to admit that part was true, except that it had been Don Ernesto whom I had wanted to kill at the time, a small but significant detail.
"Even so, we will wait. The others will be here this evening: we will discuss the matter with them, as well as your reckless behaviour in this affair. When and if we choose to approach him, it will be with more information to hand than just Society rumours and our own observations. He is English, and bear in mind that the English are a strange, perfidious race."
I heard footsteps moving away, heading back toward the house. So it seemed that Dona Maria was in charge, despite the front they put up. It made sense. I had to agree with her assessment that Don Ernesto was both impetuous and undisciplined. He would not have had the self-control needed to plot and work toward what had been created here. Interesting. She has to use him because, as a woman, she would have problems gaining the respect of the thugs who worked for the Hacienda, and Don Ernesto is a weak link that could be exploited. I wondered how Don Ernesto felt about playing second fiddle to his sister. Perhaps that visit to the quarry was his way of showing his independence, of trying to get me in on his side. He might even be thinking of getting rid of her. It would be interesting to see how the other members of the cartel react to them: did they know that Don Ernesto's just a puppet dancing to his sister's tune? If her threat to reveal his actions to the cartel was anything to go by, they knew.
I found a gazebo hidden from the house and settled down for a siesta. I had the idea that I would need to be alert that evening. A couple of hours later, I went back to the house to get ready for the Ball. My tuxedo had been delivered from Tarapoto and was laid out ready for me. I got dressed, and then standing in front of the mirror slicked back my hair. Out of the army now the war was over, I was no longer obliged to keep my hair trimmed short and had decided to let it grow a bit. I looked at the reflection again. Losing the moustache had definitely been a good move, I decided. I slipped on the jacket and shrugged a few times to settle it over my shoulders.
For all that I was going to a ball, I felt like I was getting ready for battle. I'd had a growing sense of trepidation all afternoon, but that was nothing new. I knew that once I'd committed myself to a course of action, the trepidation would go away. It wasn't like the gut-wrenching terror of being in a shallow bunker under an artillery barrage, hearing the shells impact closer and closer, and knowing there was absolutely nothing you could do. It was something far subtler, less immediate. I checked the reflection again. There was no sign that there was anything untoward. Being in command during the war had taught me how to project a façade of self-confidence and unconcern. I smiled, realising that in an odd way I was beginning to enjoy this, especially now the duplicity was nearly at an end. In many ways it was like the anticipation I had always felt at the beginning of a hunt. Time to go and beard the lion in its lair…
Back in London, before the war, I'd been invited to countless balls, galas, or receptions - call them what you like - on a regular basis. I found them tedious for the most part, the same people, debating the same tired arguments, dancing with the same people. If not the balls in town, then there was the inevitable round of country house parties: shooting or riding to hounds followed by dinner and billiards. They were only marginally more interesting than partnering some ancient dowager in a waltz because she once had the misfortune to marry your second cousin, once removed (or something), who went mad and shut himself up in his mouldering country pile.
The ball arranged by Don Ernesto was different. It had more the atmosphere of a boardroom where there just happened to be music and dancing. Dona Maria had taken it upon herself to introduce me around. The men looked at me calculatingly, as if sizing me up for some task of which I was as yet ignorant. With a few notable exceptions, the women were decorative and vacant eyed. They were arrayed almost uniformly in traditionally Spanish style, with elegant mantillas, shawls and lace.
What did surprise me was the number of Europeans and North Americans. I caught brief snatches of accents that seemed alien to this Peruvian setting: American, English, German... I found myself in conversation with a Brazilian: Anthero de Lobeiro who ran a rubber exporting business based in Iquitos. The woman he was escorting was more than twenty years his junior and she was certainly not his daughter.
"I have studied your career with interest, Roxton. Do you know, I only just missed meeting you on that last trip to East Africa that you made before the war?"
When I killed my brother…
"You were on your way back to Kampala, as I was leaving for Nairobi. It's strange that we should have missed each other so closely then, yet meet up now on another continent. Now tell me, what is the most dangerous game you've hunted?" he was looking at me, an expression of atavistic excitement on his face.
"Well, there was a man-eater back in Tsavo, it took us weeks to track him down…"
"No, no, you miss the point. Understandable, after all, you don't know anyone here, do you, you don't know how like-minded many of us are," he said coyly.
I had a nasty suspicion I could see where this was leading. I'd heard rumours, of course, around the campfires at the conclusion of hunts. I'd heard of hunters, who felt that even going after lion, tiger or elephant was insufficient excitement; hunters who wanted to go after a prey that could think and plan and provide a real challenge. Oh yes, I'd heard the rumours. Perhaps I'd been overly naïve in thinking they were no more than that.
The conversation drifted onto other subjects: the increasing competition caused by the growth of the rubber industry in Malaya, the war, the Bolshevik revolution, and many others. I escorted Dona Maria around the dance floor on several occasions, as I was obliged to do. I had to admit that she was a fine dancer, not to mention being beautiful: beautiful in the way a Masamune blade is beautiful.
It was past midnight when I heard a disturbance at the door. A group of Don Ernesto's guards boiled into the ballroom, led by Ramon. Supported by two of them was a battered figure. Don Ernesto pushed to the front as the crowd melted away to form a loose circle around them. One of the guards twisted the figure's arm adroitly behind his back, bringing his head up. It was Salvador. Ramon moved forward and whispered into Don Ernesto's ear for a few moments. In the time that took, Dona Maria glided to join her brother. She spoke briefly to him, then uttered a short, gleefully unpleasant laugh.
"Lord Roxton!" she beckoned. I had no choice but to join her. "This man, whom you brought here, has tried to effect a prison break. Unfortunately, he was shot and killed in the attempt. It's lucky you were at hand to prevent such an outrage." At her urging, Ramon offered me his handgun, butt first. I had little choice except to take it.
The guards backed away. Salvador stood there, swaying slightly, in the centre of the room. I was no more than five feet from him, the gun held loosely at my side pointed at the ground. All around there was a pregnant hush, heavy and threatening. I met Salvador's eyes. There was no apology there, no hope, no recrimination, just grim fatality. My mind was in turmoil. If I shot him now, it would be a quick, clean death, more than that which could be guaranteed at the hands of Ramon or Don Ernesto. I tried to convince myself that he was dead whatever happened, that he had brought this upon himself. I couldn't. The habit of command was still there, and he was one of my men.
"Senhor de Lobeiro!" I was desperate, grasping at straws, now, trying to work out some way of salvaging the situation. "I have a proposal. You wish to try your skill in the hunt? A wager then, you against me. The first to bring down our Senor Ramirez, here. Interested?" I forced a wolfish smile to my face. I tried to convince myself that it gave him a small chance of getting clear, but I knew that it was no more than sheer selfishness on my part. All I was doing was offering up Salvador to be chased like an animal, just so I could escape shooting him in cold blood. I had to keep the sudden surge of self-loathing from my face: it would ill befit the role I was trying to play.
"Excellent idea, Roxton. Shall we say a thousand pounds to the winner?" He could have said ten thousand for all I cared. I just had one more thing to take care of.
"Feed him and treat his injuries," I suggested. "We want to make this as interesting as possible, don't we?" The challenge was there. De Lobeiro had no option really but to agree. I took charge, praying that Ramon would be caught up in the situation enough to obey me, and ordered them to accompany me to the huts with Salvador to get him fixed up. I needed to find out what had happened to Domingo.
Our small procession headed over to the collection of squalid huts. No one said anything. With ill grace the guards found water and clean cloth with which to bind Salvador's injuries. I was relieved to note that they weren't too bad. With his knowledge of the terrain, there was a chance, a tiny chance that he could elude de Lobeiro. Taking advantage of my sudden 'respectability', I sent the guards from the room. I needed to talk to Salvador. I knew I wouldn't have the time to say all the things I wanted to: questions, apologies and more. I had a duty to both Salvador and to his brother, Domingo.
"What the hell happened? Hurry. We won't have long to talk."
"I followed when you went to the quarry, senor. They had my father there. I tried to free him, but… Don't be concerned about me tomorrow. I'll have a chance, which is more than I had an hour ago, and I thank you for that. That pelado, Ramon, has said that Domingo is being held in a storeroom in the house. I'll lead that aviador cabron, de Lobeiro, away. You must rescue my brother. Please, I beg you, senor."
I couldn't understand why he would want to thank me for the fate which I'd consigned him to. His concern for his brother, despite the threat to himself, was something I could too easily relate to. Of course I would find his brother. I nodded slowly. "I give you my word. I'll promise you this too: I'm going to take Don Ernesto down…whatever it takes."
He looked at me. I was angry, angrier than I'd been in a long time. I meant every word I'd said to him. From the look in his face, Salvador realised it as well. "Gracias, senor. Vaya con Dios!"
I held out my hand, and he shook it. "You too." Despite his words, I knew he wouldn't survive the hunt. Don Ernesto and the others had too much to loose to let that happen.
I also knew that from tomorrow, they'd be after me as well.
Go to next part.