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head, and were brightly caparisoned; their leather bridles and saddlery were embossed with intricate designs and their bells made a kind of music. Abdulai's stirrups were of brass, but the other warriors used iron.
    Tsetse flies had infected many of the horses with sleeping sickness, making them lethargic even when they were put out to grass. Heavily loaded as they now were, they moved slowly.
    The savannah was alive with game. They stepped around fresh elephant droppings, abuzz with green flies. On a patch of damp bare swampy ground, they saw the impress of the paws of great cats. The noisy passage of the party disturbed a herd of bush-buck and sent them leaping away through the reeds. Issaka released an arrow and shouted in triumph as one fell.
    When the sun was at its highest, they came to a dry river bed and Abdulai allowed them to rest for an hour in the shade of the light bush, while the horses grazed.
    * * *
    Abdulai made camp for the night under a great silk cotton tree.
    By the time darkness had fallen two fires were burning. The warriors sat around one and their captives around the second, close by. When the slaves had eaten, Abdulai sent Damba and Issaka to tie their hands; but Damba left Nandzi and Suba free. Guards were set to patrol the camp in shifts throughout the night. Others would keep the fires stoked. Abdulai had little fear of another attack from humans; they had not seen another living soul during the day's march. It was animals he feared. His captives, he knew, feared them too.
    â€œSuba,” Nandzi whispered to the boy as they piled dry grass against one of the buttresses of the mighty tree, “I am going to escape tonight. Will you come with me?”
    The boy nodded vigorously.
    â€œYou will not be afraid of the wild beasts?”
    He frowned bravely and shook his head.
    â€œThen let us sleep early,” she whispered. “I will wake you when it is time to go. We'll just slip away quietly while the guards are not watching.”
    Nandzi had only just fallen asleep when she was woken by the drumming. The younger warriors were dancing in a circle around the fire, casting fantastic shadows as they dipped and spun, their smocks whirling. A drummer squeezed the strings of the hourglass drum which he carried in his armpit, beating the goat skin with a bent stick. The plaintive whine of a one-stringed gonje fiddle and the sweet tones of the hand piano echoed out into the enveloping darkness.
    Nandzi pulled her cloth over her head to try to block out the sound and the chill of the night air; but it was no good: once woken she could not fall asleep again. Confused thoughts raced through her mind. She imagined the scene of her sudden return to Tigen's compound. They would surely take her for a ghost. How Tabitsha would hug her! And Nowu! She closed her eyes and saw Itsho's mutilated body; and she shuddered. If only they had decided not to attack this morning when the ruined buildings offered some protection to the Bedagbam; if only they had followed us through the day, they might have had a better chance tonight. Perhaps the survivors of the attack party have done just that . She sat up and peered into the dark bush. In the distance, a hyena howled. By her side Suba twisted and turned in his sleep. Then he, too, was awake.
    He sat up and hugged his knees. He looked shaken.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked him.
    â€œI had a bad dream,” he replied.
    The dancing had stopped. The Bedagbam were talking loudly and laughing. Abdulai rose to his feet. At once his men became quiet. He walked around the fire and flicked his fly whisk this way and that. Then he began to talk in his language. He spoke in a sing-song voice, sometimes jabbing the air. It sounded to Nandzi as if he was telling them a story. From time to time they applauded. She yawned twice and then she was asleep.
    She was woken by the pre-dawn chorus of bird-song in the branches of the silk-cotton tree.
    She shivered and yawned. The