The Temple Dancer (18 page)

"I can't do it, not now," the rider wailed. "Not with my brothers' death
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cries in my ears.

"Rest then," the mustached one said. "We will revenge them for you."

As the mustached bandit headed for the pony, Lucinda willed herself
to act. With all her strength she pushed off the pony's back, intending to
run. But she slipped on the wet jagged gravel at the stream's edge and collapsed, twisting her ankle. She saw that her hands were bleeding. She rolled
onto her back just in time to see the mustached man run toward her.

"Look who's awake!" he cried. He flung himself down and grabbed a
handful of her hair, twisting it until Lucinda whimpered. She thrust out her
bleeding hands, hoping to scratch his eyes, when she heard a cold dull ringing sound. Somehow she recognized it at once, a steel blade unsheathed,
and before she could move, she felt a blade pinching her throat.

Lucinda got very quiet. The splashing of the wild stream against its
banks mixed with the wheezing of the bandit, the smell of the moist earth
mingled with his horrid breath.

"No one's going to hurt you," the bandit said. His pig eyes gleamed.

"She's a farang! She don't understand!" the other bandit called.

"Give me a hand," the mustached one answered.

A new world of helplessness spread before Lucinda. It's one thing to be
helpless as one tries to lace a corset or to mount an elephant, quite another
to be helpless as a bandit pushes a black steel knife against the flesh of your
throat while his brother comes to join him.

"What's under those things?" the seated one asked, nodding to her skirts.

"Legs, I expect," the other answered. He threw the skirts toward Lucinda's face, then pawed through her petticoats. "Shit, what is all this?"

"Just use your knife, idiot," the seated one cried, lifting himself to see
better and unconsciously pressing his knife blade harder against Lucinda's
throat. She could smell his skin, sweating with excitement.

"Shut up," said the other. Lucinda heard again the ring of steel, and felt a
cold blade slide along her torso. The blade sliced through her petticoats and
corset. She felt damp air on her naked belly. The bandit's thick fingers
gripped her thighs.

"Nice," he whispered, his eyes widening. "You did good!" he called to
the one who'd brought her, who still knelt sobbing a :.ittle way off.

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" he sniffed.

"Plenty for everyone," muttered the other as he knelt at Lucinda's feet.
"Hold her still."

Behind her head, the mustached one jerked forward to place his knees
on her shoulders. "Feel that?" he whispered, sliding the flat of the blade
softly on the skin of her neck.

"She don't understand a word!" the other told him.

"She gets the idea."

Lucinda could look up and see the mustached bandit's face, puffed and
sweating, blotting out the sky. Or she could look between her legs, and
watch the other struggling to pull down his pants. She chose to close her
eyes.

"Come on, come on," she heard the bandit above her yell.

"Give me a second!" the other replied.

"What's taking so long!"

"I'm not hard yet!"

"Goddammit! Then let me go first!"

"No!"

Suddenly the weight came off Lucinda's shoulders. She looked up to see
the mustached bandit leaping toward the other, knife in hand. As the two
brothers wrestled, she dragged herself along the stream bank, no longer conscious of the pain in her hands or head, or the gravel tearing into her back.

"Look what you've done now! She's getting away!" the kneeling one
cried out.

Their fight was forgotten as the bandits came back to Lucinda, now
panting and grimed with sweat. Lucinda's efforts had only served to move
her to a place less comfortable, if possible. A sharp-edged rock poked into
her shoulders. Her head hung limply backward-she was too exhausted to
hold it up.

At least they had let go of her hair.

"Hold her down while I go," the mustached one said. She watched him
tugging on the tiny sausage between his legs.

The other bandit swung over her to sit on her chest. He put a knee on
each of her shoulders, and pressed his heavy buttocks against her corseted
breasts. "Hey, look. I can have her mouth!" he said.

"If you're not too soft for that, too," the mustached one answered.
"Now hold her while I get it hard."

Lucinda felt his sausage rubbing on her thighs, and kicked out as hard
as she could. She must have hit something, for the man groaned. A heavy
fist slammed into her belly.

For the first time, as if the pain had freed her voice, Lucinda cried out.

"That's right," the bandit sitting on her shoulders said. "Open wide.
I've got something for you."

Then his head dropped to the ground beside hers. Its eyes rolled back
in a kind of ecstasy: its lips throbbed though no sound came.

Above her, blood exploded in a fountain from the bandit's now headless neck.

Lucinda clamped her eyes shut against the spray of blood. The bandit's
lifeless body fell across her.

Blinking through the blood that fogged her eyes, she looked up, and to
her wonder saw Pathan.

He walked past her without a glance, curved sword raised, advancing
slowly on the mustached bandit, who scooted on the ground, pants down,
hands raised, whimpering. Pathan moved with stately slowness, with unearthly calm.

"Behind you," Lucinda said.

The third bandit had stopped crying. He raced forward with a shrill
war cry, a long knife in his outstretched hand.

As though moving in water, Pathan turned to face him. With an unearthly languor, he dropped to one knee. Pathan's curved sword arced
slowly along the bandit's leg, and a chunk of thigh sailed through the air
like a child's ball. The bandit's knife slipped harmless past Pathan's ear, and
the bandit fell first to his knees, then in screaming agony to his belly.

Ignoring for a moment the mustached bandit, who struggled to pull his
pants back over his bare ass, Pathan closed on the fallen man, step by slow
step. Raising his sword with both hands like an ax, he brought the blade
down across the bandit's spine. The body shuddered at Pathan's feet.

Pathan had to place a foot on the man's back in order to remove his
sword. Meanwhile the mustached bandit, his pants on at last, half-ran, halfcrawled toward the tethered pony.

How can Pathan move so slowly, Lucinda wondered. The bandit was
frantic: fumbling at the pony's bridle until he finally remembered his knife.
He cut the traces and leaped on the saddle just as Pathan arrived.

The bandit wheeled, waving his long black knife, but Pathan stood as if
frozen. His sword seemed barely to move, yet somehow as the pony galloped past him, the bandit's hand fell to the ground by Pathan's feet, still
clutching the knife.

The bandit screamed at the sight of his bleeding stump as he galloped
off. Pathan reached down and threw the severed hand into the water.

Then there was only silence, and the rushing sound of the stream against
the rocks.

Lucinda became aware of the bandit's blood growing sticky on her face, of
the weight of the headless body that had fallen across her legs. What should
a woman do, knowing that a severed head lies inches from her own? Lucinda stared into the clouds, but the memory of the dead bandit's face
would not go.

The bright sun peeked through, and she heard Pathan's footsteps.
"Please, madam," he said. "Close your eyes and do not move until I say."

Lucinda squeezed her eyes. Her head pounded. She felt the weight of
the lifeless body shift, and started as though she'd been kicked. "Please stay
still, madam," Pathan grunted as he dragged the body away.

"Your eyes still closed, madam, please," Pathan said. She heard him
come beside her, heard the gravel shift next to her ear and knew he'd picked
up the bandit's head. Unable to restrain herself, she watched as Pathan waded
into the stream carrying it by its filthy hair, and heaved it into the water.

Then Pathan drooped down, his hands to his knees. He vomited into
the stream, once, twice, and shook his head slowly. He took his sword and
rinsed it in rushing water, and heaved once more. Then he scooped some
water from the stream and rinsed his mouth. At last he stood again, took a
deep breath, and stripped off his shirt, which he swirled in the water. Then
he wrung it out, and came back to Lucinda.

Though he set his face Lucinda could tell he was horrified by her appearance. "Madam, madam," he whispered, "please, I mean you no harm."
He stooped near her and began to dab her face with his wet shirt. At each
touch she startled, and each time he whispered, "shhhh," as though she
were a frightened animal.

When he began to wash her forehead, she winced and pulled back. "I'm
sorry, madam," he whispered. With exquisite care he touched the hurt
places with his fingertips. "This is not so bad, madam," he told her, his face
serious. "Is this your only injury?"

It was as though she could not speak. She glanced toward her twisted
ankle. Pathan nodded. "Shhhh, shhhh," he said again.

The first thing he did was to move her torn skirts to cover her. Still terrified and furious, but also suddenly grateful, Lucinda could not find
words, and so said nothing. "Now I must look, madam," Pathan said, softening his voice. "I mean you no harm. I assure you I have seen the ankles
of many women." Even so, she shivered when he touched her.

"Shhh, shhhh," he said once more. He probed the leg and ankle with
his fingertips. "Forgive my rudeness, madam, but I must remove your
shoe." With a little effort he tugged the silk slipper from her foot. "Now
also the stocking," he said, scarcely breathing.

Lucinda whimpered when he slid the torn gauze stocking from her leg,
not with pain, but from the memory. "Your ankle is only twisted, I think,
and it will heal. This is not so bad, madam, not for one who had such adventures. The angels of Allah were with you."

He looked at her earnestly. "Madam, did I come to you in time?"

Remembering, remembering it all, she closed her eyes. "You were the
angel, Captain. God sent you."

Pathan covered his face with his hands, and when he looked back at
her, tears stained his cheek. "Ishwar-Allah," he said-what God wills.

"There are others, Captain."

"Eh?"

"The bandits. They said they were meeting others."

"Yes," Pathan said. "We saw others ride away. We must get to safety."

"Is any place safe?"

Pathan turned as though her words had startled him. He took her
hand. "With me, madam." His palms, which she thought would be rough,
were smooth and soft.

"We must be going," Pathan said. He left her for a moment and scouted
around the clearing, but came back disappointed. "There are no horses here.
They must have come by foot."

"I don't think I can walk, Captain."

"I shall carry you, madam." He scooped her into his arms and stood,
grunting only a little. "You are light as air."

Lucinda put an arm around Pathan's neck and smiled at his lie.