‘Yes, Sahib.’
Leaving the stables, we began to move around the outbuildings, towards the jungle. Karim kept low, behind one of the horses, and for a giant mountain of muscle did a pretty good job of appearing not to exist. Only the occasional glimpse of the top of his turban over the packs on the horse’s back gave away his presence.
We approached the guard with measured steps. He didn’t seem particul
arly suspicious. But then, I probably didn’t seem particularly nervous. But I was! Like hell I was! The sweat trickling down my forehead didn’t just come from the heat.
‘When we reach him, let me do the talking,’ Mr Ambrose whispered.
‘Why? Because you’re the man in charge?’
‘No! Because I know more Portuguese than the words for “stinking bastard” and “son of a goat”!’
Undeniably true. But it still chafed, being told to keep my mouth shut.
As we came closer, the guard’s brow furrowed, and he shouted something, pointing to the horses. Damn! Had he recognised them? If we had stumbled across one of the party who had taken us, we were finished.
‘Sim, são os cavalos dos presos. Você pensou que eles iam ficar por aí parados? Disseram-nos para levá-los para o batalhão do leste.’[14]
The soldier’s frown deepened.
‘Mas não há batalhão para o les-’
Mr Ambrose struck. He leapt forward so suddenly I didn’t even manage to blink before he had his knife at the guard’s throat.
‘Silêncio!’ he hissed.
All right, even I understood that.
The guard’s eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘Imperialistas!’
Hey - another word I’d understood! I was getting really good at Portuguese.
Roughly, Mr Ambrose pulled the guard towards him, the dagger digging into the man’s skin. ‘Não é bem assim. Mas se você mover um músculo ou dizer uma única palavra, você é um homem morto!’
All right…maybe I still had a little bit to learn before I mastered the language.
‘What did you just say to him?’ I hissed.
‘I told him to shut his face! And I’d advise you to do the same, if you want us to stay alive. Hand me that rope!’
We made quick work of binding and gagging the man, leaving him among the tall grass, out of sight. Mr Ambrose made a point of mentioning to Karim, in distinctly audible Portuguese, that we were going east. Hopefully, this time, the ploy would work. We could only hope that there wasn’t a third or a fourth warring faction in this crazy jungle into whose hands we could fall.
‘Let’s go!’ Taking hold of his horse’s reins again, Mr Ambrose dashed forward. ‘We’ve wasted enough time!’
As fast as we could without actually running, we made our way towards the trees. I was convinced I could feel the eyes of patrols digging into my neck. If they spotted Karim between the horses, our disguise wouldn’t be worth a farthing! At every moment, I expected shouts to echo over the open space behind us, expected shots to ring out - but nothing came.
When the shadow of the forest swallowed us, I could hardly believe it. Could it really be true? Could we actually have made it?
Slipping into a gap between two giants of trees, I felt the imaginary eyes of the patrols behind us leave my neck. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
Yes! Huzzah! We’re safe!
Or at least that’s what I thought at the time.
I hadn’t really factored in that the ‘safe place’ we were running into was the deepest darkest heart of the Amazonian Jungle.
Really Hot Jungle Heat