Charles reacted at the sound of the voice, and whispered to Shaw,
"stay with the boat and repel boarders."

Benjamin stood transfixed, watching the curious dance of the woman and
the rest of the circle.  When the voice from the clearing rang out,
Benjamin turned back to the others as if to speak, clearly edgy, but
only got as far as opening his mouth before closing it again.  He
turned to watch again.  Once more, he turned as if to speak, thought
better of it, and turned back.

Finally, without saying a word, Benjamin suddenly dove off the side of
the boat and began swimming, quickly and quietly with strong strokes,
towards the beach just upRiver from the dance. Ehrich and Josephine
followed him into the water with but a moment's hesitation.

"Well so much for planning," Charles muttered.  "Can we move the boat
closer for a rescue attempt?" he asked Shaw. "I think that voice
belongs to Tjar, Theodore Roosevelt... We should make for shore, then
attempt a rapid rescue.  Charge in, grab him and run like the devil is
behind us, back here to the boat.  Agreed?"

Jeanne nodded. "It is our obligation to protect the weak." She look
askance as the wakes of the swimmers.
She knew that only witches and warlocks could float in water.

"Damn bunch of fools," Shaw scoffed disgustedly. "I can bring us right
up to the shore, Jeanne could stay and provide cover with her
bow."

The others agreed, and Jeanne nocked a bamboo arrow to one of the
bows, passing the other to Shaw. Freud took up a spear and crouched in
the boat, as Shaw brought it closer to shore, downRiver of the
encampment. Freud followed Charles onto their beachhead, approaching
the campfire from the opposite direction as the swimmers, who had
reached the upRiver bank. Only Josephine remained in the water.

As the flickering firelight cast grotesque shadows on the faces of the
chanting men and women, the woman in the center of the circle held her
sharpened stone high over her head and cried out in an unintelligible
tongue. The men dragged the swearing Englishman before her, and bent
him backward, his chest thrust toward the woman. His eyes were wide.
"Damn you bleeding cocksuckers!" 

From the water, Josephine's voice sang out:

    "Allons, enfants de la patrie,
     Le jour de gloire est arrive!
     Contre nous, de la tyrannie,
     L'etendard sanglant est leve;
     l'etendard sanglant est leve!
     Entendez vous dans les campagnes,
     Mugir ces feroces soldats?
     Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
     Egorger nos fils, nos compagnes!"

Few among the lazari recognized the words of the Marseillaise, and
none among the chanters, but the song had its desired effect. The
chanting broke, and all eyes turned to the dark water. At that moment,
Charles and Freud charged the campfire from the south, Benjamin and
Ehrich from the north. Caught between the two and the hissing of
bamboo arrows which seemed to appear from darkness, the tan-skinned
chanters fled, leaving behind their captive, who dropped to the
ground, exhausted. As Charles and Freud dragged the man back to the
boat, they were joined by Benjamin, Ehrich, and finally Josephine,
grinning and murmuring quietly,

    "Aux armes, citoyens!
     Formez vos bataillons!
     Marchons ! Marchons!
     Qu'un sang impur
     Abreuve nos sillons!"

Shaw brought the boat back into the River itself. He spoke with
obvious displeasure. "Well, I for one am glad to see that they did not
have three extra sacrifices this night."

			      *  *  *  *

Louis whispered to Shaka from the side of his mouth.  "I mean you no
offense, but do you have a plan, other than fighting for our lives, if
it does not rain when you say it will?"

Mandragola, scowling menacingly, added, "If these people look like
they might fight, it may be wise to tell them that their village is
surrounded. After all, Louis and I emerged from the trees. They will
have no idea if anyone still remains there."

Shaka's eyes flared and he turned again to Pala.

"Who are you to decide when the rain is called?" he said
contemptuously. "You, Pala, are a fool, and trifle with Kings and Gods!
If it is rain you want, then it shall rain, but I am not a clown here
to amuse you.  You asked for rain, and you will receive rain... but I
will not make it rain at a certain hour, in a certain direction or in
a certain colour!"

Shaka drew his scythe and held it at the ready.

"I have entertained your whims until now," he concluded, "but I am
your King, and you are a little man.  Either I call the rain now, or
you and I will undergo a contest of battle, either armed or unarmed, I
fear you neither way!"

Pala appraised Shaka again. "You speak like a King. Call the rain now,
and when the water touches my lips, I will offer you fealty and beg
you to remember that a headman must see to his people before all
else."

Turning back to Mandragola and Louis, Shaka smiled slightly. "He
agrees. Watch my back."

Shaka began a chant and danced about the fire, tracing mystical signs
in the air with his hands. After nearly an hour of tireless dancing,
he stopped and stood stock-still, his eyes closed.

The rain fell to the ground; the Zulu to their knees. Pala placed his
spear's point against his chest and offered the haft to Shaka.

			      *  *  *  *