Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [136]
The three of them stood for a moment looking at the blockage. “Could we climb it?” said Jane.
“The horse can’t,” said Ellis.
Jane was angry at him for stating the obvious. “One of us could go back with the horse,” she said impatiently. “The other two could rest while waiting for the horse to catch up.”
“I don’t think it’s wise to get separated.”
Jane resented his my-decision-is-final tone of voice. “Don’t assume we’ll all do what you happen to think is wise,” she snapped.
He looked startled. “All right. But I also think that mound of earth and stones might shift if someone tried to climb it. In fact I might as well say that I’m not going to try it, regardless of what you two might decide.”
“So you won’t even discuss it. I see.” Furious, Jane turned around and started back along the track, leaving the two men to follow her. Why was it, she wondered, that men slipped into that bossy, know-it-all mode whenever there was a physical or mechanical problem?
Ellis was not without his faults, she reflected. He could be woolly-minded: for all his talk about being an antiterrorist expert, still he worked for the CIA, which was probably the largest group of terrorists in the world. There was undeniably a side of him that liked danger, violence and deceit. Don’t pick a macho romantic, she thought, if you want a man to respect you.
One thing that could be said for Jean-Pierre was that he never patronized women. He might neglect you, deceive you or ignore you, but he would never condescend to you. Perhaps it was because he was younger.
She passed the place where Maggie had reared. She did not wait for the men: they could cope with the damn horse themselves this time.
Chantal was complaining, but Jane made her wait. She strode on until she reached a point where there seemed to be a pathway up to the clifftop. There she sat down and unilaterally declared a rest. Ellis and Mohammed caught up with her a minute or two later. Mohammed got some mulberry-and-walnut cake out of the baggage and handed it around. Ellis did not speak to Jane.
After the break they climbed the hillside. When they reached the top they emerged into sunshine, and Jane began to feel a little less angry. After a while Ellis put his arm around her and said: “I apologize for assuming command.”
“Thank you,” Jane said stiffly.
“Do you think that maybe you might have overreacted a little bit?”
“No doubt I did. Sorry.”
“You bet. Let me take Chantal.”
Jane handed the baby over. As the weight was lifted, she realized that her back was aching. Chantal had never seemed heavy, but the burden told over a long distance. It was like carrying a full shopping bag for ten miles.
The air became milder as the sun climbed the morning sky. Jane opened her coat and Ellis took his off. Mohammed retained his Russian uniform greatcoat, with characteristic Afghan indifference to all but the most severe changes in the weather.
Toward noon they emerged from the narrow gorge of the Linar into the broad Nuristan Valley. Here the way was once again quite clearly marked, the path being almost as good as the cart track which ran up the Five Lions Valley. They turned north, going upstream and uphill.
Jane felt terribly tired and discouraged. After getting up at two a.m. she had walked for ten hours—but they had only covered four or five miles. Ellis wanted to do another ten miles today. It was Jane’s third consecutive day on the march, and she knew she could not continue until nightfall. Even Ellis was wearing the bad-tempered expression which, Jane knew, was a sign he was weary. Only Mohammed seemed tireless.
In the Linar Valley they had seen no one outside the villages, but here there were a few travelers, most of them wearing white robes and white turbans. The Nuristanis looked with curiosity at the two pale, exhausted Westerners, but greeted Mohammed with wary respect, no doubt because of the Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder.
As they trudged uphill