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brothers. We can help each other."
    Tamboura squatted beside him and they continued to talk. Soon Akeem came along, knotting the rope that led from neck to neck. He recognized Tamboura, but merely proceeded to secure him behind Sabumbo. He slipped a wide hoop of woven bamboo over Tamboura's shoulders and tied his hands to it, letting it fall free around the hips. The big black was not unkind. When he saw the raw cuts the thongs had made, he tied Tamboura's hands loosely, and when he looped and fastened a length of grass rope around each ankle he allowed enough slack for a normal step.
    The brief rest had renewed Tamboura's strength and the assurance of seeing the lion in the brush, and being with Sabumbo, had renewed his courage. He had never known Sabumbo well as he was in a different age group but now, in truth, he felt as close to him as to a brother. Although the anger in his heart had not died, he began to feel better. Up in front of the long line of slaves, he saw them striking the awning which had been set up for Ama-jallah's meal and he watched the Arab mount the horse which had been brought for him. Tamboura turned and regarded the young slave who was tied behind him. The fellow grinned back at him with a row of white teeth. At the rear of the line of slaves, perhaps some two hundred in all, there were horses and riders.
    Ama-jallah rode down the line of the kaffle, flicking his whip idly at the standing men. Tamboura stood out from the rest because of the remnants of white clay which still adhered to his body. The Arab checked his horse briefly and glanced down appraisingly at the boy. The dark Arab eyes approved. His lips curled in a half-smile. All of his male slaves were fine muscular specimens but this one was different. He was the brother of King Mandouma; generations of selected blood lines had produced this rich young body with its promise of prodigious strength, its long clean limbs, its powerful arms and the face of classic barbaric beauty. Ama-jallah's love for a bargain was satisfied. This, the best slave of the whole lot, had cost him nothing, not even a single bead. The boy was a Hausa, what's more a Royal Hausa, and the Hausas along with the Mandingos and the Fantis were the best breed for slaves. Strong, powerful, but gentle if they were gentled, almost doglike in their devotion to a master who treated them well! And this boy

    would be a breeder—one could be sure of that; breeders were what they wanted in the big market across the sea. It was whispered along the slave coast that soon there might be a law prohibiting the transport of slaves across the water, so the foreign owners were breeding them themselves against that day. This boy would bring a good price. One had only to look at him to know that there were a thousand sons in his loins.
    The thin whip curled out gently and fell across Tam-boura's shoulders but there was no sting in the lash. It was more of a caress.
    Ama-jallah turned his horse and rode to the head of the line. Somewhere up front a drum began to beat with a slow, monotonous rhythm that started the men in the caffle moving their feet in time to its beating. There was a shout and the drum spoke with a series of hard blows. Tamboura saw the man in front of Sabumbo step ahead, then Sabumbo, and he timed his step>s to those of his brother from the village. One step, then another and another and another. He did not know where he was going, but somehow it did not matter. He walked along, carrying the burden of his grief and anger which rested far more heavily on his shoulders than the antelope of yesterday. He walked. The drum beat and he walked and all he saw was the rope that led from Sabumbo's neck to his own and the drops of sweat that oozed from the skin of Sabumbo's back, gathered, joined and trickled down the deep channel to spread out over his buttocks and fall to the ground of Africa.

    chapter iii
    The sun was spreading a palette of purple, gold and flame, just before sinking