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We were at the edge of the village by now. The ring of men around us split at the front, giving me, for the first time, a view of an Indian village.[20] Honestly, at first glance, it wasn’t much to write home about. About as much as this:
Dear XYZ,
My holiday in South America is going splendidly so far! I’m standing here with mosquito bites all over me and a spear jabbing into my back, struck dumb in awe at the sight of a few round, mud-brown huts with thatched roofs. Oh, and have I told you yet that there are mud-streaked paths leading from door to door? Isn’t that wonderful? Oh, and of course, there are weapons leaning against the outside of the huts - really lovely weapons, with which we’ll probably soon be violently killed.
I hope everything is going well with you at home, too? Hoping to hear from you soon, I remain,
Yours truly,
Lilly Linton
There, you see? Not much at all. Oh, except, of course:
P.S: There are a lot of naked people staring at me!
P.P.S: I don’t just mean scantily dressed. I mean stark-buck-blasted naked!!!
P.P.P.S: I hope you had fun at the ball last week?
It wasn’t just naked men anymore, either. Oh no. Women and children, scattered all around the village, were gathering quickly to stare at the newcomers, whispering excitedly to each other. The children weren’t the problem. Eve’s cousin was married with about half a dozen babies, so I had seen (and smelled!) my fair share of bare babies’ bottoms in my life, although it wasn’t exactly an experience I was keen to repeat. The women, however…
Let me put it this way: in London, if a woman shows too much of her unmentionables - also known as legs to the uneducated - she would be decried as a loose woman. If any of these women here were to show up in London, people wouldn’t get to the decrying. They would faint at the first sight of these ladies.
They were completely, utterly stark-naked.
Well - maybe it wasn’t strictly true. They did wear something. A leather strap, about one inch wide, resting loosely on their hips. I was not one hundred per cent sure whether to count this as clothing, since it didn’t actually cover more area than two or three postage stamps. The rest of them was visible. Very visible. In fascination, I watched a woman detaching a baby from her breast with no more ceremony or secrecy than I would use to open a letter or wave a fan. She met the eye of one of the armed men surrounding us, and sent him a meaningful look.
I pursed my lips, thoughtfully.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas, Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose voice came in a growl from behind me.
‘Whatever do you mean, Sir?’
My fingers strayed to my chemise. It really was still quite hot, even up here on the cliff. And, if I was going to be killed soon, I might at least be comfortable in my last few minutes…
Mr Ambrose’s hand closed around my wrist like a vice.
‘Don’t even think about it!’
‘About what?’ Half turning towards him, I fluttered my eyelashes up at him. ‘I’m afraid I really do not know what you could mean, Sir.’
He snorted. ‘Yes, of course you don’t! And my tailcoat has pink pig tails!’
‘That could be arranged, if you want. I know a tailor back in London who is open to unusual requests.’
A spear jabbed me in the small of the back. I winced.
‘However, that will probably have to wait until we’re back in London. If we get out of here alive.’
‘Oh, we’ll get out of here alive all right.’ Flexing his fingers, Mr Ambrose stepped towards the biggest of the huts, from which a large man with sharp, dark eyes had just stepped into the murky sunlight. ‘Just don’t take any more clothes off while I negotiate!’
‘I’ll do my best to restrain myself.’
Another jab in the back made it clear that we had better get moving. Armed men still hovering around us, curious women and children gazing on from everywhere, we were led to the big hut. The big man waited for us with arms crossed in front of his solid bulk.
‘Their leader,’ Mr Ambrose murmured. ‘Let’s see what he is made of.’
He came to a halt a few steps away from the big Indian, and met his gaze. The Indian, eyes hard, stared at Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose stared back. The man also stared back. Upon which Mr Ambrose reacted by staring back and narrowing his eyes infinitesimally. The Indian also narrowed his eyes infinitesimally, which made Mr Ambrose cock his head, threateningly. And then he continued to stare. Whereupon the Indian also continued to stare, to which Mr Ambrose responded by staring some more.
