The Secret People

'We have a saying,' Margaret told him, apologetically, 'that all's fair in war.'

Garm looked shocked.

'Truly you have some remarkable sayings—I think this is the worst you have told me yet. Is there no honour in your wars?'

'Very little. Though you would find many people to agree with you, that the more subtle and drastic weapons should be abolished.'

'They know they are dishonourable, then? There is some hope for you.'

'No, that's not quite right. You see, they don't think of war in terms of honour, any more.'

'Then why do they want them abolished?'

'They think they are too dangerous.'

'They are cowards?'

'No.'

'But they must either be cowards or men of honour.'

'They're men of sense, up to a point.'

'But have you no men who think of the glory of war?'

'Oh yes; but they're mostly very young—too young to have had any experience of it. They are the ones who talk about all being fair in war.'

Garm appeared confused.

'Do you mean that the men who will use all guile, every cunning means to destroy their enemies, are the same who believe in the honour of war?'

'They are about the only ones,' Margaret agreed.

'But that is absurd. How can it be honourable to fight with tricks? Skill, yes, but tricks, no.'

'But what you call tricks, they call skill,' she attempted patiently.

'No,' said Garm, 'not even such a race as yours could sink as low as to confuse tricks with skill. It is that you are a woman, and do not understand these things. The female mind-'

Margaret hastily headed him back to the subject of the war. She had heard Garm on the female mind before.

'But what are your men going to do? Will they retire?'

'Retire?' Garm looked horrified.

'But if your attacks can be repulsed?'

'They have repulsed us once. We shall change our plan.'

'Trick them?'

'Certainly not. We shall merely adopt other methods. We never trick. When we fight an enemy who knows nothing of honour, we adapt—temporarily, of course— our methods to his. We do not approve, but self-defence demands it.'

'There seems to be something familiar about that,' said Margaret.

The conversation had revealed an unexpected side of pygmv activities. Garm's 'when we fight' had surprised her inasmuch as there appeared to be no one for them to fight. She inquired:

'When did you last fight?'

But Garm could not tell. There had been no fighting in his own time. Nevertheless, tradition spoke of expeditions from time to time against the prisoners, and more than one civil war between the devotees of rival gods. In any case, he insisted, these wars had always been fought in an honourable way. It was because this particular fracas was being conducted in such an undignified manner that it had been necessary (against their better standards) to call in all available help.

The 'natives' had been willing to co-operate since the caves were as much home to them as they were to the pygmies. And certain of Miguel's friends had joined them —though whether this was done on the principle of backing the winners, or as a result of bribery, she was unable to discover—they were supplying the guile which the high-minded pygmies naturally lacked. Garm's attitude towards them was a mixture of admiration of their ingenuity, with contempt for their standards. There was no word for serpent in the pygmy tongue; if there had been, he would undoubtedly have used it to describe the renegades.

Margaret's final deduction was that the besieged prisoners were holding their own, and likely to do so for some time to come. As long as the fighting went on Miguel was certain of the freedom of the outer caves, and at liberty to search for the Sun Bird. The more she considered it, the more glad she was to have put a spoke in his wheel.

But the apprehension of Miguel did not proceed smoothly. In answer to her worried questions, Margaret's guards could tell her nothing more than that the order had gone out for his capture. She was forced to wait until Garm's next visit. When he came, it was with a gloomy face.

No. Miguel had not been caught yet. He had disappeared. Hidden himself in the disused galleries and caves where it would be difficult to find him. No one living knew the geography of those parts, though once upon a time, when the pygmies had been as numerous as the spores in a thousand puff-balls—Margaret listened patiently again to a repetition of past glories. She became uncomfortably aware that she had not been justified in dismissing Miguel from her mind.

'But surely," she interrupted, 'they will be able to hunt him down soon.'

'Of course.' Garm spoke with a confidence which his earlier remarks scarcely vindicated. Though he might believe his people to be mistaken on some points, and misinformed on others, yet his pride in them was immense. The idea of the pygmies failing to do anything they chose to take up was completely foreign to him. Even their inability to deal with the gradual flooding had shaken his faith only slightly—deep down, he was sure that they would come through this peril as they had come through others. As to this matter of one escaped prisoner, it was unthinkable that he could evade them for long. The real cause for worry was lest the goddess should be angered by delay in the blasphemer's punishment. An expedition must be sent to search the disused caverns, and he had not at present many men to spare.

'Does he know you want him?' Margaret asked.

Garm nodded. 'It is unfortunate. We found the bodies of two of the men who were sent to find him. Their slings and knives had gone.'

'You're sure he killed them?'

'Who else?'

'Then he must know.'

Margaret's misgivings grew. The thought of the unscrupulous Miguel further goaded by desperation increased her uneasiness almost to fear. For the first time she was thankful for the continual presence of her four guards. Miguel could have little doubt who had started the hunt. It would not be pleasant to meet him alone.

'It was foolish,' Garm was saying. 'The men should have worked in fours, not in pairs. We have lost time now that he is warned.' He glanced across at Bast, curled up into a rythmically expanding and contracting ball. 'She is well?' he asked anxiously.

'Quite well.'

Garm was relieved. It was lucky that there had been no manifestations of the goddess's displeasure as yet. But the matter must not be allowed to slide. An uneasy thought struck him—there had been a second defeat in the prison caves; the tactic of advancing behind mushroom heads had been out-manoeuvred; was it not possible that Bast was showing her resentment in this way?

The more he considered it, the more likely it appeared. He wondered why he had not thought of it before. Nothing but divine opposition could have wrecked so subtle a move as that second attack. How could he have been so foolish as to think that she would fail to act? What goddess worth her salt would remain passive while her symbol was made a target for expectoration? The sooner atonement was made, the better for everyone. Miguel must be found without delay. In his sharpened urgency, the old man left the cave almost at a run.

Margaret was left with a shadow on her spirit. She pictured Miguel prowling through passages and. caverns, hunting for the Sun Bird. Or would he be keeping to the disused parts to evade pursuit? Would even a man of Miguel's type wait to be ferreted out as he must be, sooner or later? It was more to be expected that desperation would make him reckless. However, that had its better aspect. The odds against his finding the Sun Bird before he fell in with search parties of pygmies were immense.