"No," he said instead. "I'll never sign that thing. You'll have to kill me first."

"I give you one last chance to change your mind." "No. Never! Peter Fungabera swivelled in his chair towards the tall sergeant.

"I give you the woman," he said. "You first and then your men, one at a time until they have all had their turn. Here, in this room, on this table." Christ, you aren't human," Craig blurted, and tried to hold Sally-Anne, but the troopers seized him from behind and hurled him back against the wall. One of them pinned him there with the point of a bayonet against his throat.

The other twisted Sally-Anne's wrist up between her shoulder blades and held her in front of the sergeant. She began to struggle wildly, but the trooper lifted her until just the toes of her running shoes touched the stone-flagged floor, and her face contorted with pain.

The sergeant was expressionless, neither leering nor making any obscene gesture. He took the front of Sally Anne T-shirt in both hands, and tore it open from neck to waist. Her breasts swung out. They were very white and tender-looking, their pink tips seemed sensitive and vulnerable.

"I have one hundred and fifty men," Peter Fungabera remarked. "It will be some time before they have all finished." The sergeant hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and yanked, them down. He let them fall in a tangle around her ankles. Craig strained forward, but the point of the bayonet pierced the skin at his throat. A few drops of blood dribbled down his shirtfront. Sally-Anne tried to cover the dark triangular mound of her pudenda with her free hand. It was a pathetically ineffectual gesture.

"I know how fiercely even a so-called white liberal like you resents the thought of black flesh penetrating his worn an." Peter Fungabera's tone was almost conversational.

"It will be interesting to see just how many times you will allow it to hap pi The sergeant and the trooper lifted Sally-Anne between them and laid her on her back on the refectory table. The sergeant freed the silk-shorts that bound her ankles but left the running shoes on her feet, and the tatters of her shirt around her upper body.

Expertly they pulled her knees up against her chest and then forced them down, tucking them under her armpits.

They must have done this often before. She was helpless, doubled over, wide op and completely defenceless. Every man in the room.wls staring into her body's secret depths.

The sergeant began to unbuckle his webbing belt with his free hand.

"Craig!" Sally-Anne screamed, and Craig's body bucked involuntarily as though to the stroke of a whip.

"I'll sign it," he whispered. "Just let her go, and I'll sign it." Peter Fungabera gave an order in Shana, and immediately they released Sally-Anne. The trooper stood back and the sergeant helped her to her feet. Politely, he handed her back her shorts, and she hopped on one foot, sobbing softly and trembling, as she pulled them on.

Then she rushed to Craig and threw both her arms about him. She could not speak but she choked and gulped down her tears. Her body shook wildly and Craig held her close and made incoherent soothing noises to her.

"The sooner you sign, the sooner you can go." Craig went to the table, still holding Sally-Anne in the curve of his left arm.

Captain Nbebi handed him a pen and he initialled the two top sheets of the confession, and signed the last one in full. Both Captain Nbebi and Peter Fungabera witnessed his signature, and then Peter said, "One last formality. I want both you and Miss Jay to be examined by the regimental doctor for any signs of ill-treatment or undue coercion."

"God damn you, hasn't she had enough?"

"Humour me, please, my dear fellow." The doctor must have been waiting in one of the trucks outside. He was a small dapper Shana and his manner was brisk and businesslike.

"You may examine the woman in the bedroom, Doctor.

In particular, please satisfy yourself that she has not been forcibly penetrated," Peter Fungabera instructed him, and then as they left the dining-room, he turned to Craig. "In the meantime, you may open the safe in your office and take out your passport and whatever other documents you need for the journey." may Two troopers escorted Craig to his office at the far end of the veranda, and waited while he struck the combination of the safe. He took out his passport, the wallet containing his credit cards and World Bank badge, three folders of American Express travellers" cheques, and the bundle of manuscript for the new novel. He stuffed them into a British Airways flight bag and went back to the dining-room.

Sally-Anne and the doctor came back from the bed, room. She had changed into a blue cashmere jersey, shirt and jeans, and she had controlled her hysteria to an occasional gulping sob, though she was still shivering in little convulsive fits. She dragged her camera bag and under one arm carried the art folder of photographs and text for their book.

"Your turn," Peter Fungabera invited Craig to follow the doctor, and when he returned Sally-Anne was seated in the back seat of a Land-Rover parked in front of the veranda. Captain Nbebi was beside her, and there were two armed troopers in the back of the vehicle. The seat beside the driver was empty for Craig.

Peter Fungabera was waiting on the veranda. "Goodbye, Craig," he said, and Craig stared at him, trying to project the full venom he felt for him.

"You didn't really believe that I would allow you to rebuild your family's empire, did you?" Peter asked without rancour. "We fought too hard to destroy that world." As the Land-Rover drove down the hills in the night, Craig turned and looked back. Peter Fungabera still stood on the lighted veranda, and somehow his tall figure was transformed. He looked as though he belonged there, likea conqueror who has taken possession, like the patron of the grand estate. Craigtwatched him until the trees hid him, and only then 4id the leaven of his true hatred begin to rise within him Al he headlights of the Land-Rover swung across the signboard: King's Lynn Afrikander Stud Proprietor: Craig Mellow It seemed to mock him, then they were past it and rattling across the steel cattle-grid. They left the soil of King's Lynn and Craig's dreams behind them, and swung westwards. The lugged tyres began their monotonous hum as they hit the black top of the main road, and still nobody in the Land-Rover spoke.