In their way these discoveries were rich enough—­from one tomb alone they took over a hundred and thirty ounces of gold—­to say nothing of their surpassing archaeological interest.  Still they were not what they sought:  all that gathered wealth of Monomotapa which the fleeing Portuguese had brought with them and buried in this, their last stronghold.

Benita ceased to take the slightest interest in the matter; she would not even be at the pains to go to look at the third skeleton, although it was that of a man who had been almost a giant, and, to judge from the amount of bullion which he took to the tomb with him, a person of great importance in his day.  She felt as though she wished never to see another human bone or ancient bead or bangle; the sight of a street in Bayswater in a London fog—­yes, or a toy-shop window in Westbourne Grove—­would have pleased her a hundred times better than these unique remains that, had they known of them in those days, would have sent half the learned societies of Europe crazy with delight.  She wished to escape from Bambatse, its wondrous fortifications, its mysterious cone, its cave, its dead, and—­from Jacob Meyer.

Benita stood upon the top of her prison wall and looked with longing at the wide, open lands below.  She even dared to climb the stairs which ran up the mighty cone of granite, and seated herself in the cup-like depression on its crest, whence Jacob Meyer had called to her to come and share his throne.  It was a dizzy place, for the pillar leaning outwards, its point stood almost clear of the water-scarped rock, so that beneath her was a sheer drop of about four hundred feet to the Zambesi bed.  At first the great height made her feel faint.  Her eyes swam, and unpleasant tremors crept along her spine, so that she was glad to sink to the floor, whence she knew she could not fall.  By degrees, however, she recovered her nerve, and was able to study the glorious view of stream and marshes and hills beyond.

For she had come here with a purpose, to see whether it would not be possible to escape down the river in a canoe, or in native boats such as the Makalanga owned and used for fishing, or to cross from bank to bank.  Apparently it was impossible, for although the river beneath and above them was still enough, about a mile below began a cataract that stretched as far as she could see, and was bordered on either side by rocky hills covered with forest, over which, even if they could obtain porters, a canoe could not be carried.  This, indeed, she had already heard from the Molimo, but knowing his timid nature, she wished to judge of the matter for herself.  It came to this then:  if they were to go, it must be on the horses.