Десмонд Бэгли - High Citadel

Forester searched about in the snow and found three of the pitons; he could not find the fourth. Rohde smiled grimly. ‘It is as well I fell,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we would have had to leave the pitons up there, and I think we will need them later. But we must keep clear of rock; the verglas — the ice on the rock — is too much for us without crampons.’

Forester agreed with him from the bottom of his heart, although he did not say so aloud. He recoiled the rope and made one end fast about his waist while Rohde attended to Peabody. Then he looked at the glacier.

It was as fantastic as a lunar landscape — and as dead and removed from humanity. The pressures from below had squeezed up great masses of ice which the wind and the sun had carved into grotesque shapes, all now mantled with thick snow. There were great cliffs with dangerous overhanging columns which threatened to topple, and there were crevasses, some open to the sky and some, as Forester knew, treacherously covered with snow. Through this wilderness, this maze of ice, they had to find their way.

Forester said, ‘How far to the other side?’

Rohde reflected. ‘Three-quarters of one of your North American miles.’ He took the ice-axe firmly in his hand. ‘Let us move — time is going fast.’

He led the way, testing every foot with the butt of the ice-axe. Forester noticed that he had shortened the intervals between the members of the party and had doubled the ropes, and he did not like the implication. The three of them were now quite close together and Rohde kept urging Peabody to move faster as he felt the drag on the rope when Peabody lagged. Forester stooped and picked up some snow; it was powdery and did not make a good snowball, but every time Peabody dragged on Rohde’s rope he pelted him with snow.

The way was tortuous and more than once Rohde led them into a dead end, the way blocked by vertical ice walls or wide crevasses, and they would have to retrace their steps and hunt for a better way. Once, when they were seemingly entrapped in a maze of ice passages, Forester totally lost his sense of direction and wondered hopelessly if they would be condemned to wander for ever in this cold hell.

His feet were numb and he had no feeling in his toes. He mentioned this to Rohde, who stopped immediately. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Take off your boots.’

Forester stripped the puttees from his legs and tried to untie his bootlaces with stiff fingers. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to complete this simple task. The laces were stiffened with ice, his fingers were cold, and his mind did not seem able to control the actions of his body. At last he got his boots off and stripped off the two pairs of socks he wore.

Rohde closely examined his toes and said, ‘You have the beginning of frostbite. Rub your left foot — I’ll rub the right.’

Forester rubbed away violently. His big toe was bonewhite at the tip and had a complete lack of sensation. Rohde was merciless in his rubbing; he ignored Forester’s yelp of anguish as the circulation returned to his foot and continued to massage with vigorous movements.

Forester’s feet seemed to be on fire as the blood forced its way into the frozen flesh and he moaned with the pain. Rohde said sternly, ‘You must not let this happen. You must work your toes all the time — imagine you are playing a piano with your feet — your toes. Let me see your fingers.’

Forester held out his hands and Rohde inspected them. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you must watch for this. Your toes, your fingers and the tips of your ears and the nose. Keep rubbing them.’ He turned to where Peabody was sitting slackly. ‘And what about him?’

With difficulty Forester thrust his feet into his frozen boots, retied the laces and wrapped the puttees round his legs. Then he helped Rohde to take off Peabody’s boots. Handling him was like handling a dummy — he neither hindered nor helped, letting his limbs be moved flaccidly.

His toes were badly frostbitten and they began to massage his feet. After working on him for ten minutes he suddenly moaned and Forester looked up to see a glimmer of intelligence steal into the dead eyes. ‘Hell!’ Peabody protested. ‘You’re hurting me.’

They took no notice of him and continued to work away. Suddenly Peabody screamed and began to thrash about, and Forester grabbed his arms. ‘Be sensible, man,’ he shouted. He looked up at Peabody. ‘Keep moving your toes. Move them all the time in your boots.’

Peabody was moaning with pain but it seemed to have the effect of bringing him out of his private dream. He was able to put on his own socks and boots and wrap the puttees round his legs, and all the time he swore in a dull monotone, uttering a string of obscenities directed against the mountains, against Rohde and Forester for being uncaring brutes, and against the fates in general for having got him into this mess.

Forester looked across at Rohde and grinned faintly, and Rohde picked up the ice-axe and said, ‘We must move — we must get out of here.’

Somewhere in the middle of the glacier Rohde, after casting fruitlessly in several directions, led them to a crevasse and said, ‘Here we must cross — there is no other way.’

There was a snow bridge across the crevasse, a frail span connecting the two sides. Forester went to the edge and looked down into the dim green depths. He could not see the bottom.

Rohde said, ‘The snow will bear our weight if we go over lying flat so that the weight is spread.’ He tapped Forester on the shoulder. ‘You go first.’

Peabody said suddenly, ‘I’m not going across there. You think I’m crazy?’

Forester had intended to say the same but the fact that a man like Peabody had said it put some spirit into him. He said harshly — and the harshness was directed at himself for his moment of weakness—’Do as you’re damn well told.’

Rohde re-roped them so that the line would be long enough to stretch across the crevasse, which was about fifteen feet wide, and Forester approached cautiously. ‘Not on hands and knees,’ said Rohde. ‘Lie flat and wriggle across with your arms and legs spread out.’

With trepidation Forester lay down by the edge of the crevasse and wriggled forward on to the bridge. It was only six feet wide and, as he went forward on his belly in the way he had been taught during his army training, he saw the snow crumble from the edge of the bridge to fall with a soft sigh into the abyss.

He was very thankful for the rope which trailed behind him, even though he knew it was probably not strong enough to withstand a sudden jerk, and it was with deep thankfulness that he gained the other side to lie gasping in the snow, beads of sweat trickling into his eyes.

After a long moment he stood up and turned. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rohde.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, and wiped the sweat from his forehead before it froze.

‘To hell with this,’ shouted Peabody. ‘You’re not going to get me on that thing.’

‘You’ll be roped from both sides,’ said Forester. ‘You can’t possibly fall — isn’t that right, Miguel?’

‘That is so,’ said Rohde.

Peabody had a hunted look about him. Forester said, ‘Oh, to hell with him. Come across, Miguel, and leave the stupid bastard.’

Peabody’s voice cracked. ‘You can’t leave me here ,’ he screamed.

‘Can’t we?’ asked Forester callously. ‘I told you what would happen if you held us up.’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ said Peabody tearfully, and approached the snow bridge slowly.

‘Get down,’ said Rohde abruptly.

‘On your belly,’ called Forester.

Peabody lay down and began to inch his way across. He was shaking violently and twice he stopped as he heard snow swish into the crevasse from the crumbling edge of the bridge. As he approached Forester he began to wriggle along faster and Forester became intent on keeping the rope taut, as did Rohde, paying out as Peabody moved away from him.