Catherine shook her head.

“Something I should have done and didn’t?”

A fresh bout of tears caught Catherine’s throat at the irony of that question. So much she wanted to scream "YES!"

Instead she shook her head, she could never hurt him so. He had his principles and his reasons she knew that, but she had wanted his child so much.

“You’re hurt?” Vincent sniffed the air. There was the distinct smell of blood around her.

“No.”

“Yes you are.” He tried to move her, pull her to her feet, “You’re bleeding…somewhere.” He searched her over, touching here and there searching for a wound. “Did you fall?”

“No Vincent!” Her tone of voice startled him. It was sharp, angry, and for some reason, some reason he couldn’t fathom her anger seemed directed at him.

“I’m sorry.” Catherine collapsed against him. “Its not you’re fault.” Her lips uttered the words, even as her heart denied them. ‘Yes it is, its all his fault. Why don’t you just tell him?’

But she couldn’t do that to Vincent, she just couldn’t. “I’m not hurt Vincent. I didn’t fall. You’ve read medical books I know you have…” At her words Vincent’s mind reeled and the vision of her clutching her abdomen earlier returned to him full force. He waited in fearful expectation for her to continue, sighing greatly with relief as he began to understand.

“It’s just a woman thing Vincent. You know the one we women get every month. Nothing to worry about.”

Yet despite his relief Vincent did worry. Why then the tears? Why the rush of excitement these past few days, and now these tears, and this utter despair that raged within her? Vincent was left totally bewildered.

“Come, William has some herbal tea that all the women here below prize for such a time as this. You wait in our chamber and I will fetch some for you.” With his arm around her shoulders he started to lead her back to their quarters when he swung her into his arms instead, loving the feel of her so close against him. The expression in her eyes caught his, and Vincent sighed, “Does it always affect you this way?” It hurt him so much that she suffered so, “Perhaps Father can help?”

“No Vincent…to both your questions. That is William’s herbal tea sounds wonderful.” She finished lamely.

“And as to the other question?” He didn’t know why he wanted to know so much, perhaps because Catherine had deliberately withheld the answer from him.

Catherine bowed her head, burying her face in his sweater, not yet ready to answer that question. Vincent sighed, “You don’t have to tell me anything my love,” he told her, “but I see no reason why you should not. I love you. I want to know everything about you and as well as we know each other there are some things I am only yet learning. Please, my love, don’t shut me out. I want to share everything with you.”

“Oh Vincent.” Catherine nuzzled his neck causing an instantaneous reaction in other parts of his body. After so many years without such intimacies as the right to touch and to kiss, Vincent was yet to control his responses to even the most feather-light touch that Catherine might bestow upon him. By the time he reached their chamber and bestowed her gently upon the bed, he longed to join her there and make love to her.

“How long are you like this?” he bowed his head now, a little embarrassed at needing to know, and knowing that Catherine knew why he needed to know.

“My poor love.” Catherine smiled tenderly, “Three weeks on and one week off. You should spend the time recuperating.” Catherine laughed refraining from telling him that this month was already much different from any she had ever known, more discharge than actual blood. Still no doubt that would come later.

“A week!” Vincent gasped, looking down at himself and then back at his wife, “Look at me now, how am I to get through a week without you?”

A wicked grin spread across Catherine’s face “Perhaps now you will allow me to satisfy you as you once satisfied me before our marriage.” Vincent instantly remembered his hands off attitude in the days before they were married, and he blushed. “Come now Vincent.” Catherine burst into laughter at her choice of words and trying to keep a straight face she whispered seductively, “Put it this way my love, I’m sure you won’t have any complaints.” She looked at him coyly beneath her lashes, enjoying every moment of his obvious discomfort. After all if he hadn’t of insisted on contraception they needn’t be facing this dilemma now. But suddenly Vincent turned the tables upon her, “That rather depends my love…” he watched her boldly now.

“I hasten to ask, but on what?” Catherine whispered enjoying their cat and mouse game delightfully.

Catherine blushed as she realised where he was heading now, it all depended upon her telling him what was on her mind and she shook her head, “No Vincent…its no big deal…I just get moody that’s all…despondent…I’m all right once the bleeding starts.” She hoped he would believe her.

But Vincent didn’t believe her, all those things might be true but she was holding something back. What was it? Then suddenly in an instant he knew!

He stared at her his heart pounding. “You thought you may be pregnant didn’t you?”

Catherine gasped, and tried to deny it. “No.” She laughed half-heartedly, the sound not quite ringing true. “Of course not.”

“Catherine.” Vincent spoke sternly, his tone making Catherine cringe.

They stared at each other, his eyes searching out the depths of hers. She was trying desperately to hide her feelings from him. As if she could! Even if she were able to conceal them with her eyes then their connection would tell him everything that her heart whispered. Catherine hung her head, “Yes.” She whispered.

Had she of expected him to be angry with her she could have accepted it. All those times he had made love to her since that one ‘risk’ that they took, he had rarely thought of the possibility that she might have been carrying his child. But now to know that she had harboured the hope during all that time stunned him to the core. Not only that but he knew that he would have to have a different approach to the matter from now on. For now he had a wife to comfort.
Enfolding her in his arms he rocked her, stroking her hair, saying nothing. In all honesty there was nothing that he could say. Nothing to say that would bring any merit of comfort to her shattered hope.
She wasn’t carrying his child. And right at that moment Vincent wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not. And that too worried him greatly.

Devin was intrigued. If anything interested him more, it was someone that had suddenly clamed up for no possible reason. He thought back to his latter questions, and finding nothing untoward with them decided to leave the boy alone. “Well it’s been nice talking to you. Thank you for telling me about Zebu.”

Now the boy smiled, “You’re welcome. Would you like to ride one?”

Devin hesitated. “Will it take my weight?”

“Zebu are remarkably strong. Fat ladies ride them.”

Devin laughed, “Well then they must be strong.” The boy laughed too.

“All right, can I take it wherever I want, or do you have to come with me?”

“You implied that you have explored Ouro Preto, I think perhaps you will know your way around. Can you return the cow back here at noon? The children will be ready to come home then, and I can return the cow to my father.”

“Yes, I’m sure three and a half hours in the saddle will be more than enough.” Devin eyed the back of the Zebu with some distaste. If the boy thought he was going to sit on that contraption for the rest of the morning he’d be much mistaken.

The boy laughed, “Its not so bad. But I guess the first time or two will leave you sore. Would you like a tip?”

“Yes.”

“Just lead the Zebu on flat ground and let it carry you uphill. Let it carry your parcels while you shop.”

“Good idea.” Devin told him grinning. “Do I pay you now or when I return.”

The boy smiled, “I think I can trust you. Besides I know where you are staying.”

“You do?”

“Yes, you spoke to my father recently. He had stumbled in the street and you helped him up. My father makes it his business to know where people are staying.”

“That was your father! Small world. So how is he?”

“He’s okay.” Devin detected that a cloud had appeared again disguising the boy’s sunshine smile.

“Is something wrong? Perhaps I can help you?”

The boy shook his head, “Its nothing. Don’t worry. Please enjoy your morning. Now if you will excuse me I have to return the Zebu for the tourists who will be waiting.”

“Yes of course. I’ll see you later then.”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Devin watched the boy go, the herd of Zebu obediently walking to his left and to his right, always that little ahead of him. He walked on foot now, a guiding rod in his hand but rarely using it, and only when he did to guide an animal rather than hit it. For some reason Devin felt immensely sad. Something was wrong in the boy’s life. If only he could find out what. He might be able to help him.
His intention had been to ask more questions of the boy later that day, but when he had returned the Zebu, an older man had come to collect the children, who was reluctant to make conversation. In fact he did not seem to be able to speak anything but Portuguese and Devin’s knowledge of the language was limited.
Sadly he returned the cow and made his way back to his hotel for dinner.

So this day, several days after that encounter with the boy, and the earlier one with his father, Devin sauntered over to where the old man was leading the herd intent on speaking with him.

“Good day.” Devin smiled because for some reason his tone sounded Australian, a country he had spent some time in several years before.

The old man looked up and nodded, recognising Devin at once. Yet his eyes remained guarded and he quickly looked all around him before replying.

“Good morning.”

“How is your son? Nice lad you have there.”

The man seemed to relax before Devin’s eyes. “Yes my son is a fine boy. Do you have a son?”

“Me! No. I’m not even married.”

“That does not mean you can’t have a son.” The man smiled mischievously.

Devin did too “Well then I haven’t a son that I know of.”

“That’s more like it.” The old man laughed. He surprised Devin then by holding out his hand, “Pepe’ De-Vereyard.”

Devin took it, shaking it warmly, “Devin Wells. You have an unusual name.”

“Its Spanish.”

“Oh. Have you always lived here?”

“Yes. My father came here from Spain. I have never been out of Brazil to visit the homeland.”

“Ever wanted to?” They fell into step alongside one another heading for the pasture to graze the Zebu. Devin guessed it must have been the animals’ day off as there was no school on Sundays.

“Sometimes. But I have so much to do here. It is my wish that my son will travel. Much as my life is full here, young people should see the world.”

“I agree. I wanted to travel from a very early age.”

“You have seen much?”

“Oh yes I have seen much.” Devin answered with a wry grin.

“Would you come to dinner at my house. I am sure that my family would like to speak with you about this.”

“Thank you.” Devin was stunned as well as pleasantly surprised, it was the last thing he had expected.

“I’ll show you where I live. Can you come at noon?”

“I know where you live. That first day we met remember?”

The smile vanished on the older man’s face, “Oh yes that. No, please don’t ask me why, but I lied to you. I do not live on that mountain.” His tone of voice was stilted, ashamed yes, but with an underlying fear that Devin detected instantly.

“That’s okay. You didn’t know me then, come to that you don’t know me now. Are you certain you want a complete stranger to come into your house?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Many times I invite tourists to my home. In that way we bring the world to us. It is interesting listening to stories of other people’s lives. Their descriptions of the places they live are very vivid. It encourages my children to work and save in order to see those places for themselves.”

“You speak as though Ouro Preto holds nothing for them?” Devin asked.

“That is true.” Pepe’ sounded downhearted suddenly. Again Devin detected that the family were hiding something. Something that hurt. But Pepe’ shook himself, and spoke next with an optimistic tone, “Once Ouro Preto was filled with gold, and then came the jewels, but most of that is gone now. Save for hiring Zebu to tourists there is no future for my children here. They are intelligent children they deserve to go far.”

“I met your son that takes the children to the school in the mornings. What is his name?”

“I have many sons that take that route. How old was he, did he tell you?”

“Yes he said he was twelve.”

“That would be Vincent.”

“Vincent?”

“Yes ,why do you sound so surprised it is a good name. It means warrior.”

“Yes I know. It is my brother’s name.” Devin felt stunned.
Stunned because he had been instantly drawn to the boy, and now to find he had his brother’s name, he felt an instant kinship with the child.

“Come you can see my house from here. It is the one with the gold upon the roof.” Pepe’ did not point and grasped Devin’s hand when Devin went to do so.

“Is that real gold?”

Pepe’ laughed, “Not anymore. Once maybe, but real gold has long been stolen from this town.”

“What’s wrong. Why didn’t you want me to point at it.”

Pepe’ frowned “I shouldn’t be seen speaking with you. You are an American. I know that no one can hear what I am saying. Yet if someone were to assume I was identifying my home to you that would be a cause for concern.”

“I don’t understand, who are you afraid of? And how can I enter your house if you are in fear of someone seeing me do so?”

“There is a secret passage, another way in I will show it to you.” Pepe’ changed direction, “Come.” Devin followed, well aware that Pepe’ had deliberately evaded some of his question, just as his son had done several days before.
What was wrong with these people?
What did they have to hide?
And more importantly who were they so afraid of?

“Oh Cathy, Cathy” Elliot cried for the umpteenth time since he had been thrown into this place. He missed her so much.
Why had life been so cruel? Just when he had believed he had found the woman he would spend his life with she had been snatched away by the men who had been working for him. Not in a literal sense, but just as so, since their actions had killed Catherine’s growing affection for him, thus taking the light from his life.
In much the same way
just once a day now the overhead sun would cast its light into the pit, and for the hour it took to pass by, Elliot could view his grave. The rest of the time the inky black darkness consumed him, and only the small handouts he received daily were keeping him alive.
Had he of been brave enough he would have refused to eat. He would have let himself die, but he did not have the courage, and besides with each passing day he grew more wrathful, ready to avenge his enemies as well as vowing to win back the love of his life.
The dark did that to people. With nothing to do but think, the mind played such tricks. Elliot plotted and planned every last move with a growing sense of perception.

‘If I ever get out of here’ had turned to ‘when I get out of here.’ Thus ensuring a grim determination that Elliot knew he would carry out to the letter.

“How dare they throw me in here. How dare they do this to me!” He paced his grave ranting and raving the movement alone keeping him warm. Keeping his body supple and agile.
With a growing sense of hatred for the man that passed food down daily, Elliot placed this man first on his hit list. “How can he do this to me! How can he continue to care for me and not have it grieve his conscience? The man must be wicked inside. Well I’ll show him wicked!”

And the stench got to him too. Always a clean man well dressed and impeccable it incensed Elliot to be able to smell himself. To know that sweat and grime after two weeks in the pit had reduced him to this! He hated the stench, and he hated the other stench too, the stench of his urine and faeces several feet away.
In the all-consuming darkness Elliot had scrambled his way through the pit that had become his home. He knew it was a mineshaft. Disused for many years now, and he knew that tunnels branched off from it, but he also knew that his daily handouts were his only form of survival and in keeping strong, despite the damage being done to his eyes.
How often he remembered that night in the tunnels beneath New York City when Cathy had led him to safety. How he longed for her to show him the way out now. Down here he had tried to escape. Making sure that he walked in one direction and counted every turn, noting whether it was right or left and noting it would be reversed on his return, Elliot had spent the best part of his first few days down there trying to find a way out. But it had been no use and once he had become frightfully lost, and had only stumbled back to his place by chance, collapsing from sheer exhaustion when he had finally made it.
Now he stayed where he was, walking perhaps twenty or thirty feet daily, and always when the sun passed over head, giving him that hour, that one precious hour of sunlight in his otherwise darkened grave.
What was worse though was why? Why had they done this to him? And why had no one been looking for him? His office, his secretary knew that he was in Brazil on business, but he should have returned by now.
The dumbest thing he had done before this whole ghastly nightmare had begun was to call Cathy and say he couldn’t make the wedding after all. That wasn’t strictly true. It was just that he couldn’t bear to see her marry Vincent. Not when he still loved her so much and he would always love her that he knew with all of his heart.
How he berated himself on his stupidity. Catherine was very thorough with her job, and when he had not turned up at her wedding, and when he had not called or had not returned after all this time, she would have come looking for him. Why? Because despite what she told him repeatedly, she still cared for him deeply, it was just that she lied to herself when she denied this. But he didn’t know this was going to happen, and he couldn’t watch her marry another guy and so he had rang and begged her forgiveness and smothered her with apologies and made up some story about a problem with his workforce refusing to work on sacred land.
Huh! He laughed bitterly, what irony! Though the story was fabricated it had turned out nearer to the truth than he could surmise. For something had triggered his being taken captive that day, and if it wasn’t because of sacred land he’d like to know what.
How many times had he gone over it in his mind? His brain ached with the amount of times, yet still day by day he pieced it together, over and over searching for some hidden clue that he may have overlooked. Not that knowing it could save him now, but it would make him feel a whole lot better.
It had been simple nothing untoward. He’d signed the contract, paid the cheque and employed his workforce. Everything was set for construction to begin when out of the blue the men had put down tools and gone home.
Elliot could remember being mystified and downright annoyed. Had he not paid them enough? Did they think he expected too much of them? So he had not given them the high wages of US workers, but this was Brazil godammit surely they would be happy with a pittance?
He’d increased their wages, just a little, and a few men had returned to work, but after a few hours they fizzled out until there were none left again. Elliot had decided they wanted to make him pay more, and once again he had met with them in the square, spoken to them and offered them good money.
They had been encouraged, he could see that, many had wanted to snatch up the offer, but something, or someone had held them back. He could remember that day well.

“What’s the matter, surely that is enough for you?”

Some of the men had nodded, there were a few mumbles of “Its good money.”

“Then why don’t you come and earn it?” Elliot had grown exasperated with them. They had turned then in one fluid movement, walking away from him!

“Wait!”

The men had stopped in their tracks but did not turn around.

“What does it take for me to get you to work?”

They’d shrugged and had started on their way again. Elliot did not understand it. “Then I’ll build the goddamned thing myself, you see if I don’t.” Furious he shouted after them, knowing that even if it took longer to organise he would fly his specialised team out from New York. But for now, he’d start moving the soil with his own bear hands if he had to.
The men watched him, idly from afar, some impressed that he attempted to carry out his promise, others amused by his actions.
And he had worked hard if only to show them what could be achieved by one man alone.

“Tonight” he had fumed as he dug furiously and moved rocks with his own bare hands, “Tonight I will call my team in New York, and tomorrow they will come, and they will show these people what work is!”
But for Elliot tomorrow never came, neither for that matter did tonight. For while he worked, back bent his intent upon the work at hand, firm hands grasped him around his chest and a grimy sack was placed over his head. Stunned, he left it a split second too late to fight against his captors, and they had carted him off from the site and on to the back of a truck. There several pairs of hands had held him, hollering though he was, and he had felt rising panic at not being able to see them, or know why they were doing this to him.
Had he been digging on sacred land after all? That thought had winged its way through his brain at that time, as it did even now, for the umpteenth time. Was that why the men had refused so blatantly to work there?
If so were they taking him to the airport? Did they want his removal so badly? But he’d signed the contract paid the cheque - the land was his. And there had been no mention of sacred land when his surveyors had reported back to him.
It just didn’t weigh up.
The journey by truck wasn’t far, but it was bumpy and it was frightening. Having a sack over his head stifled him. The day was hot and the sweat from his brow through his labours on site was sticking to the inside of the sack and Elliot could feel feathers and particles of dust getting into his eyes and mouth. He ceased his shouting, regulated his breathing, listening instead to whatever snippets of conversation he could understand around him. But no one gave anything away.
And then the truck came to a halt, and he felt something heavy tied around his waist, and then he was forced to his knees and onto his side, and literally pushed into a huge hole. “Bon Voyage Mr Burch” someone had shouted, amid shouts of ‘Adios’ from other men, and fear had galloped straight through Elliot as he felt himself falling though suspended from above. He’d drop ten feet or so, falling and coming to a sudden halt that winded him, only to hang suspended and then dropped another ten feet, and so on until his feet finally touched terra-firma. Here the rope was thrown in with him, and he was able to remove the sack from his face.
That was no use, down in the inky darkness he could still see nothing, and above was obscured by many faces peering into the darkness. “You down yet Mr Burch?” They’d laughed wickedly.

“Let me out of here, I demand that you let me out of here.” He had yelled up at them.

“Demand all you like Mr Burch, but you will never be free again.”

The men had moved away then. Elliot had listened to their words quietly receding until complete silence engulfed him, silence so quiet that he thought his ears would burst.

And so it had remained, and even though he had long grown used to the silence, Elliot knew he would never get used to the darkness. It consumed him, sending him to the point of madness, turning him into a very dangerous man.

To be continued in part five.