by Wilbur Smith
I’ve been thinking, announced Sean. Not you as well, growled Waite.
Damn it to hell, here’s your chance to win your own cattle and...
That’s just what I’ve been thinking, Sean cut in.
Everybody will have more cattle than they know what to do with. The prices will drop way down. They will at first, admitted Waite, but in a year or two they’ll climb back again. Shouldn’t we sell now? Sell everything except the bulls and breeding cows, then after the war we’ll be able to buy back at half the price. For a moment Waite sat stunned and then slowly his expression changed. My God, I never thought of that. And Pa, Sean was twisting his hands together in his enthusiasm, we’ll need more land. When we bring the herds back across the Tugela there won’t be enough grazing to go round.
Mr Pye has called the mortgages on Mount Sinai and Mahoba’s Kloof. He’s not using the land.
Couldn’t we lease them from him now before everybody starts looking for grazing? We had a lot to do before you started thinking, said Waite softly, but now we’ve really got to work. He searched his pockets, found his pipe and while he filled it with tobacco he looked at Sean. He tried to keep his face neutral but the pride kept showing.
You keep thinking like that and you’ll be a richm an one day. Waite could not know how true his prophecy would prove, the time was still remote when Sean could drop the purchase price of Theunis Kraal across a gaming table, and laugh at the loss.
The Commando was moving out on New Year’s Day.
New Year’s Eve was set down for a double celebration. Welcome 1879, and God speed the Lady-burg Mounted Rifles. The whole district was coming into town for the braaivleis and dancing that was being held in the square.
Feast the warriors, - laugh, dance and sing, then form them up and march them out to war.
Sean and Garry rode in early. Ada and Waite were to follow later in the afternoon. It was one of those bright days of a Natal summer: no wind and no clouds, the kind of day when the dust from a wagon hangs heavy in the air. They crossed the Baboon Stroom and from the farther ridge looked down across the town and saw the wagon dust on every road leading into Lady-burg. Look at them come, said Sean; he screwed up his eyes into the glare and stared at the north road. That will be the Erasmus wagon. Karl will be with them.
The wagons looked like beads on a string. That’s the Petersens’, said Garry, or the Niewehuisens. Come on, shouted Sean, and slapped the free end of his reins across his horse’s neck. They galloped down the road.
The horses they rode were big glossy animals, with their manes cropped like English hunters.
They passed a wagon. There were two girls sitting beside mama on the box seat, the Petersen sisters. Dennis Petersen and his father were riding ahead of the wagon.
Sean whooped as he rode past the wagon and the girls laughed and shouted some that was lost in the wind. Come on, Dennis, howled Sean as he swept past the two sedately trotting outriders. Dennis’s horse reared and then settled in to run, chasing Sean. Garry trailed them both.
They reached the cross roads, lying flat along their horses necks, pumping the reins like jockeys. The Erasmus wagon was trundling down to meet them. Karl, Sean called as he held his horse a little to stand in the stirrups. Karl. Come on, man catch a wayo, Cetewayo! They rode into Lady-burg in a bunch. They were all flush-faced and laughing excited and happy at the prospect of dancing and killing.
The town was crowded, its streets congested with wagons and horses and men and women and girls and dogs and servants. I’ve got to stop at Pye’s store, said Karl, come with me, it won’t take long. They hitched their horses and went into the store; Sean, Dennis and Karl walked noisily and talked aloud. They were men, big sunburned raw-boned men, muscled from hard work, but uncertain of the fact that they were men.
Therefore, walk with a swagger and laugh too loud, swear when Pa isn’t listening and no one will know you have your doubts.
What are you going to buy, Karl? Boots. That’ll take all day, you’ll have to try them on. We’ll miss half the fun. There’ll be nothing doing for another couple hours, protested Karl. Wait for me, you chaps.
Karl sitting on the counter, trying boots on his large feet, was not a spectacle that could hold Sean’s interest for long. He drifted away amongst the piles of merchandise that cluttered Pye’s store. There were stacks of pick handles, piles of blankets, bins of sugar and salt and flour, shelves of groceries and clothing overcoats and women’s dresses and hurricane-lamps and saddles hinging from the roof, and all of it was permeated by the peculiar smell of a general dealer’s store: a mixture of paraffin, soap and new cloth.
Pigeon to its coop, iron to magnet.... Sean’s feet led him to the rack of rifles against the far wall of the room.
He lifted down one of the Lee Metford carbines and worked the action; he stroked the wood with his fingertips, then he weighed it in his hands to feel the balance and finally brought it up to his shoulder. Hello, Sean. His ritual interrupted, Sean looked up at the shy voice. It’s Strawberry Pie, he said smiling. How’s school? I’ve left school now. I left last term Audrey Pye had the family colouring but with a subtle difference, instead of carrot her hair was smoked copper with glints in it. She was not a pretty girl, her face was too broad and flat, but she had that rare skin that too seldom goes with red hair: creamy unfreckled purity.
Do you want to buy anything, Sean? Sean placed the carbine back in the rack. Just looking he said. Are you working in the store now? Yes She dropped her eyes from Sean’s scrutiny. It was a year since he’d last seen her. A lot can change in a year; she now had that within her blouse which proved she was no longer a child. Sean eyed it appreciatively and she glanced up and saw the direction of his eyes; the cream of her skin clouded red. She turned quickly towards the trays of fruit. would you like a peach? Thanks, said Sean and took one.
How’s Anna? asked Audrey.
Why ask me? Sean frowned. You’re her beau, aren’t you? Who told you that! Sean’s frown became a scowl. Everybody knows that. Well, everybody’s wrong. Sean was irritated by the suggestion that he was one of Anna’s possessions. I’m nobody’s beau. Oh! Audrey was silent a moment, then, I suppose Anna will be at the dance tonightVMost probably.
Sean bit into the furry golden peach and studied Audrey. Are you going, Strawberry Pie? No, Audrey answered wistfully. Pa won’t let me.
How old was she? Sean made a quick calculation... three years younger than he was. That made her sixteen.
Suddenly Sean was sorry she wouldn’t be at the dance.
That’s a pity, he said. We could have had some fun. Linking them together, with the plural we, Sean threw her into confusion again. She said the first words she could think of, Do you like the peach? It’s from our orchard. I thought I recognized the flavour. Sean grinned and Audrey laughed. Her mouth was wide and friendly when she laughed. I knew you used to pinch them. Pa knew it was you. He used to say he’d set a man-trap in that hole in the hedge! didn’t know he’d found that hole, we used to cover it up each time. Oh, yes, Audrey assured him, we knew about it all the time. It’s still there. Some nights when I can’t sleep I climb out of my bedroom window and go down through the orchard, through the hedge into the wattle plantation.
It’s so dark and quiet in the plantation at night, scary, but I like it.
You know something, Sean spoke thoughtfully. if you couldn’t sleep tonight and came down to the hedge at ten o’clock, you might catch me pinching peaches again It took a few seconds for Audrey to realize what he had said. Then the colour flew up her face again and she tried to speak but no words came. She turned with a swirl of skirt and darted away among the shelves. Sean bit the last of the flesh off the peach pip and dropped it on the floor.
He was smiling as he walked across to join the others. Hell’s teeth, Karl, how much longer are you going to be? There were fifty or more wagons outspanned around the perimeter of the square but the centre was left open, and here the braaivleis pits were burning, the flames already sinking to for
m glowing beds. Trestle-tables stood in two lines near the fires and the women worked at them cutting meat and boerwors, buttering bread, arranging platoons of pickle bottles, piling the food on trays and sweetening the evening with their voices and laughter.
In a level place a huge buck-sail was spread for the dancing and at each corner a lantern hung on a pole. The band was tuning with squeaks from the fiddles and preliminary asthma from the single concertina.
The men gathered in knots amongst the wagons or squatted beside the braaivleis pits, and here and there a jug pointed its base briefly at the sky. I don’t like to be difficult, Waite, Petersen came across to where Waite was standing with his captains, but I see you’ve put Dennis in Gunther’s troop. That’s right. Waite offered him the jug and Petersen took it and wiped the neck with his sleeve. It’s not you, Gunther, Petersen smiled at Gunther Niewehuisen, but I would be much happier if I could have Dennis in the same troop as myself. Keep an eye on him, you know.
They all looked at Waite to hear what he would say. None of the boys are riding with their fathers. We’ve purposely arranged it that way.
Sorry, Dave. Why? Waite Courtney looked away, over the wagons at the furious red sunset that hung above the escarpment. This isn’t going to be a bushbuck shoot, Dave. You may find that you’ll be called upon to make decisions that will be easier for you if you’re not making them about your own son. There was a murmur of agreement and Steff Erasmus took his pipe out of his mout and spat into the fire.
There are some things it is not pretty for a man to see.
They are too hard for him to forget. He should not see his son kill his first man, also he should not see his son die. They were silent then, knowing this truth. They had not spoken of it before because too much talk softens a man’s stomach, but they knew death and understood what Steff had said. One by one their heads turned until they were all staring across the square at the gathering of youngsters. beyond the fires. Dennis Petersen said something but they could not catch the words and his companions, laughed.
in order to live a man must occasionally kill said Waite, but when he kills too young; he loses something... a respect for life: he makes it cheap. It is the same with a woman, a man should never have his first woman until he understands about it. Otherwise that too becomes cheap. I had my first when I was fifteen, said Tim HopeBrown. I can’t say it made them any cheaper; in fact I’ve known them to be bloody expensive.
Waite’s big boom led the laughter. I know your old man pays you a pound a week but what about us, Sean? protested Dennis, we aren’t all millionaires. All right, then, Sean agreed, five shillings in the pool.
Winner takes the lot. Five bob is reasonable, Karl opened, but let’s get the rules clear so there’s no argument afterwards Kills only, woundings don’t count, said Sean. And they have to be witnessed, insisted Frikkie Van Essen. He was older than the others; his eyes were already a little bloodshot for he had made a start on the evening’s drinking.
all right, dead Zulus only and a witness to each kill.
The highest score takes the pool. Sean looked around the circle of faces for their assent. Garry was hinging back on the fringe. Garry will be banker. Come on, Garry, hold out your hat. They paid the money into Garrick’s hat and he counted it. Two pounds, from eight of us.
That’s correctHell, the winner will be able to buy his own farm.
They laughed. I’ve got a couple of bottles of smoke hidden in my saddle bags, Frikkie said. Let’s go and try them. The hands of the clock on the church tower showed quarter before ten. There were silver-edged clouds around the moon, and the night had cooled. Rich meaty smelling steam from the cooking pits drifted across the dancers, fiddles sawed and the concertina bawled the beat, dancers danced and the watchers clapped in time and called encouragement to them. Someone whooped like a Highlander in the feverish pattern of movement, in the fever of fun.
Dam the dribble of minutes with laughter, hold the hour, lay siege against the dawn! Where are you going, Sean? I’ll be back just now.
But where are you going? Do you want me to tell you, Anna, do you really want to know? Oh, I see. Don’t be long. I’ll wait for you by the band. Dance with Karl. No, I’ll wait for you, Sean. Please don’t be long. We’ve got such a little time left. Sean slipped through the circle of wagons, he kept in the tree shadow along the sidewalk, round the side of Pye’s store and down the lane, running now, jumped the ditch and through the barbed wire fence. It was dark in the plantation and quiet as she had said; dead leaves rustled and a twig popped under his feet. Something ran in the darkness, scurry of small feet. Sean’s stomach flopped over: nerves, only a rabbit. He came to the hedge and searched for the hole, missed it and turned back, found it and through into the orchard. He stood with his back against the wall of vegetation and waited. The trees were moon grey and black below. He could see the roof of the house beyond them. He knew she’d come of course. He had told her to.
The church clock chimed the hour and then later the single stroke of the quarter hour. Angry now, damn her! He went up through the orchard, cautiously staying in shadow. There was a light in one of the side windows, he could see it spilling out into a yellow square on the lawn.
He circled the house softly.
She was at the window with the lamp behind her. Her face was dark but lamplight lit the edges of her hair into a coppery halo. There was something of yearning in her attitude, leaning forward over the sill. He could see the outline of her shoulders through the white cloth of her gown.
Sean whistled, pitching it low to reach her only, and she started at the sound. A second longer she stared out from light into the dark and then she shook her head, slowly and regretfully from side to side. She closed the curtains and through them Sean saw her shadow move The Lamp went out.
away.
Sean went back through the orchard and the plantation.
He was trembling with anger. From the lane he heard the music in the square and he quickened his pace. He turned the corner and saw the lights and movement. Silly little fool, he said out loud, anger still there but something else as well. Affection? Respect? Where have you been? I’ve waited nearly an hour Possessive Anna.
There and back to see how far it is. Funny! Sean Courtney, where have you been? Do you want to dance? No. All right, don’t then.
Karl and some of the others were standing by the cooking pits. Sean started for them. Sean, Sean, I’m sorry. Penitent Anna. I’d love to dance, please They danced, jostled by other dancers, but neither of them spoke until the band stopped to wipe their brows and wet dry throats.
I’ve got something for you, Sean. What is it? Come, I’ll show you. She led him from the light among the wagons and stopped by a pile of saddles and blankets. She knelt and opened one of the blankets and stood up again with the coat in her hands. I made it for you. I hope you like it Sean took it from her. It was sheepskin, tanned and polished, stitched with love, the inside wool bleached snowy white. It’s beautiful, Sean said. He recognized the labour that had gone into it.
It made him feel guilty: gifts always made him feel guilty.
Thank you very much. Try it on, Sean. Warm, snug at the waist, room to move in the shoulders; it enhanced his considerable bulk. Anna stood close to him, the collar. You look nice in it, she said. Smug pleasure of the giver.
He kissed her and the mood changed. She held him tight around the neck.
Oh, Sean, I wish you weren’t going. Let’s say goodbye properly. Where? MY wagon. )What about your parents? They’ve gone back to the farm.
Pa’s coming in tomorrow morning.
Garry and I are sleeping here No, Sean, there are too many people. We can’t. 1You don’t want to Sean whispered. It’s a pity because it might be the last time ever. What do you mean? She was suddenly still and small in his arms. I’m going away tomorrow. You know what might happen? No. Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think it’s true. No, Sean, don’t. Please don’t.
Sean smiled in the darkness
. So easy, so very easy.
Let’s go to my wagon- He took her hand.
Breakfast in the dark, cooking fires around the square, voices quiet, men standing with their wives, holding the small children in farewell.
The horses saddled, rifles in the scabbards and blanket rolls behind, four wagons drawn up in the centre of the square with the mules in the traces.
To should be here any minute. It’s nearly five o’clock, said Garry.
They’re all waiting for him, agreed Sean. He shrugged at the weight of the bandolier strapped over his shoulder. Mr Niewehuizen has made me one of the wagon drivers.
I know, said Sean. Can you handle it? I think so.
Jane Petersen came towards them. Hello, Jane. Is your brother ready yet? Nearly. He’s just saddling up.
She stopped in front of Sean and shyly held out a scrap of green-and-yellow silk. I’ve made you a cockade for your hat, Sean.
Thanks, Jane. Won’t you put it on for me? She pinned up the brim of Sean’s hat; he took it back from her and set it at a jaunty angle on his head. I look like a general now, he said and she laughed at him. How about a goodbye kiss, Jane? You’re terrible, said little Jane and went away quickly, blushing. Not so little, Sean noticed. There were so many of them you hardly knew where to start.
Here’s Pa, announced Garry, as Waite Courtney rode.
into the square. Come on, said Sean and untied his horse. From all around the square, men were leading out their horses. See you later, said Garry and limped off towards one of the waiting mule wagons.
Waite rode at the head of the column. Four troops of fifteen men in double file, four wagons behind them, and then the loose horses driven by black servants.
They moved out across the square, through the litter of the night’s festivities, and into the main street. The women watched them in silence, standing motionless with the children gathered around them.
These women had seen men ride out before against the tribes; they did not cheer for they too were wise in the ways of death, they had learned that there is no room for glory in the grave.
