by John Wilcox
‘What?’ Alice’s face lit up with incredulity. ‘You can’t do that! No white man can get in there and out again. It would be difficult enough, from what I hear, in normal times, but not now, when Wolseley is preparing to attack the place. You will be killed as soon as you enter that valley.’
Simon smiled. ‘Yes, well, we have to go there anyway. I promised Sir Garnet that we would go and scout the territory for him, to help him make his plans for the attack. Once there, I think we can find some way of getting in.’
‘Rubbish! Look, my dear, I . . . I . . . don’t want you to do this. Do you understand? You must not risk your life in this way. I could not stand it if you were . . .’ She gulped and took a deep breath. ‘Look, it would be suicide. There must be another way.’
‘Well, if there is, I can’t think of one.’ Simon fought hard to maintain his composure. Her concern had caused his heart to soar. Had she, could she have . . . changed her mind about him? His eyes dropped to her left hand. Of course not. She was engaged to this other man. He coughed. ‘Alice, you must excuse us for we have to report to the General. Perhaps we can meet later?’
Alice breathed deeply. ‘Yes, of course. I am sorry. By all means.’
Both men touched their hats to her, and Simon mounted and they moved away. Alice stood in the middle of the track, amidst the bustle of an army preparing for war, looking after them with tears in her eyes.
The two men rode in silence for a while. ‘Well,’ said Jenkins eventually, ‘I will only say two things, bach sir. One, she loves you, and two, she’s talkin’ sense about goin’ into this place on our own.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Look, here’s the HQ. Now,’ his face was stern, ‘don’t say a damned thing to the General about rescuing Nandi. We are just going there to scout the territory and report back. Right?’
‘Oh, very good, sir.’
Wolseley saw them immediately and gave them his full attention. At the end of their story he said, ‘Right. Well, if the girl is in Sekukuni’s town we will get her out right enough when we go in, don’t worry about that. Now, when can you go up the valley and take a look at the lie of the land for me? I am now urgently in need of information because I want to attack soon.’
‘Crack of dawn tomorrow, sir.’
‘Good. Now listen. We don’t have maps that are really any good for my purposes - taking in exactly where the township is and where this damned stronghold of his is. I understand that he has created a trench system in quite a sophisticated way. You may not be able to get close enough to see this . . .’ Simon and Jenkins exchanged glances, ‘but find out what you can and the best way in. Look here.’ He spread out the map. ‘Ideally, I would want to make a frontal attack from the west, here, coming up the valley by the river. It’s the easiest way to go. But it looks a bit too easy. Have a good look at it and report on the options.’
Wolseley looked up at them sharply. ‘Now I know you know the veldt country well enough, but the ground rises quite a bit between here and the township, and from what I hear, the valley is a sort of flat desert with these mountains rising either side. Better, then, to keep to the hills. I have two good Ndebele trackers to give you who know the territory - and the bePedis - well. The Pedis are their traditional enemies and they hate them. They speak reasonable English and I will give them enough money to set themselves up for life to go in with you. What they don’t have, of course, is an appreciation of an army’s needs. But they are brave and should be loyal enough.’
The little man eased the collar of his tunic. ‘I shall have enough men here to move up within about ten days or so. I would like you back in five. Think you can do it?’
‘I should think so, sir.’
‘Good. Pick up your trackers here first thing. Oh, and get yourselves two fresh horses, and provisions and plenty of ammunition from the QM.’ He scribbled. ‘Here’s a note. Still got your Martini-Henrys?’
Simon nodded.
‘Very well. Start as soon as you can. I will not be here in the morning - have to go back to Lydenburg for a day.’ He looked up sharply. ‘No heroics about the girl when you’re there. Just observe and leave.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck to you both, and may God go with you.’
It was still dark when the two men collected their Ndebele guides, Ophrus and Ntanga. They were both good-looking tribesmen from their homeland at Erholweni, bordering the bePedi territory to the south-west; each standing six foot tall, wrapped in shawls against the cold of the dawn, and leading serviceable ponies. They had been issued with Snider rifles, which they carried with pride, and they greeted Simon and Jenkins with wide smiles, flashing white in the semi-darkness. They all shook hands, mounted and set off.
A few yards from Wolseley’s headquarters a tall figure loomed up and a familiar voice cut through the darkness. ‘Well now, Fonthill, I hear you have once again failed in whatever so-called mission you have just been undertaking. You remain predictable, I must say.’
Simon’s heart sank as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he recognised his old adversary. Although the hour was early, Covington was impeccably dressed in field blues, with boots and Sam Browne belt polished so that they reflected the light from nearby lanterns as he stepped forward. Ignoring Jenkins, he regarded Simon with a faint smile.
Simon drew in a breath and restrained himself. ‘Thank you for your good wishes,’ he returned, in a voice as cold as the morning. ‘Now kindly stand aside, for we have work to do.’
Covington gave an ironic half-bow and made way for them. As the horsemen moved away he called after them. ‘I gather that you left the half-caste girl out on the veldt while you scuttled back to get help from the General. Some things never change. Well, if you run away from this job, I shall be waiting for you, mark my—’ His last words were lost as they pulled away.
They rode on in silence and then Jenkins said, ‘Nice of ’im to get up early to see us off, isn’t it? And to wish us well like that.’
Simon smiled, but inwardly he was seething at Covington’s taunts. Where had he suddenly appeared from? Afghanistan? And how did he know about Nandi? Could Alice have told him? No, surely not. It could have been Wolseley, of course, the doctor or even the sergeant. Probably the whole damned column knew about it now. Although he desired to see Alice more than ever, he was glad he had not kept his half-promise to visit her the previous evening. She was, after all, engaged to be married to the man he disliked most in the whole world. The man who was now here, in Africa, by her side. And there was nothing, nothing at all he could do about it. They rode on in silence.
Two days later, the four men hunched among the scrub and low mogwagwatha cactus trees of the Lulu hills and looked down at the sandy floor of the flat-bottomed valley that housed King Sekukuni’s capital. The journey had been difficult because, as Wolseley had predicted, the valley leading to the township was quite level and open, providing no cover for their approach. They had therefore been forced to climb the hills and go via the wooded slopes by a circuitous route, sleeping under thorn bushes, not daring to light a fire and supplementing their rations by plucking figs from the mogo trees that, luckily, were plentiful. Now, after leaving their horses tethered on the reverse slope of the mountain, they had found a vantage point from which to study Thaba Mosega, the native name for the bePedi capital.
Below them, huts were spread along the barren floor of the valley and up towards them on the steep hillside. Stone walls ringed the edges of the town. Countless numbers of men and women were going about their business, many carrying rifles. They were obviously expecting to be attacked. Ophrus nudged Simon and pointed down to a small stony kopje directly below them.
‘Baas,’ he said. ‘That Mosega mountain. Storage place for the town. It full of holes, caves and tunnels, and when people attack, the bePedis drive their cattle in there. Very safe.’
‘Good lord,’ said Simon, focusing his glasses. It seemed a perfectly ordinary kopje, barren and rocky, with no obvious entries to caves and certainly no pat
hs for cattle to climb. He felt a nudge from Ophrus, who was now pointing to the east, where, about half a mile away, a sharply pointed and higher kopje rose like an ant hill from the flat desert floor of the valley, right in the middle of the town.
‘That is Ntswaneng, what white people call the Fighting Kopje. The bePedi people very clever. They have lot of holes in that mountain, too, and they built stone walls and trenches all up the sides. They stay in there and fire on people who attack. No one gets them out from there, baas.’
Simon studied the kopje with interest. It was about 350 feet high at its sharply pointed tip, and it seemed to rise steeply from the valley floor on all sides, so that any force attacking would not only have little cover in approach but would have to climb at an acute angle and haul itself up among rough scree and boulders. Entrenched defenders up above would be able to fire directly down on the climbers. It seemed an unassailable position. Had Wolseley, cocky, confident Wolseley, bitten off more than he could chew here?
Ophrus nudged him again. ‘And bees too, baas.’
‘Bees, for God’s sake!’
The black man nodded, his grin revealing teeth like ivory tombstones. ‘Yes, bees. They all up that little mountain. When people attack, the bePedis tip up the hives and push them down the mountain. Bees swarm and sting. Very painful.’
‘Bloody ’ell,’ breathed Jenkins. ‘I don’t call that fightin’ fair. I don’t at all.’
‘Neither do I.’ Simon turned his binoculars to study the lower slopes of the hills on the other side of the valley. He pursed his lips. ‘It looks as though they have made emplacements of sorts on that side of the valley, too,’ he murmured, focusing the lens. ‘Yes, stone walls and, probably, trenches too. They know what they’re doing. Anybody advancing up this valley would be subjected to a cross-fire from both sides. Damned lucky they don’t have cannon.’
Jenkins sniffed. ‘Yes, but with respect, bach sir, what about Nandi?’
‘No. I haven’t forgotten.’ He turned to Ophrus. ‘Does the chief have a royal residence, the biggest hut, or something like that?’
‘Yes, baas. That one.’ He pointed to a larger hut that nestled in the V where two slopes of the hills met the sandy floor, almost directly beneath them.
Simon focused. ‘I doubt if she would be in there. But she could be in either of those two.’ He indicated two other large huts that flanked the King’s. ‘They look as though they might be what you would call “grace and favour” residences - you know, for distinguished visitors like Mendoza. But first, we have to see if the Portuguese are there.’ He put down the glasses. ‘You three go and get some rest. I will watch for a while to see if any white men appear.’
The two Ndebeles turned away to where their sleeping mats lay. ‘I’ll stay with you,’ said Jenkins.
Their watch was rewarded within an hour. Through the glasses Simon saw a tall man wearing a slouch hat and European clothes emerge from the smaller of the three huts. He was followed by two others, similarly dressed. ‘It’s Mendoza, I’m sure,’ said Simon. ‘Here, see what you think.’
Jenkins nodded slowly. He passed the binoculars back and his eyes were cold. ‘And them other two, see, were back at the farm. Let’s just slip down an’ shoot the buggers while we’ve got the chance, eh?’
‘And what happens to Nandi then? No, we’ve got to do better than that.’ Simon’s mind raced. The first need was to establish that Nandi was indeed alive. He could not share his apprehensions with Jenkins, but it could well be that she was now dead. Although her fever was undoubtedly better when he and Jenkins had left the donga, she was still very weak. The circumstances of her capture and de Witt’s death could well have brought back her high temperature and the threat of pneumonia. Even if she had recovered, her captors might have given up the idea that Dunn would return and simply cut their losses and killed her to rid themselves of a burden. If they could establish that the girl was alive, and where they were keeping her, then perhaps . . .
‘I think I have an idea.’ He handed Jenkins the binoculars. ‘Stay here and keep focused on those three huts. Let me know who comes in and out. I’ll be back in five minutes.’
He crawled back to where they had tethered the horses - it was not riding country, and they had had to lead their mounts for the last mile or so up the other side of the mountain. From his saddle pack he took a sheet of notepaper and a pencil and scribbled a message. Then he covertly took out the little parcel of diamonds, selected the smallest one, and placed it with the notepaper in an envelope. He addressed the envelope simply ‘Mendoza’ and scrambled back to where the two trackers were sleeping. Waking Ophrus, he whispered to him intensely. Wide-eyed, the black man listened, frowning, but in the end nodded his head, took the envelope and thrust it into his loincloth. Then he lay back and within thirty seconds was asleep again.
Simon crawled back to where Jenkins was lying, observing the township. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘A bit of movement, like. The big bastard ’as gone back into the first ’ut an’ the other two walked across to the other place, not the King’s palace, whatever, the ’ut there on the right, see?’ He pointed.
Simon nodded. ‘So far, so good,’ he mused. ‘There are three of the Portuguese that we have seen, but there could be others inside.’
Jenkins turned anxious eyes on him. ‘There’s no sign of Nandi, though. D’you think she’s down there?’
‘Yes, I do. It stands to reason that they wouldn’t let her just walk about the place. But we should know soon.’ He explained his plan to Jenkins. Just before dawn, the two Ndebeles would slip down to Sekukuni and wait their opportunity in the half-light to capture a woman from a hut on the edge of the town - Ophrus had confirmed that they were usually up and about before the men. The woman would be told to take the envelope to Mendoza and warned that she would be watched from the mountainside and shot from there if she did not do so. The diamond would give proof to the Portuguese that the stones were available as barter for Nandi. But first he had to bring the girl out and show that she was alive and well. Then he would receive further instructions about how the exchange would take place.
‘Blimey!’ said Jenkins. ‘But won’t they just all come chargin’ up ’ere and track us down?’
‘They might,’ nodded Simon. ‘If they do, then at least we shall have plenty of time to withdraw with our horses and escape, or even cut round the side of this hill while they are up here looking for us, and charge in on horseback down the valley, go straight to Sekukuni’s hut, put a gun to his head and exchange him for Nandi.’ He smiled at the expression on Jenkins’s face. ‘Look, I know it’s a gamble, but this is the only way to see if Nandi is still alive, and, secondly, find out where they are keeping her. We can’t just wander about down there, peering into every hut.’
Jenkins still showed disbelief. ‘So bloody Mendoozi brings Nandi out. Then what?’
‘I have told him to bring her to the centre of the valley, facing the other side - those hills there - at noon. I hope that he might believe that we are, in fact, hiding over there. We watch, then, where he takes her back.’
‘But we’d be daft to go down there and trust ’im to ’and ’er over. They could kill us and take the diamonds anyway.’
‘I have explained in the note that Sir Garnet Wolseley is poised just outside the valley to begin his attack, and that if we don’t come back he will put a death sentence on Mendoza’s head. But if we do come back with Nandi, then he will be spared and given free passage to Mozambique with his gang.’
Jenkins slowly nodded his head. ‘Ingenious, bach sir. But does old Sir Garbage know about this?’
Simon gave a mirthless smile. ‘Of course not. And we’re not going down there to hand over the diamonds anyway. Once we see where they take Nandi back, we will wait until nightfall, then slip down this hill, go to the hut and take her out. It looks as though the bush goes quite near the edge of those three huts.’ He frowned. ‘But it’s not going to be easy, because we can�
��t use our rifles unless we are rumbled. We know that the bePedi have their scouts out up the valley, because we saw them on the way in. That is probably true of the other approach routes as well. Yet they don’t seem to have guards around the town - manning those walled defences. They will know that they will have plenty of warning of the advance of a heavy British column, with its artillery, marching troops and such like. They will have time to get to their trenches and up that kopje, so that’s why they’re not guarding the town itself. They won’t be worrying about a night raid from up here, so I doubt if we will meet anyone just before dawn.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s our only hope. We can’t afford to wait and try and get Nandi out under cover of Wolseley’s attack on the town. Once they see the redcoats they would probably cut her throat. Sorry, but that’s how I see it.’
Jenkins sank his head on to his chest. Then, quietly, he asked, ‘And if they don’t take Nandi out, what do we do then?’
‘Back to that damned farm. But my guess is that she’s here and that Mendoza will be curious to know if we really will come down into the valley and trade. Don’t forget, he wants those diamonds - and I’ve told him that we’ve got the cache that Dunn stole, too. His thumbs will itch at the thought of those stones.’
‘I see that. But if we ’ave to go to the farm, we won’t be back with the General in time for ’is advance. You could be court-martialled again - an’ me too, this time.’
Simon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Can’t do that - we are not soldiers now. But to hell with the army anyway. We came here to get Nandi. If we can do so and help Wolseley as well, then fine. But whatever happens, Nandi comes first.’
For the first time since Nandi’s capture from the donga, Jenkins’s face broke into one of his great grins. ‘Well spoken, bach sir. To the slaughter’ouse, then, eh?’
