by John Wilcox
Jenkins looked up, his face lugubriously questioning. ‘The what?’
‘You know, man. The damned diamonds de Witt stole.’
‘Good lord. You know, bach sir, I’d forgotten all about them. Funny I should do that after so many people ’ave died because of them, isn’t it?’
‘It won’t be funny if you’ve lost them. Are they still in the saddle bag?’
‘Blimey. ’Ope so.’ The Welshman, his hands still covered in soap suds, rushed to a corner of their tent where the leather bag lay on the floor. Unbuckling it, he took out the small hessian sack, untied the string and looked inside. His smile shone in the gloom of the tent. ‘They’re still ’ere,’ he said. ‘What are we goin’ to do with them?’
‘Well,’ said Simon, ‘We are off again in the morning and I don’t fancy leaving them here.’ He explained about his meeting with the General and the news that Covington would be riding with them.
‘Blimey, bach sir. If ’e tries any of ’is funny stuff with us again - arrestin’ us an’ all that - then I shall just ’ave to shoot ’im. P’raps, look you, I should warn ’im before we go, what d’yer think?’
‘You will do nothing of the kind. We shall just have to ignore him. I have given my word to the General that there will be no trouble from us. Now, about the diamonds. We obviously can’t take them with us, so we should give them to Nandi. They will be hers anyway and they should be safe enough here with her, until we get back.’
‘Good idea.’
‘I will take them to her now.’ Simon looked at Jenkins and had a better idea. ‘No. You go. Tell her that these diamonds are for her and her father, to compensate for all the agonies they have been through. Tell her to keep them safe, and above all not to tell anyone she has them. Is that clear?’
A sudden, unfamiliar, hunted look came into Jenkins’s eyes. ‘Oh, I’d rather you went, bach sir. You know Nandi better ’n me, see. Should be you telling ’er this sort of stuff.’
‘Nonsense. She would love to see you and I can’t imagine anyone better than you to bring her this news.’ Simon paused for a moment. ‘She is very fond of you, you know.’
Jenkins looked at the floor and wiped his still-soapy hands on the back of his trousers. To see Jenkins embarrassed was something new for Simon. ‘Well, I’m not sure of that at all now,’ the Welshman muttered. ‘But all right. I’ll go.’ Then he looked up in consternation. ‘ ’Ang on - what if she’s asleep?’
‘You will just have to wake her gently, won’t you? But don’t leave until she understands what’s in the sack and decides where she will put it for safe keeping.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Jenkins tucked the package into his shirt and, wiping his hands on his hair, trudged through the tent opening. Simon sat for a moment and smiled. Jenkins was in love, right enough. It didn’t sit well on the little Welshman, for it made him gauche and unsure of himself - and self-confidence was something that Jenkins normally possessed in barrowloads. But in this new battlefield of the heart, the great warrior who feared no one was a novice. None of his normal weapons of courage, coolness and skill in fighting could help him now.
Simon lay back on the narrow camp bed, put his hands behind his head and grinned. He could not imagine a better pairing than the loyal, resourceful Jenkins and the brave, pretty Zulu girl. But did she - would she - reciprocate 352’s feelings? He remembered the way she had taken the little man’s hand and then rubbed her fingers through his stubbly hair with such tenderness. Ah yes, there must be something there! He recalled with affection how, back in Zululand, he had been so tempted himself by Nandi’s ingenuous but somehow innocent flirting. But that, of course, was before Alice . . . Once again, however, his immediate recall of that golden hair and those steady grey eyes was jerked to a halt, as though a steel door had thudded down to end his thought process. She was engaged to be married to Covington, and that, for God’s sake, was very much the end of that.
‘Simon . . .’ The call from outside was low-pitched and tentative, as though the caller was half hoping that the tent would be empty. ‘Simon.’
Simon sprang to his feet, ran a quick hand through his tousled hair, and ducked his head through the tent opening. She was standing, just as he had involuntarily recalled her a second or two ago, with the setting sun glinting in her hair, her grey eyes troubled, wearing the softest of white cotton shirts, a fawn riding skirt and those familiar boots. ‘Alice,’ he said, all his intention of retaining his distant manner swept aside as soon as he set eyes on her. ‘How good to see you. Do come in.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I should, you know.’
‘Goodness, don’t be silly. There’s no chaperone here at present, but old 352 will be back very soon. Come in. It’s getting chilly.’
‘Very well.’ She ducked her head and followed him inside the tent.
‘Sorry there’s no chair,’ said Simon, his brain reeling with the desire to throw his arms around her and bury his face in the bun into which she had wound her hair at the nape of her neck. ‘Here. Sit on my bed. It’s a bit less rumpled than Jenkins’s. He’s gone to see Nandi.’
Alice’s troubled face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, Simon,’ she said. ‘That is why I came to see you. I am so proud of you . . . er . . . of you both. What you did in releasing that girl from her captivity was brave and bold in the extreme. The whole camp is buzzing with it. I just wanted to . . . you know . . . congratulate you.’
Simon gulped and scratched his nose. ‘Oh, goodness. It was surprisingly easy in the end. But look here. I . . . er . . . we must thank you for going to see Nandi and for sending news to her father that she is safe. And, for that matter, for finding old Dunn.’ He paused for a moment while they looked into each other’s eyes. ‘I say,’ and he grinned, ‘this sounds like a mutual appreciation society.’
She grinned back. ‘Goodness. That would never do.’ They sat smiling at each other, as the evening sounds of the camp - the low neighing from the horse lines, the crunch of the cavalrymen as they carried fodder to their mounts, the distant creaking of waggons - came from without the canvas walls. Eventually Simon broke his gaze and looked away, and they both sat silently.
‘Alice . . .’
‘Simon . . .’
They spoke together, breaking the impasse at exactly the same moment, and then each of them stopped, their mouths open, their eyes beseeching the other. Immediately Simon pushed forward from the low camp bed on to his knees before Alice and swept her into his arms. They embraced with a passion that only frustration and longing could produce.
‘Alice, darling Alice,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘Don’t - don’t marry that man. I love you. I always have. Marry me. Please, please.’
‘I know,’ she responded. ‘I know. I love you too. It’s been awful, awful. I don’t know why I said yes to him. I have been so miserable for so long. I didn’t know what to do. But Simon, I do love you so.’ She pushed him away, tears pouring down her face. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Well, stop crying for a start. This is the happiest day of my life. Here, take my handkerchief. Sorry, it’s not very clean. I think bloody Jenkins is in love as well, and he’s not been looking after me properly.’
She smiled through her tears, wiped her cheeks, blew her nose and immediately kissed him, her tongue questing deep within his mouth, her hand clasping the back of his neck. He responded, and they stayed in their embrace, kneeling on the beaten-earth floor between the two trestle beds, as uncomfortable as hell but neither of them worried about that. Eventually Alice unwound her arms, gently pushed Simon away and sat back on her heels, smiling at him as she cupped his face between her hands and studied his features as though for the first time.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘as I believe I told you once before, I think this broken nose rather suits you. Gives you a sort of predatory appearance, a bit hawk-like. Quite shivery, really.’ She kissed his nose gently. ‘God, my knees are killing me.’
‘Oh, my dear, I am s
orry.’ He helped her to her feet and they sat together on his bed, hand in hand, smiling at each other.
That was where Jenkins found them. ‘Blimey,’ he exclaimed, and executed a smart about-turn and clumped away.
‘There,’ said Alice. ‘Now what is dear old 352 going to make of all this?’ And as if to show that she didn’t give a damn really, she brought Simon’s head down and kissed him again. Then she stood up. ‘I wish I could stay, but I’ve got to go and file my story.’
Simon stood up and held her close to him. ‘Yes, my love,’ he spoke gently, ‘but you also have something even more important to do that won’t really wait.’
She gave him a sombre smile this time. ‘I know, I know. Of course I shall tell him. I shall not enjoy doing so, but it must be done and, don’t worry, I shall do it. But I’ve been thinking about it - all of the last twenty seconds. You see, Ralph Covington, as you well know, can be a very vindictive man, and I am about to upset him considerably. Now, I know that he is going with you and Wolseley on this reconnaissance tomorrow.’ She paused, and a frown replaced the smile. ‘This mission is going to be dangerous enough as it is, with you, my newly discovered love, retracing the steps you have just taken in fleeing from Sekukuni’s capital. Going back into that valley will be like trying to tiptoe into a hornets’ nest. If I had to tell Ralph before he leaves that I am not going to marry him but have chosen you instead, then I would worry that this would upset the balance of such a small party in such a dangerous place. No,’ she shook her head, ‘he is not a dishonourable man, although I know just how much you dislike him. But he is very fond of me and this could affect his judgement in some way, out there, when danger threatens.’
She caressed Simon’s cheek. ‘And I am not going to take that risk. I shall tell him about us all right. Have no fear of that. I will not change my mind. But I shall tell him when you return - no, there is still the battle to come, in which you both could be involved. I shall tell him after that. At this point I do not wish to arouse what I know will be his fierce jealousy.’
Simon drew breath to protest, but Alice put a finger on his lips. ‘No, Simon. This will be for the best. Please don’t worry.’ She put her head on one side and regarded him. ‘I really do love you, my dear, and it just means that we must keep our secret for a little longer. I hope you understand.’
Glumly, he nodded.
‘Good. Now I really must go.’ She kissed him again and held him at arm’s length. ‘Please, please be careful on this mission tomorrow. I would hate to lose you just when I have found you.’ Then she turned and was gone, leaving a very faint trace of perfume inside the little tent.
Chapter 13
The conditions could not have been more unpleasant when the small party rode out of Fort Weeber the next morning. A night of thunder and sheet lightning had given way to a surly dawn of heavy rain that bounced off the glistening capes of the horsemen. Merensky had declined to join them, pleading the adverse effect of the damp on his arthritic joints, so there were sixteen of them: Simon and Jenkins in the lead, with the two Ndebeles; followed by the General, cutting a hunched, diminutive figure on a large grey; Covington, riding erect at his side; and the moustached sergeant, the only Englishman in the ten-man section of Colonial Horse. The little troop looked disconsolate as it picked its way along the old Boer track towards Sekukuni. Heads were bowed against the driving rain and only Covington rode high, his back straight and his face seemingly impervious to the fierce storm.
At the head of the party, however, Simon and Jenkins were happy enough beneath their wide-brimmed hats. On Jenkins’s return to the tent after Alice’s departure, no mention had been made of her visit. Nor had Simon enquired after Nandi. Each man was busy with his thoughts. As the rain beat a tattoo on his hat brim, Simon only now asked, ‘How was Nandi, then?’
Jenkins’s teeth flashed under his moustache. ‘Good, very good, bach sir. Perkin’ up quite nicely, in fact see. She was eatin’ when I saw ’er an’ she was fair puttin’ it away, that she was.’
‘Good. And the diamonds?’
‘Well, she was reluctant to take ’em at first. I think she felt they was dirty, like, or - what’s the word - tainted, see. But I persuaded ’er, I think. Told ’er that we didn’t know who their true owners might be an’ that it was only fair that she an’ her da should ’ave ’em, seein’ that no one else could claim ’em. I think she felt that Mr Dunn might appreciate ’em, look you.’
‘I am sure he would.’
They fell silent for a while and then Jenkins said, ‘Beggin’ your pardon, but I don’t much like this job we’re on now.’
‘Neither do I. It’s too bloody wet.’
‘No, I don’t mean that. I just think that we are pushin’ our luck goin’ straight back to this blasted place. We was a bit lucky, look you, to get away with it the first time, but surely they’ll be lookin’ out a bit better now?’
Simon nodded and sent a shower of water from his hat brim on to the mane of his horse. ‘I’m inclined to agree. But we don’t have much choice. Only we know the way in and out and the General wants to recce for himself. I would wish to do the same in his place.’
‘Hmm. But there’s the other thing.’
‘What’s that?’
Jenkins lowered his voice a fraction. ‘Our old CO, Colonel Covington ’imself, is with us, and he don’t like you much - and if he thinks of me at all, I should imagine he don’t much fancy me either.’
‘So?’
‘So, I don’t like the idea of goin’ back to this Sookondi place with ’im protectin’ me back, so to speak.’
Simon grunted. ‘Rubbish. The man’s a bastard, that’s for sure, but he’s an English officer and he wouldn’t let us down in the field.’
‘Well, if you say so. But when are we goin’ to get this Mendoosi chap, then? I’m not leavin’ this awful part o’ the world without puttin’ ’is evil bones to rest, that’s for sure. Not after what he did to Nandi. We got rid of most of the rest of ’em; when are we goin’ to see to ’im?’
Simon rode silently for a while before he replied. ‘I’ve been thinking of that. Like you, I have no intention of letting the man get away. I doubt if he would have returned to Pretoria, knowing that John Dunn was still alive and that we were on to him and now had Nandi. He would be too vulnerable back there. He might have gone back to the farm, but after the visit of the Swazis and without the rest of most of his gang, he would feel vulnerable there too. My bet is that he is still with his great chum the King. Knowing that both the British and the Boers have failed so far to dislodge the old rascal, he would have no reason to think that this attempt will succeed. So he will stay and take his chance in the coming battle. And then, 352,’ Simon’s voice was low and cold, ‘that’s when we will get him.’
‘Right. But, bach sir, one request.’
‘Yes?’
‘Leave the bugger to me.’
Simon nodded, and they rode on in silence.
They all camped on the open veldt that night in gloomy misery, putting up small bivouac tents in the pounding rain. Covington studiously avoided Simon and Jenkins, and there was precious little other conversation, Wolseley merely observing to Simon that he could have ‘brought a whole bloody army along here without raising dust in this weather, let alone a cavalry troop’. They saddled up again at first light, and although the rain continued, it was now less heavy. The day was uneventful but they camped again that night with more care, pitching their tents and tethering the horses in a small patch of low stunted trees and scrub, sufficient to provide some cover at least.
On the third morning, still in persistent rain, they rode under the lee of the blue foothills of the Lulus and followed the swollen course of the Oliphant. Studying his compass and taking a bearing from a declivity in the jagged silhouette of the hills, Simon called a halt. ‘This is where you should situate Colonel Covington’s force, General,’ he said. Then he pointed. ‘They should go over the top through that cleft in the hill
s. The township lies directly below on the other side.’
Wolseley wiped the rain from his binoculars and focused on the hills. ‘Hmm,’ he murmured. ‘Looks damned hard going. How difficult is it?’
‘Not easy for fully equipped troops, sir, but it can be done. We came back that way.’
The General focused again. ‘Looks like a job for the Swazis to me. Think you could take them up and over, Covington?’
The reply was unhesitating. ‘Of course, sir. Just give me a stiffening of our lads.’
‘I could give you four companies of British infantry. All right?’
‘Good enough, sir.’
Wolseley turned back to Simon. ‘How many bePedis would be under arms, d’you think, Fonthill?’
Simon frowned. ‘Well, I only know what the Ndebeles tell me and what I could see, looking down on the town, but I should guess that they could muster about three to four thousand warriors.’
‘Hmm. Merensky says four thousand, so that’s near enough. Could you see how well they were armed?’
‘Assegais, of course, but a very large number of them were carrying what looked like modern rifles. Some muskets, certainly, but through the glasses most of them looked reasonably up to date: perhaps Sniders and certainly some Mausers.’
‘Right. Well we can’t hang about here if we are that close to the town itself. Can’t understand why we haven’t been spotted, as it is.’ He gestured to Ophrus. ‘You, my man. Why haven’t the bePedis attacked us? Eh?’
The black man wrinkled his nose. ‘Too wet, baas. They inside.’
‘How very sensible. Right, Fonthill, take us round the northern end of these hills, where I can have a good look at the town from that end and at this damned Fighting Kopje which everyone seems so afraid of.’
So, in the ever-present rain, the little party rode on, leaving the Oliphant and hugging the edge of the wooded foothills of the Lulu range for cover and then veering round the end of the range to the west. There, with great caution and with the two Ndebeles riding out ahead as scouts, they approached the valley of Sekukuni. At last, the strange central kopje of the King’s fortress came into distant view, its swelling mound rising sheer from the valley floor, ending from this view in a little sharp kink and then a point. The party led their horses up the side of the foothills, keeping under cover, until Wolseley was close enough to study the approach to the town at length. He sat for perhaps half an hour looking through the glasses and making rough sketches.
