Ghosts of the Past

by Tony Park

  ‘Blimey,’ Blake said, then looked into her eyes. ‘You’re going to nick a ton of gold?’

  Claire smiled. ‘I’m not here for the fishing, Blake. Paul Kruger’s government is finished, but if you think I’m going to let the English have this lot, then you’re wrong. This stuff belongs to no man, Blake. It’s booty, spoils of war, call it what you like. Question is, are you in?’

  He licked his lips. ‘I am.’

  ‘Then let’s get moving.’

  Blake hefted the nearest box, then paused. ‘How are we going to get all this across the border?’

  Claire frowned. ‘I was a spy, you know, Blake? I’ve greased a few palms already, at the border and on the docks at Delagoa Bay.’

  ‘What was the gold supposed to be used for?’

  ‘Krupps 77-millimetre cannons, made in Germany. Fritz Krupp’s a cousin of mine. The Boers would have moved them through the bush, overland. No offence, Blake, but you Steinaecker’s Horse boys have a reputation as a bunch of drunken layabouts and poachers, so the burghers figured they would have been able to slip the guns under your noses without too much trouble.’

  Blake shook his head, but smiled. ‘Who else knows this is here in this cave?’

  ‘No one,’ Claire said. ‘Nathaniel and his man at the trading post were the only survivors of the detail that moved this consignment of gold here on President Kruger’s direct orders. Nathaniel’s men were ambushed by a bunch of Boer rogues, a commando of bittereinders who are more bank robbers than patriots. They’re led by a wild-looking fellow in a leopardskin coat called –’

  ‘Hermanus.’

  Claire nodded. ‘You know him?’

  ‘He’s the one who was looking for you in the camp.’

  ‘That figures. Hermanus hoped to capture at least one of Nathaniel’s boys, but they fought like tigers and took out most of the desperados. Nathaniel was able to get word to me and I met him at that trading post you and Walters raided. Nathaniel was tough and brave, Blake.’

  ‘I know,’ Blake said. ‘He withstood torture.’

  She nodded. ‘To give me time to get away.’

  ‘And what about Walters?’ Blake asked.

  ‘That bastard’s crooked as well,’ Claire said, ‘the devil incarnate. I heard he’s been roving the veld, looking for Kruger’s gold. He tells people he’s on official business, but the way he treated Nathaniel . . . He’s no more working for the interests of the Crown than I am. So, the choice is, which bunch of thieves deserves the treasure more – us, Hermanus and his cutthroats, or Walters?’

  Blake didn’t need to answer the question. He set off down the narrow passageway leading to the mouth of the cave carrying the first box of gold. They had a lot of heavy lifting to do, about fifty boxes’ worth, he reckoned.

  Claire had moved ahead of him and stuffed the burning torch into a crack in the wall to give them light to move the boxes by. For the first time Blake noticed an irregular-shaped object in a natural rock alcove by the entrance to the passage. It was covered in an oilskin. Blake set down the crate and lifted off the waterproof cover.

  ‘Claire,’ he called softly behind him, ‘come take a look at this beauty.’

  *

  Hermanus stood in the overgrown track that ran parallel to the Selati line and looked down at the ground, where Adriaan, his tracker, was pointing.

  Adriaan was nineteen, but he was as ruthless as any of the remaining four men in the commando and the best tracker of the lot of them. He had been at war since he was sixteen.

  ‘They turned off here, Oom,’ Adriaan said.

  The ground was rocky and Hermanus only pretended he could see what the boy was looking at. ‘Lead on.’

  Adriaan nodded and, clutching his Mauser, moved off, eyes scanning the ground ahead of him.

  Hermanus motioned for Wikus, brave but brash and twice Adriaan’s age, to file in behind the youngster. Wikus would watch over the boy’s head while he tracked.

  They came to a covered wagon, with a horse tethered to it. Hermanus moved past Adriaan and Wikus, but they, and Frik and Willem, crowded behind him to peer into the back of the cart.

  Hermanus tried to lift the box closest to the rear of the wagon. ‘This is too heavy to be ammunition.’

  ‘The gold?’ Frik said.

  Adriaan studied the ground. ‘They are coming and going, Oom, the man and the woman. They are getting tired, their feet are slipping as they carry the heavy boxes. There is sweat on these stones.’

  ‘They won’t be watching too carefully,’ Wikus said.

  ‘Move off, same order,’ Hermanus said, ‘and be careful, Wikus. This woman has outsmarted plenty of people so far, even that devil of an Englishman.’

  Wikus snorted. ‘And we sorted him out.’

  They had left Walters tied to a tree, near where the Selati line met the main tracks. Hermanus told Walters they would come back for him, as they would need him to talk their way through the border and any British military checkpoints. Hermanus had said that he would still get a cut of the gold, if they found it, though it would be much smaller than Walters had expected. Hermanus would, in fact, kill Walters as soon as they were safely across the border into Portuguese territory.

  Adriaan walked slowly along the rocky pathway, continuing to read the signs on the difficult ground.

  *

  Llewellyn Walters had been tied to a leadwood tree with his back against the trunk and his arms and hands wrenched behind him. He had no doubt Hermanus and his Boer brigands would kill him as soon as they felt he was no longer of use to them.

  He heard voices.

  ‘Hello!’

  From around a bend in the winding track that followed the course of the railway line came two Shangaan hunters. One carried an assegai, a short stabbing spear, and the other an ageing Martini-Henry rifle, slung across his back.

  The men came to him and, after initially chuckling at his predicament, the man with the spear cut through the rope securing him to the tree.

  Walters rubbed his wrists, which were raw from his attempts to loosen the rope, and shook his hands to bring back the circulation. He nodded his thanks to the man with the spear and, through pantomime, asked if he could inspect the weapon. The hunter laughed and handed over the spear. As soon as it was in his hands Walters brought the tip up and stabbed it under the man’s ribcage into his heart.

  As the man staggered backwards his companion was struggling to shift the heavy rifle over his head. Walters pulled the assegai from the dying man’s body and rammed it into the rifleman’s neck. As the man fell, clutching at his throat, Walters relieved him of his Martini-Henry and set off up the track.

  *

  Blake had not survived nearly three years of war by dropping his guard. Whether consciously or subconsciously his eyes were always roving, searching the veld for signs of danger, even as his back and arms protested at the weight of the boxes.

  As he left the rocky pathway he caught a flash of movement ahead. He dropped to one knee and set down the last crate of gold he would have to load on the wagon. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Claire was making her way from the mouth of the cave, down the slope. She was watching her feet. She was a strong, fit woman, but she was struggling to carry her final load.

  He snapped his fingers to get her attention and looked to her as he drew the Broomhandle Mauser from its holster. Claire didn’t see him, but a man came into view. He was studying the pathway in front of him, but when he next looked up he saw Claire. He opened his mouth to call out, but Blake had already taken aim. He fired, two quick shots.

  The man fell backwards, both rounds in his chest. Chaos broke out.

  Claire dropped her box of gold and ran back towards the cave mouth for cover. Blake got to his feet and ran forward, which he hoped was the last thing his enemies would be expecting. He heard a crack and felt a who
osh of air beside him as a bullet came close.

  Blake dived and rolled, crawled to the nearest tree then popped up, looking for a target. He saw a man running, fired a snap shot, but missed.

  Another man with a rifle emerged from behind a tree and fired. Blake answered with two shots, at least one of which hit the man, but not seriously, because a few seconds later Blake felt another round whiz past him from the same direction.

  He crawled over the rocks to get away from the man’s fire and search for a new vantage point and targets. With his semi-automatic pistol he had the advantage of being able to fire faster than his opponents with their bolt-action rifles. He willed himself to stand and, firing on the run, emptied his magazine at the two men who both came out from behind cover to take aim at him.

  As he ran he caught a brief glimpse of Hermanus, distinctive in his leopardskin coat, but the old rogue was too clever to expose himself long enough for Blake to draw a bead on him.

  Out of ammunition, Blake turned and ran back up the pathway. When he got to the place where the small cairn of rocks had been laid he took a mighty leap. Exhaling with relief when he landed, he carried on up towards the cave. Blake heard the Boers yelling in Afrikaans behind him. He prayed their bloodlust was up.

  Blake ducked behind a boulder before he reached the cave mouth, which was still out of sight to anyone coming up the path.

  *

  Hermanus skirted the pathway and climbed a freestanding boulder, which gave him the advantage of a few yards of elevation. The top of the rock was smooth and flat and he lay down.

  Adriaan was down, dead, probably.

  ‘Frikkie, go forward, man,’ Wikus called from the ground below. ‘I’ll cover you.’

  The ground erupted.

  *

  Blake hunkered down as the buried explosives detonated. When he looked up he saw there was little remaining of the man who had just stood on the devilish device.

  There would be confusion below and the Boers would have checked their advance. Blake got up and, with his Mauser reloaded, moved down the pathway again.

  A man stumbled into view. He must have been close behind the man who had detonated the underground torpedo as he looked dazed. Nevertheless, he raised his rifle and aimed at Blake.

  He was too slow. Blake fired two shots and one found its mark, knocking the man over. Blake searched for a new target.

  *

  Hermanus took careful aim at Sergeant Blake, then squeezed the trigger.

  The Australian fell backwards, shot in the gut. Blake raised his pistol and fired off a couple of rounds in Hermanus’ general direction.

  Hermanus was not a man who enjoyed seeing animals suffer and he felt the same level of pity for Blake. The man had been a worthy adversary. He worked the bolt of his Mauser rifle, aimed at the man’s head, then fired again.

  Blake stopped moving.

  Hermanus slid down from the rock and made his way past his men. Wikus was still alive, but he would not be so for long. Hermanus stopped by him, looked into Wikus’ pleading eyes, then shot his friend in the head.

  He passed the body of young Adriaan, such a shame, and the smoking remains of Frik. He felt his rage start to build, but kept it at bay.

  ‘Come out, Claire,’ he called.

  There was no answer.

  He reached Blake, passing Willem’s body on the way. Hermanus hadn’t seen Willem go down, but he assumed Claire had got the better of him during the gunfight; she was not to be underestimated. He could see that his bullet had hit the Australian’s head as blood covered his face. Hermanus nudged Blake’s body with the toe of his rough handmade veldskoen, but there was no response.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘I’m coming nowhere,’ she yelled back.

  ‘Claire, my men are dead and so is Blake. It’s just you and me. It will take two of us, at least, to move the gold through the border. You have my word, as a gentleman, that I will not harm you. I need you, Claire.’

  Hermanus knelt by Blake’s body and picked up the Mauser pistol the sergeant had dropped. ‘I’m going to come forward, Claire, and I’m going to toss you my rifle. I want you to do the same, as a sign of good faith, and then we’ll talk.’

  He moved forward, slowly, and stuffed Blake’s pistol in the rope belt that held up his ragged trousers. Soon he would exchange these pauper’s clothes for finery. He moved between giant boulders and saw now that there was a passage leading to a darkened opening ahead.

  ‘I’m throwing my rifle, now, Claire.’

  He tossed his rifle so that it clattered near the entrance.

  ‘Slowly,’ Claire said back from the dark. ‘I want to see you with your hands behind your head.’

  ‘Very well,’ Hermanus replied, ‘but toss out your rifle, and Blake’s.’

  He heard her unloading the weapons, which was good, and then the rifles clattered into sight, a Mauser and a Holland & Holland side-by-side. The big hunting rifle would be a useful addition to his collection, he thought.

  Hermanus drew Blake’s Broomhandle pistol from the small of his back and held it, ready to open fire, with his other hand behind his head. ‘I’m coming in.’

  ‘Slowly, mind,’ Claire said.

  He had thought he might try to take her alive, to help him move whatever was left of the gold, but she was as dangerous as a cornered leopardess. Better, he thought, to kill her.

  Hermanus came to the entry of the cave proper and stepped into the gloom. He blinked and he knew it would take a moment for his eyes to adjust.

  ‘I’m here,’ Claire said.

  He didn’t need to see her to kill her at such close range. He started to move his hands, bringing the pistol to bear, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark he saw a flash of movement in a natural alcove off to the right of the entrance.

  ‘Just as I thought,’ Claire said.

  Hermanus pivoted and found himself looking down the barrel of a Maxim machine gun, mounted on a tripod, with Claire Martin sitting behind it. The last thing on earth he saw was the woman’s grim face as she pushed down the firing mechanism and blew his body back out of the cave mouth.

  *

  Claire stepped over the shredded remains of Hermanus, trying not to look at the Boer commander’s body. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it was him or them, and that Hermanus had already proved himself a traitor and a murderer by ambushing and killing most of Nathaniel’s troop of American volunteers. She ran to Blake, knelt down beside him and cradled his head in her lap. He was still breathing.

  She wiped the blood from Blake’s face and found that the bullet had creased the side of his skull, by his temple, but not penetrated his head. Of more concern, apart from the fact that he was out cold, was the hole in his side. She took the hunting knife from his belt and cut through part of his shirt, balled it and held it against the wound to staunch the blood. Hacking off more of his clothing, she managed to knot together enough pieces to make a bandage, which she tied around his body.

  She drew him to her, her lower lip trembling as his blood stained her clothing. She kissed his cheek. ‘Please don’t die, my love.’

  Blake was not a small man, but she had to get him to the wagon. She bent down and managed to roll him onto her shoulders and lift him in a fireman’s carry. She staggered under his weight, nearly falling a couple of times on the loose rock, but managed, at last, gasping, to lay him on the tailgate of the cart.

  She ran back and retrieved the fallen weapons, including Blake’s prized Broomhandle pistol, tossed them into the wagon. Fear and anger infused her with new strength and determination and she hefted and loaded the last two crates of gold that she and Blake had been carrying. With Blake’s horse tethered to the cart she climbed aboard and set off.

  Blake came to, briefly, then lapsed back into unconsciousness as the heavily laden cart juddered and sw
ayed about. She was getting close to where they had turned off the main road when Captain Llewellyn Walters stepped out into the path of the oncoming horses and discharged a shot into the air over their heads.

  Claire’s heart sank. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

  ‘Where’s the Australian?’ Walters reloaded the single-shot Martini Henry rifle he was holding.

  ‘In the back, wounded,’ Claire said. She could see no point in lying to the Englishman. ‘He’s out cold and shot in the gut; he’s no threat to you, probably won’t make it.’

  ‘You’ve got the gold,’ he said.

  ‘No, just boxes of ammunition.’

  Walters laughed. ‘I should thank you, for doing all the loading for me. By the look of the way this wagon’s sitting on its springs I shan’t even bother asking if you got all of it. What of the Boers?’

  ‘You can go up the line and take a look for yourself, if you’re minded,’ Claire said with a toss of her head. ‘But the vultures have probably found them already.’

  Walters grinned, all the while pointing his rifle straight at her. ‘War’s over, Claire. We can be friends now. You’ll still need help getting your cargo out of South Africa.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re going to help me, are you?’

  ‘There’s more than enough for two people on that wagon. Let’s let bygones be bygones.’

  ‘You were going to rape me, when you had the chance, and you killed Belvedere.’

  He shrugged. ‘There was a war on.’

  ‘So that makes it all right, does it?’

  ‘We’re no longer foes. Step down from the wagon now, there’s a good Irish cailín.’

  She bridled at his condescending tone and words, but held her tongue. They were both criminals and she would be as likely to hang as he would for stealing this much gold, but Walters had cut Nathaniel’s ear off before murdering him and had set Blake up to be killed in prison. If she was bad, this man was evil. A flicker of movement through the bush had caught her eye. She looked over her shoulder. Blake was secure in the back of the wagon, but one bloodied arm was hanging out the back.