'Galloper guns,' he said suddenly, out of a silence of a quarter of an hour. 'That is what we must have here. I can't think why we ever did away with them in India.'
Somervile, though startled by the sudden martial turn (they had previously been observing on the habits of egrets) was nevertheless quick to the point. 'I fancy it would not be beyond the capability of the foundry at Cape-town.'
'In such country, seeing how sharp the Zulu move, a galloper would have capital effect, especially with explosive shell, or shrapnel. I for one would trade weight of shot for celerity.'
He wondered that he had not thought of it after Umtata. But then, such thoughts did not always spring from the theoretical contemplation of a problem, or else the men at the Board of Ordnance would have no need of field service; and in any case, the battle at Umtata, after the skirmishing which preceded it, had been as set-piece an affair as any in Spain.
'I will see to it when we return,' he said decidedly, and then he lapsed once more into consideration of 'error's chain'.
* * *
Late in the afternoon they reached the southernmost of the Fasimba kraals. Isaacs struggled to the front of the column, despite Somervile's assurance that there was no need. Fasimba, he told them, 'haze', was the name of the regiment of guards – 'Shaka's Own'.
This royal kraal – ikhanda – was bigger than they had seen so far. Isaacs said it was the headquarters of a Fasimba general, and the barracks of the unmarried youths who reported for training there – the inkwebane. It was by no means a great ikhanda, some fifty or so huts, whereas at Dukuza there were a thousand, but the cattle byre had been enlarged to pen the booty-cattle of the Pondoland campaign. He said it would not be prudent to pass by without acknowledging Shaka's man, the induna.
'Isaacs, your devotion to duty is admirable, but . . .'
Isaacs waved a hand, protesting.
Somervile shook his head. Isaacs was not fit to be in the saddle, yet how might they proceed without him – here, especially, the kraal of Shaka's guards? But he had to concede, and he did so with an esteeming smile. 'I am most excessively obliged to you.'
Hervey sent back the order for a close escort of six dragoons, and then with Somervile, Fairbrother and Isaacs, set off down the halfmile of gentle slope for the kraal.
Only as they came close did they see the 'sentinels' flanking the sango, the ceremonial entrance.
Hervey groaned. 'Good God!'
Somervile was as quick to the recognition, but quicker to the necessity for composure. 'Eyes front, I think, Hervey.'
'One of them's a woman!'
'I am able to determine that for myself. Nod to the guard of honour forming up for us.' He cleared his throat. 'Or I imagine it's a guard of honour.'
A dozen inkwebane in ceremonial dress, a single red-lory feather in each head-ring, the distinction of the Fasimba, were mustering outside the sango. They carried the short, stabbing spear, the iklwa, and black war shields, and appeared oblivious to the impalings under which they paraded.
Somervile raised his hat to return their salute. Hervey and Fairbrother saluted in the usual fashion, for although a salute was meant for the senior officer, and therefore returned by him alone, it seemed prudent to err on the side of unequivocal respect.
'I've a mind they were alive when they were hoist,' said Hervey, trying to keep his stomach down, for the stench of corruption was almost overpowering.
'Seven days ago, I'd say,' opined Fairbrother, not to Hervey's mind very usefully.
They rode through the opening in the great thorn stockade and halted inside the empty cattle byre, the herds grazing in an adjacent valley. The inkwebane followed, silent, and ranged in a half-moon behind them, closing off the sango so that Somervile's escort remained outside; though whether or not it was their intention to exclude them, Hervey could not tell.
'What is the meaning of that butchery, Isaacs?' asked Somervile as they reined to a halt, intent on remaining in the saddle for both his dignity and safety.
Isaacs was now barely able to sit upright. He gasped rather than spoke his reply. 'I'm fearful you'll see many another. They'll 'ave broken Shaka's mourning orders. Like as not the woman was with child.'
This much they had learned in Cape Town; but to see it for themselves . . . 'Bestial!' hissed Somervile.
'And no crops planted, no milk drawn – only to be poured on the earth.'
'Madness!'
'That is Shaka. When you meets 'im, you'll understand.'
An older warrior, wearing the otter-skin head-ring, the privilege of the married man, advanced on them.
'One of the gatekeepers,' said Isaacs, only with the greatest effort. 'Pay 'im no honours unless 'e crouches – which 'e won't.'
The warrior turned to face them squarely. He carried the iklwa, like the guard of honour, but a smaller shield.
'Wozani!'
'He wants us to follow 'im.'
'To the head man?'
'Can't be certain; but they're expecting us plain enough.'
'In that case we will dismount – once we have our horse-holders.' Somervile turned in the saddle and beckoned forward the escort. 'Since we're bidden, the guard'll have to let them in.'
Hervey prayed they would.
At the keeper's nod, the inkwebane parted left and right, making an opening just large enough to allow the escort to enter in file.
Hervey beckoned Trumpeter Roddis to him, reckoning a bugle preferable to the best swordsman. Then the five of them struck out behind the silent old warrior, across the byre towards the isigodlo, the private quarters of Shaka's man, the induna. Isaacs was now so fevered that he needed Fairbrother's support.
Another thorn fence, smaller than that of the outer perimeter of the kraal, enclosed the isigodlo, a collection of seven or eight beehive-shaped huts made of tightly woven grass. They passed through a narrow gate guarded by a single warrior, and made for the largest of the huts.
The induna himself greeted them. His smile, if equivocal, was easy nonetheless. He bid them enter.
Inside were calf skins spread on a clay floor. The induna gestured for his visitors to sit. Three serving-girls, their breasts bare, brought hollowed gourds filled with beer.
Isaacs, whom the induna appeared to know, began speaking. With the very greatest effort, and periodic gestures towards the others, Somervile in particular, he began to explain their coming here.
He spoke of 'Um Joji', as Shaka called King George, which appeared to establish the party's importance. Indeed, the induna seemed more flattered by the minute with the visitation (although Hervey could not but suppose that he had hourly expected them, and knew precisely their status).
Gradually, the induna allowed himself more ease. He was especially intent on Fairbrother, and when the latter spoke to him in Xhosa he narrowed his eyes as if to gain a sharper resolution of his features. With only a little help from Isaacs, Fairbrother explained that he had spent many years at the Cape and had made it his business to be fluent in the tongue of his nearest neighbours.
This brought nods of approval.
And half an hour passed agreeably. Somervile had not expected to learn anything (nor had Hervey); his principal concern was with how long he would be required to sup here before he could decently take his leave. However, the induna told them that half the bootycattle were to be returned to the Pondo king, Faku – a gesture of peace on Shaka's part. And ripe intelligence.
A gesture of peace, or a sign of weakness? Somervile pressed him for more. 'Ask how the campaign went, and now that against Soshangane.'
But Isaacs could barely summon the breath.
Fairbrother tried instead.
It took a little longer, but he was confident of his ability. 'The induna says the Pondo fought hard, but that Shaka crushed them, as he has crushed all his enemies. There is no news yet from the north, but Soshangane will be crushed like Faku.'
Somervile looked at the induna, and bowed. 'And what of the clash at Umtata, with Matiwane's war
riors?'
There was an even longer exchange, Fairbrother pressing the induna hard.
'It is as we heard, Sir Eyre. He says that Matiwane had been no vassal, or even friend of Shaka's. I could not exactly follow all he said, but it seems that Shaka's keen to know how Matiwane's warriors were brought to defeat by our fewer numbers.'
Hervey did not doubt it. Shaka could hardly be indifferent to the defeat of an army trained in the manner of his own. 'Does the induna suppose we were there?'
'I believe he does.'
The serving-girls brought more beer, but before they could pour much of it, the older warrior returned, and with a graver expression than when he had greeted the visitors at the sango.
He whispered into the induna's ear.
The induna looked perturbed. He questioned him urgently, sotto voce, and then gave way, for the briefest moment at least, to a look of dismay, before masking it with resolution, and rising.
He bowed to his guests, who rose with him, and from a loop fastening by the door of the hut he took his ceremonial staff.
Somervile motioned to Fairbrother.
With no time to think how he might phrase his question, Fairbrother asked simply if they might be of help.
The induna hesitated, as if unsure whether or not he had a right to speak, and then turned back to him. Twelve youths and boys, tenders of the royal cattle at Dukuza, had been sent to him for punishment, he explained. Shaka suspected them of kleza – squirting the milk from the cows' udders into their mouths – contrary to the mourning orders. Shaka had questioned them, they denied it, and he had directed them to take the usual oath, to swear 'by Shaka'. This, knowing their guilt, they had refused to do, and so Shaka had ordered them to come here, to the Fasimba kraal, where in a year or so they would have been enrolled as inkwebane, and tell the induna that Shaka had ordered them to be put to death.
Somervile looked at Isaacs, who nodded that this was a fair translation.
The induna watched, as if somehow fearful of their opinion.
'Hervey, we must prevent this,' said Somervile, decidedly.
Isaacs looked alarmed. 'Sir, there's no way on earth as we can prevent it. We'd be cut down at once – before yon bugler could play a note!'
Hervey took hold of Somervile's arm. 'You cannot think otherwise but as Isaacs says!'
Isaacs gasped for breath even more. 'He said the youths'd come 'ere without escort, solely on their honour. That's Shaka's power!'
'And Shaka knows we'll be here,' suggested Fairbrother, in a sinister way. ' "My name is Shaka, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair" . . .'
Somervile, if not exactly despairing, was agitated nevertheless. 'I have no desire to look upon his bestial works, yet we can do no good inside this hut.'
Hervey was not so sure. 'What say you, Isaacs?'
'Will make no difference.' He sank back to the floor, the sweat running freely down his face.
'Come,' said Somervile, striding for the door.
A dozen youths and boys stood in the middle of the cattle enclosure, in line, facing the isigodlo. The same cadets of the guard of honour, but without their finery, stood in line behind them.
The induna strode angrily across the byre, berating Shaka's consigned.
Somervile followed as close as he thought safe.
'What does he say, Fairbrother? I can't make out a word.'
Fairbrother raised an eyebrow. 'A Zulu general's ranting, Sir Eyre – I doubt even the wretched boys know.'
But slowly, as the induna stopped his railing and began speaking in more measured terms, though angry still, Fairbrother was able to catch some sense of it.
'He asks them if it's true they did kleza, and that Shaka sent them to say that he'd ordered them to be put to death.'
There was a murmuring among the condemned youths, with here and there a stronger voice seeming to admit it was so.
The induna raised his stick and swung it down furiously. 'Ni ngama qawu . . . You are heroes – and as men and heroes you shall die by the spear, and not by the felons' club!'
The words were spoken so clearly – for the hearing of all in the enclosure – that Somervile and even Hervey were able to understand.
The young heroes had ranged themselves in age, so that on the right of the line, the place of honour, was the eldest, a youth of about Hervey's own height, and sixteen years, perhaps.
Somervile grew restless. 'My God, Hervey: those boys at yonder end are but eight or nine!'
Fairbrother spoke sharply. 'Close your eyes, Sir Eyre. That, or keep your counsel – with respect.'
Isaacs, who had struggled to join them on the arm of the older warrior, sealed the business. 'It's Shaka's will, and none of us'd be worth a spit if we crossed it!'
Somervile shook his head in unhappy resignation. Hervey stayed his own hand from his sabre only with the fiercest resolve.
And then, removing his shako, Fairbrother stepped forward. 'Mnumzana . . .'
At this formal style of address by one of the visitors, the induna turned. There were tears on his cheeks.
Fairbrother struggled to express their objection, trying to combine in his voice and manner not only the imperative to stay the executions, but the deference necessary to keep them alive too. 'Mnumzana . . . Sir, it is displeasing to the religion of King George, of whom Sir Eyre Somervile here is the personal representative, to have the blood of common felons shed in his presence, although undoubtedly they are brave men. King Shaka cannot know how brave these youths and boys have been, only that they disobeyed his command. Although King George knows that all Zulu are brave, would not King Shaka wish to know of their especial bravery, and might therefore wish to spare them?'
Only once did the induna need Isaacs's help to explain.
Hervey watched, tense, ready to draw his sabre. If he had to, he would tell Somervile to dash for the isigodlo while he warded off the inkwebane, and then would fall back with Fairbrother to the entrance. There they would make their stand there until the escort, and the rest of the column, answered Roddis's bugle. It was at least a plan, if a forlorn hope.
The induna, impassive despite his streaming eyes, turned away and beckoned the old warrior. He spoke quickly, insistently, but not in a voice that carried to the visitors.
When he was finished, the warrior nodded his head, once, in a gesture of resolve. 'Yebo, baba!'
Fairbrother stepped rear, to Somervile's left side, sensing they would soon have to make a dash for it.
'We fall back to the hut if they turn,' whispered Hervey, on Somervile's right. 'I'll take the headman.'
'And the other dozen spears?' whispered Fairbrother. 'Keep praying, my friend!'
The keeper now spoke quietly to the inkwebane.
Hervey was on the point of drawing his sabre when the cadets divided, marching round either flank of the youths and halting in front of them, so that each of the condemned could look into the eyes of his executioner.
'Good God!' spluttered Somervile. 'What a monstrous ceremony.'
'Easy,' whispered Hervey. 'There's not a thing we can do to save them. When I give the word, run like Hades for the hut!'
The old warrior raised his spear. 'U-Shaka!'
The inkwebane thrust their spears forward. 'U-Shaka!' they roared.
None of the condemned, not even the youngest, flinched. 'U-Shaka!' they cried back resolutely.
The inkwebane braced, spears now inches from their deadly work, waiting the final order.
The youths and boys, their chins high, stood motionless.
The old warrior turned to the induna for the order.
The induna, his tears replaced by a look of intense pride, stepped between the errant youths and their executioners. 'Nihambe kahle!' he growled – 'You must go well' (the Zulu parting) – and then repeated his praise: 'Ni ngama qawu . . . You are heroes. Sobonana futhi . . . We shall see each other again!'
They steeled themselves visibly for the point of the spear.
'Hlezi!' he commanded.
The boys hesitated.
'Hlezi!'
They sat, crestfallen at the indignity of meeting the spear in any attitude but on their feet.
'Be done with it, man!' muttered Somervile.
Hervey grasped his arm, fearing his old friend would not be able to contain himself.
The induna turned, and nodded – sharp – to the old warrior.
The warrior gestured with his spear to the senior of the inkwebane.
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