They crossed the Umhlatuzi with ease, as Pampata predicted they would. It was but a stream compared with the Thukela, for as she explained, it was not born of uKhahlamba, the barrier of spears. Like the Inonoti, it sprang – or rather, seeped – from the ground, just as blood from the finger at the prick of a thorn.
But although they had maize and meat, Hervey saw that Pampata's gait was becoming uneven. She protested it was not, and would not let him speak of it, but in the afternoon of the third day, as they climbed to the plateau of Esi-Klebeni, Shaka's birthplace, she could no longer conceal her distress, and he grasped her arm, forcing her to halt.
When he knelt and took her feet, he could scarce believe she had been able to walk at all, for there were abrasions of every degree. She hung her head a while, as if despairing, before throwing it back defiantly and saying she would use the medicine of the inyaga impi, the war doctor, pointing at the green all about them. 'Here will be u-joye,' she said insistently, 'the warrior's relief.'
And so she limped painfully about the slopes of Esi-Klebeni until they found the medicinal shrub, and Hervey picked the dark green leaves which reminded him so much of his boyhood nettling, though they were much larger, and Pampata crushed them to a fine pulp between two stones, and then Hervey smoothed the poulticepulp on the soles of her feet and between her toes, and laid her down so that the medicine could work its power.
She lay for an hour, no more, and during that time Hervey scouted for a mile along the slopes for any distant sign of Mbopa's men. But there was none. When Pampata rose and said she would continue, he told her there was no one following them – not, at least, within range of striking them unawares – and that they might lessen their speed. She bowed, but within half an hour she had resumed the pace of before. Only when a thick mist descended on the plateau did they slow, but it did not prevent their taking many a wrong turn, so that by nightfall he supposed they had made no more than half the true progress their efforts deserved.
Indeed, he was downcast, to a degree that overtook his resolution to think only of what lay ahead. No matter that the dragoons had been under Brereton's orders: they were his dragoons, his troop, Brereton merely having the temporary honour of command. He bore responsibility for their death, if only that he had not taken radical action in his doubts about Brereton's capacity for command. No one would blame him, of course (and certainly not formally); the system was the system. If Brereton was in command, then his was the responsibility. But he could not absolve himself so easily. And in Johnson's case, his was the responsibility alone. Johnson had been under his orders, not Brereton's.
There came a terrible, sick feeling in his gut. He could not care less whose was the responsibility: Johnson was dead, and that was the fact of it. His old dragoon-friend, as old a friend as Armstrong or Collins (and more intimate, in truth, for all the distance between their stations) had fallen to a Zulu spear, ill-equipped to parry on account of his long years of body-service. He ought to have been there with him. If he had been there with him, the Zulu would never have taken them by surprise.
And a shivery night it was – the numbing sense of failure which he sought in vain to suppress, and the damp, cold air of the uplands. He gave his tunic to Pampata, not without her protest, and steeled himself to the darkness, its chill and its demons. He would have lit a fire had he the means, for the mist was so thick that none but were as close as a dozen yards could have seen it. Fire warmed and cheered the spirits. He had wanted for fire many times – in Spain, in India; but always with his dragoons, so that without it they took consolation in their shared discomfort. And, in truth, he could not recollect so personal a desolation as this now.
They shivered all night, therefore, awake for the most part, lying back to back, contrary to all the customs of the Zulu: for Pampata knew she needed the warmth of her 'brother'.
Indeed, she had expected a greater warmth, for as a warrior who had slain a foe it was his right (indeed, it was his duty) to claim sula izembe, the ritual cleansing, the 'washing of the spear'.
Hervey did not know of sula izembe. All he knew was the instinct of one who had survived, and the potency which came of it. And yet with the bodies of two dozen dragoons in his mind's eye still, it was unthinkable.
XXII
A HANDFUL OF RIFLEMEN Next day
Just before evening, the fourth day, as they crested another of the gentler slopes that gave shape to the lowlands beyond the high plateau of Esi-Klebeni, Pampata heaved a great sigh of joy. Pointing, she declared their triumph. 'There is kwaWambaza! There is Ngwadi's kraal!'
They stumbled the last mile, downhill, easier by far than the ascent but tempting them to more speed thereby, slipping, falling, staggering, and so painfully that Hervey tried to make Pampata stop, so that he could go on alone and bring back a horse, or her menfolk, to bear her in.
She would have none of it. She would not delay her mission one needless minute. And so Hervey relented, hopeful that the lookouts – his own dragoons, indeed – would soon spy their approach and send out relief.
But there was no relief. Only when they were a hundred yards from the kraal did anyone appear to notice their coming, and then only the herd boys playing at being inkwebane, cadets, jousting with toy spears like the one that Pampata carried. They rushed up to the two dust-covered strangers and danced about them uncertainly, half-fearful, until Pampata shot words at them like a flight of arrows, at which they fled, wide-eyed, towards the entrance of the kraal shouting that messengers of King Shaka were come to kwaWambaza.
The kraal was smaller than Dukuza, but in all other respects save one it appeared the same: for here were no trophies of death, no impalings, no human bones cast about casually as if to proclaim the chief's supreme power. There were a great number of cattle grazing, and the fields were in good cultivation. For all that the kraal's thorn fence was built in the same fashion as Shaka's, and the huts within were the same beehive shape, and the people looked the same and wore the same, it might have been another country. Here was a place of pastoral quiet, not a barracks of Shaka's restless war engine.
It was at once, therefore, a sight both of reassurance and alarm, for if Mbopa were to muster an impi of any strength (and for all that Hervey knew, the Fasimba were at his call), it would take warrior numbers and hardened skill to hold them off.
Out rushed Ngwadi, the clan elders – and Somervile.
Hervey felt a second wave of relief at seeing his old friend. He braced his shoulders (they had been sloped in the same loping gait as Pampata's for days) and saluted. He had been without any headdress since the Thukela, but the open-handed salute was no less impressive. Ngwadi raised his ceremonial staff in acknowledgement and evident awe at what he knew was before him, and Somervile took off his straw hat as if he were presented at court.
'My dear friend,' he said, advancing on Hervey with a sense of the miracle. 'My dear old friend! I thought – I could not make myself believe other – that you were killed!'
And as he held out his hand, Hervey saw the moisture in his eyes.
'I very near was,' he replied, but recovering that air of composure required by the mask of command. 'Brereton is dead,' he added roughly, and then in an altogether softer tone: 'and Petrie, and the dragoons with him.'
'I know,' said Somervile, lowering his eyes. 'Your Private Johnson informed me.'
Hervey started. 'Johnson? Informed you? He is here?'
'He's at Nonoti still. He came two days after we left Dukuza. He refused to leave there until he had found you. Your serjeant-major threatened to clap him in irons, but he would not relent.'
Hervey's face was now a picture of the greatest relief and joy. 'It is the best of news, the very best!' he said, shaking his head in disbelief. 'What of Fairbrother?'
'He remains at Nonoti until we're sure what Mbopa's intentions are. What a capital fellow he is: Ngomane ate from his hand – put his guards under his orders, indeed!'
'And who came with you here?'
'Welsh and the Rifles.'
Several of Ngwadi's household had lifted up Pampata and begun carrying her towards the kraal. The chief himself now beckoned Somervile and his new-found friend to follow.
'A decent sort of man, I judge him,' said Somervile as they did his bidding. 'We have managed to converse.Welsh has been of use, too: he understands, if he doesn't much speak.'
Once they were inside the ndlunkulu, Ngwadi hovered about Pampata as if she had been his own sister. His serving-girls brought restoratives and lotions, and he questioned her gently, or rather, listened to her speak, about the events at Shaka's kraal.
The two old friends were therefore able to withdraw to the other side of the hut, where they were brought tshwala (beer), and sweetmeats to restore a man to his full vigour – or so the gestures of the serving-girls promised.
Somervile gave him a cheroot.
'Thank you. I would have given a king's ransom for this match last night,' said Hervey as he lit it. He blew a satisfyingly dense cloud of smoke towards the roof of the hut, and then turned earnestly to his old friend. 'We must speak about what you intend. Mbopa's men were hard on our heels, and I suspect them mere voerlopers. More will follow if he believes Ngwadi will challenge him – which he must believe, else why pursue Pampata thus?'
Somervile nodded as he got his own cheroot alight. 'When we reached Nonoti and told him what had happened, the chief minister declared himself at once against Mbopa, and Dingane and the others, and asked for our protection while he summoned all the indune. He has a sizeable guard, and said he could call on the warriors who had been stood down for the sowing. I judged they could match what Mbopa could muster immediately, so I instructed young Kemmis – excellent fellow, he! – to stay at Nonoti with half the dragoons to strengthen the old man's resolve. That allowed Fairbrother and the rest to go back to Dukuza to see if they could find you and learn what they could.'
'Then why did you come on here? And unescorted? A dozen riflemen only!'
Somervile attempted to look defiant, although he knew his offence. 'Because we had decided on the necessity of alerting Ngwadi, if you remember.'
Hervey frowned, and with some impatience. 'But the situation then changed materially. You had no right . . . with respect, to place your life in jeopardy so. And what in the name of heaven were Welsh and Fairbrother doing permitting it? And Collins, for that matter!'
Somervile held up a hand to stay his tirade. 'They are blameless, I assure you. Each of them – your admirable Serjeant-Major Collins, too – protested most vehemently, but in the end I ordered them to desist.'
Hervey shifted painfully, having allowed himself to lean on the wound too heavily. 'Somervile, my dear old friend, and again with the very greatest of respect, you are not entitled to issue orders in such a way. Theirs is the responsibility for your safeguard, and you cannot absolve them of it.'
The lieutenant-governor shook his head solemnly. 'I know it; I know it. But in truth I was so greatly affeard that you were . . . well, I thought it possible you might be captive, and I could not rest if I had done otherwise than I did.'
Hervey sighed. Somervile had divided into three the already divided little force, but he had done so to search for him, and at grave risk to himself. 'When did you come here? Is Ngwadi gathering his warriors?' he asked, almost softly.
'Yesterday, in the morning. Ngwadi was at once incensed by the news of Shaka's murder. He has sent messengers to all his kraals for the army to assemble. They are about five thousand, but they're stood down for the sowing. He says it will be a week before they can all assemble. And then he will march at once on Mbopa.'
'And what if Mbopa should come with his army before they are assembled? When is Fairbrother bidden here?'
'I ordered him to remain at Nonoti when he was come from Dukuza. Ngwadi will first march thither . . . What is the matter with your shoulder?'
Hervey began flexing it to relieve the ache. 'It is well enough – merely a brush with a leopard.'
'I will have my physician see it,' replied Somervile, rising.
'No, permit him finish first with Pampata's wounds; she is very ill worn.'
'I saw as much. A remarkable woman, I hazard.'
Hervey stubbed out the cheroot and made to rise. 'Somervile, she is one of the finest women I ever met.'
His old friend, for all his earlier self-absorption, heard the catch in Hervey's voice, and nodded warily. 'We may well have cause to honour her. I hope most earnestly that she is able to find this child of Shaka's.'
Hervey seemed now to brace himself, as if to throw off the lethargy that had been overcoming him since they entered the hut. 'See, my good friend, there's not a moment to lose. We must send a galloper to Nonoti and recall Fairbrother and the rest of the troop. Here, Ngwadi's kraal, is the pivot of your stratagem. Besides, fine fellow that Ngwadi may be, I am loath to place ourselves amid a thousand of his warriors, with but a handful of riflemen, when their world has been turned upside down with the death of Shaka. One rumour that we are ourselves implicated in his fall and I would not give a half-farthing for our continuing health.'
'You suppose it could come to that?'
Hervey sighed again. 'My old friend, I do not wish to sound pious, but I am a soldier: I cannot deal in suppositions, only possibilities.'
Somervile looked remarkably chastened. 'I forget myself.'
Hervey clapped him on the arm. 'No matter. Was it Serjeant Donkers I saw with those inkwebane as we came in?'
'It was. An excellent fellow, as are they all.'
'Then I shall send him to recall Fairbrother. And thereafter I believe we should give ourselves up to Pampata.'
'I concur,' said Somervile, more happily.
Hervey realized that perhaps he, too, forgot himself, for this much was polity not soldiery. 'With your leave?'
'By all means, Hervey. By all means,' replied his old friend, seeming to brace himself to the task. 'But first it is my object that the physician treat your wound. We cannot have a single sabre that is hors de combat.'
A shot woke him. Hervey sat bolt upright, for a split second trying to grasp the place and the cause. He had been in the deepest sleep, the security that was the kraal and ten riflemen inducing him to let go that which had kept him alert these last days.
A second shot. He sprang up, seizing his swordbelt and pistol. Then a third, and a fourth, and shouting – the universal sound of alarm, no matter what the camp.
Outside the hut he found Corporal Cox. 'Sir! Kaffirs – dozens of 'em. They've killed the herd boys!'
Mbopa's men must have been pressing harder on their heels than he supposed. But the picket – four good shots – and the men of the kraal ought to be able to hold them. 'Very well. Keep up a good fire, Corp' Cox: best keep them guessing how many we are!'
He ran to Somervile's hut, finding him on his feet and priming his pistols. 'Mbopa's men, I think – the ones following our tracks. Fifty, no more, unless a second cohort were following.'
'Would you have one of the riflemen guard Pampata?' asked Somervile, anxious.
'I think not. I'll need every man. I think you must stand guard with her.'
'Very well. Where is Ngwadi?'
'I saw him making for the sango. I'll seek him out.'
Hervey saluted, turned and went back outside, shielding his eyes against the sun which was edging above the thorn fence of the cattle byre.
And then the rush of Mbopa's warriors – inside the kraal, like stampeding bulls, a great black wave, sweeping aside all in its path, a wall of spears and shields, wild cries, shots! How had they broken in?
He drew his sabre, raised his pistol and cocked it in one. He saw the riflemen left and right firing into the flanks of the wave, doublebarrelled Westley-Richards, point-blank, a relentless, fearful toll. Ngwadi's men raced from the other side of the kraal, throwing themselves at the attackers without waiting to form, striking home with their spears, in turn falling to those of Mbopa's men.
Out came Som
ervile, pistols raised. He rushed to Hervey's side, and they stood, silent, waiting for the wave to reach them.
But the wave was losing its force. Urged on by Corporal Cox, the cattle guards had got the great thorn hurdle back across the sango. Those Zulu inside were on their own.
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