And with the inescapability of numbers and the superiority of powder, the rest was slaughter. Neither Hervey nor Somervile moved a foot: Ngwadi's men, pouring into the enclosure from every corner of the kraal, did the most terrible execution. Only once had Hervey to parry: a warrior, crazed by the bloodlust of the assault, and by the spear wounds to his chest and side, broke from the melee and ran at the two friends in a gesture of suicidal defiance.
'Mine!' Hervey rasped, like a shot facing driven birds. He levelled his pistol, the man ran on to it obligingly, and the ball broke open his chest in a gory splintering of bone.
Two minutes more and the business was done. Thirty-three of Mbopa's men lay dead – every warrior of his who had entered the kraal – a dozen of Ngwadi's men, and a score more for the inyaga impi, the war-surgeon.
'The devil!' said Somervile, at length. 'That should not have happened.'
'Indeed.' Hervey pushed his pistol into his swordbelt and returned his sabre. 'Quite an affair. But by no means unhelpful. Those fellows will have quite an opinion of themselves now,' he added, nodding to Ngwadi's men. 'And of their chief. You saw how he fought?'
'I did.' Somervile, as Hervey, had seen Ngwadi account for three men with his own spear.
'And Mbopa knows that the kraal can't be rushed, even when he creeps up by dark. Evidently he hadn't the men for a stronger attack. I believe time may be on our side.'
Corporal Cox came doubling. 'Kaffirs've bolted like rabbits, sir. Permission to follow 'em up?'
Hervey looked about the kraal. 'No, Corporal. Your zeal does you credit, but for once we must remain on our guard. I can't be certain that that's not what they want – having us come out into the open. By all means have a patrol look about – four men, not more, and no further than the maize.'
'Sir!' Cox doubled away to give the orders.
'He appears to be enjoying the work,' said Somervile, sounding faintly bemused.
'He's no doubt relishing his opportunity for command – and his survival,' replied Hervey drily. 'It's a powerful thing to discover you're on your feet at the end of your first fight. Don't you recall?' Somervile, happy to be admitted to his friend's pantheon of fellow warriors, nodded. 'I do.'
'Come, then: let us see what manner of men Mbopa sent against us. We may learn something.'
Ngwadi's warriors were already stripping their enemies and bearing away their own fallen. Hervey stepped from body to body, crouching here and there to turn over a bloody corpse. He would not use his boot, as others did, for he was not yet sure that these Zulu had no claim on being God's creatures. And besides, Ngwadi's men were their kin: they might treat their enemies as they willed, but they might take exception to an outsider's doing so.
'Older men than I have seen hitherto, I would say.'
'Distinctly so,' agreed Somervile, peering at the heap of questionable humanity with the eye of a student of natural science. 'And what thereby do you infer?'
Hervey was examining the feet of one of them. He rose and shook his head. 'Shaka sent every impi but Ngwadi's against the Pondos and Soshangane, did he not, leaving just the usual guards at the kraals? Mbopa has evidently called out the veterans. Tough old veterans, judging from their condition.'
'Many more men at his disposal than we supposed, therefore. And the would-be inkwebane that Shaka recalled from the north?'
'I fear we must proceed on the assumption that they answer now to Mbopa. Pampata says that Shaka wanted them formed into a new impi, "the Bees". Upwards of a thousand – green-horned, but chasing the bubble reputation.'
'We must trust to your dragoons' speedy recall.'
Hervey inclined his head, the sign that he was not convinced. 'We may have to quit this place. We have the advantage of horses, that is all. Much as I admire Ngwadi, we have no obligation to him. My prime duty is your safe return.'
Somervile looked at his pistols, as if asking himself what he did here, a diplomatist not a soldier. 'I hope it shall not come to that. My mission would be altogether unaccomplished.'
'You would of course live to accomplish it another day,' countered Hervey.
'But the day may not be given me. Recollect that I am recalled to London.'
'Carpe diem?' said Hervey, with more than a hint of scepticism. 'But what pain in the seizing?'
Somervile frowned. 'You disappoint me, Hervey. "Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero." Gather the day, Hervey, not seize it.'
Hervey sighed. 'Somervile, we stand here with loaded pistols, and bodies lying all about us, like . . . Medea, and you declaim the finer points of Horace! I must respectfully remind you that I have a duty to discharge, and I intend discharging it.'
Somervile looked chastened once more. 'I would not stand in the way of duty, Hervey.'
'Come, then; let us leave these fellows to the sexton's work. I confess I was always discomfited by the evidence of victory.'
His friend nodded, acquiescing (though not, to his mind, in any scheme of quitting this place), before bending down to pick up a spear. 'I am not disposed as a rule to trophies, but the iklwa is indeed a singular weapon. I believe there would be profit in contemplating it.'
Hervey had not quite thought of it thus, but he was not averse to adding another memento of his trade to those he had acquired over the years. Georgiana would be intrigued by it at least (even if Kezia might recoil . . .). He stooped to prise the iklwa from the hand of the warrior who had intended death to him not many minutes before. 'At stand-to this evening I will ride out to see who is gathered; and likewise at dawn tomorrow. If there is a swarm of "bees" then I fear I shall insist we fly before we are stung to death.' He flexed the spear in his hand, wondering indeed if ever he would be able to show it to anyone.
Later, with Corporal Cox, he rode out from the kraal on his reconnaissance. He knew the ground he had trodden with Pampata well enough – all folds and hollows – and he did not reckon it safe to go much beyond a mile or so in that direction, for there were hiding places enough for a whole impi, and the fleetest of horses would have been hard-pressed to outpace a determined envelopment. He saw no sign of Mbopa's men, however, even whence they had attacked, and whither they had retreated. Neither saw he any sign in the rest of their circumnavigation of the kraal, and at a radius of a mile and a half. The ground in all directions, he discovered, was as unfavourable to the defenders as might be. He wondered how Ngwadi could have chosen such a place, for he would surely have understood the importance of ground (Matiwane's warriors, as he recalled, could make themselves invisible in what looked like the flattest country). And he rode back with his spirits sagging, knowing the initiative lay firmly with Mbopa, or whoever was his field commander. They could expect attack from any direction or several, and he could ill afford skirmishers out to break up the assault.
He reported his disquiet to Somervile, who asked simply if he had reconnoitred their line of withdrawal in the event that an attack went hard with them. Hervey told him he had (there was a line of thorn bushes, part of the cattle drove, which would give them cover by day and direction at night), and would have a rifleman stand by with the horses at the 'sally port'. He then asked what Somervile had learned of Shaka's child from Pampata.
Somervile expressed himself disappointed in this. 'She says the boy's been taken to a place called Mpapala, Ngwadi's father's kraal, a day and a half's march from here.'
'Safe, at least.'
'Oh, indeed so. And I would not hasten thither, for I think it would not profit us greatly to find the boy if Ngwadi is then defeated.'
'I understand. If the troop were here I would suggest we convey her there with an escort, out of harm's way, but . . .' Hervey would not divide his force any more.
'Exactly so. There is no option but to wait on their return . . . Did she tell you that Ngwadi himself knows of the boy, or his identity?'
'She did. Ngwadi knows both, but no one but Pampata knows of his knowledge. Ngwadi knows because Nandi confided in him her delight at having a grandchild.'
>
'I begin greatly to admire Pampata, you know, Hervey. She displays an admirable constancy that is most touching.'
Hervey raised his eyebrows at the dryness of his friend's appraisal.
'Oh, indeed she does,' Somervile insisted, misreading the gesture. 'And I might add that I have pity for her in her condition of bereavement.'
Hervey's mouth fell open. 'Somervile, you astonish me. Did you ever suppose her grief to be the less for her being . . . an ingénue?'
Somervile looked at him, puzzled. 'Hervey, are you quite well? Your sojourn has not left your faculties impaired?'
Hervey knew his old friend to be capable of studied obtuseness, but on this occasion he had a very real fear that he was being entirely candid. 'Somervile, I may assure you, in the most certain of terms, that Pampata is as much a woman – more a woman, I might say – than many a one you would meet in London.'
Somervile studied the officer before him, the major of dragoons, lieutenant-colonel of mounted rifles, and thought to himself that this mission to Shaka, if no advantage of state proceeded from it, was worth it yet for the discovery of such sensibility – of such appreciation of humanity. He felt buoyed by it, indeed. He would prepare a paper on the Zulu; he would read it to the Royal Society at Somerset House. 'Capital, Hervey. Capital!'
All afternoon, men from the outlying kraals came into kwaWambaza. They carried with them spears and short shields, and bags of mealie cakes, the warrior's iron rations. Some appeared apprehensive, perhaps even resentful, for they had been stood down from military service for the season, and there was the late planting, which although a woman's work, required their supervision at least. The sight of white faces did nothing at first to allay that resentment, but Ngwadi greeted each of them with a fraternal warmth that soon converted them into willing warriors. And when the chief presented a man with his war shield, the property of the nation, Hervey observed how each appeared to take it as if it were some sacred trust.Whatever misgivings he and Somervile had on seeing the first of this reluctant mobilization, they were soon dispelled. Or rather, they were displaced by anxiety at the actual rate of mobilization: by nightfall, there were not yet two hundred warriors under arms.
Hervey spoke with Pampata before dark. She looked immeasurably better for her repose. Her eyes, which had been almost closed in the exhaustion of the last miles, were wide and clear once more, and the dust of the veld was gone, her skin shining instead with the scented palm oil with which Ngwadi's serving-girls had anointed her. Hervey sat himself easily by her side while she made a necklace to replace the one she had lost at the Thukela.
'Are you well, dadewethu?'
'I am well, mfowethu.' She said it sadly, however. 'There was much killing this morning.'
'There was,' replied Hervey, as sadly but with resolution, and knowing there would be more. 'When Captain Fairbrother returns with more men, you must go to Mpapala and seek out Shaka's heir,' he said, as if telling her the detail of some small thing.
Pampata continued working at her necklace, her eyes remaining on the beads. 'And shall you come with me, mfowethu?'
She said it as if his replying 'no' might be some disappointment – or even a sign of faithlessness – to her.
'I must remain by the side of Somervile. That is my duty.'
She continued her beadwork without reply.
'But I will come to Mpapala as soon as Somervile wills it – when Mbopa's men are . . . slain.'
'There will be nothing more for me once I reach Mpapala, but I would see you there, mfowethu, before you return to where the white man lives.'
Hervey touched her arm. 'You may depend upon it.'
XXIII
MUCH KILLING Next day, before first light
'Halt!'
The picket had come in at evening stand-to, slept a little, and an hour or so before first light, Corporal Cox and his three picked riflemen had slipped between the hurdle and the great thorn fence once more, out into darkness that had come with the setting of the moon.
'Who goes there?'
All four rifles were now at the aim, though there was nothing to be seen. Only the thud of hoofs gave them their direction.
'Captain Fairbrother and party,' came a voice from the bat blackness.
It could be no trick, but Corporal Cox stuck to the drill. There was always the chance that the Zulu might take advantage otherwise. 'Advance one and be recognized!'
The lead dragoon-scout dismounted and led his horse towards the unseen sentry. At five yards Cox could just make out his shape.
'Halt!'
'It's me: Pat McCarthy!'
'Come on, then, Pat,' replied Cox, keeping his voice low. 'How many of you?'
'The captain and nineteen more. No, twenty-one, counting the guides.'
'Call 'em in, then, Pat. I's'll count 'em.'
So began the lengthy procedure, while the other three riflemen kept the sharpest lookout – and cocked ears – for Zulu trying to follow them in.
Fairbrother, now come to the front of the column, was first into the kraal.
Hervey, standing with a torch by the thorn hurdle, could scarce believe it. 'My God, but you're a welcome sight, Fairbrother – or shall be when it's light!'
'Hervey? What . . .'
His astonishment was complete.
'Serjeant Donkers did not say I was here?'
'I haven't seen Donkers.'
'I sent him to Nonoti.'
'I came directly from Shaka's kraal. The herd boys told me Mbopa is making for here. A thousand warriors they said; but you know herd boys . . .'
Hervey didn't, but he knew Fairbrother. 'We can muster, perhaps, three hundred. But say: how in the name of heaven did you find this place?'
'One of the herd boys, Ngwadi's clan. Not much short of a hundred miles, by my reckoning, and no more sign of tiring than the horses. We hardly checked, so good a moon was it. We managed to get a line on here before it set, and then went by the stars.'
'Remarkable. I should have been prodigiously proud to manage it myself. You saw nothing untoward?'
'Empty country. Even the game have fled. That of course means nothing, for if the Zulu want to conceal themselves . . .'
'Well,' said Hervey, clasping his friend's arm, 'let us not be too ready to imagine the worst, even if we must prepare for it. Let us have you fed and watered, and then after stand-down, a little rest. I'll have early need of your scouting.'
'You shall first have to wake me!'
'Depend upon it! And . . .' his voice changed, 'what of the dragoons at Dukuza?'
'Buried. We saw to that. And French read a few words over them. More seemly, I thought, than my doing so.'
Hervey nodded, which by the light of the torch Fairbrother took to be approval (in truth it was more a gesture of resignation). He wished no man dead in another's place, but he was relieved that French had not been with the others at Dukuza: a last-minute change of duty – the haphazard fortune of war.
The dragoons, for all their relief at finding haven, tramped in wearily. Hervey hailed each of them, all but a couple by name. Corporal McCarthy was last man.
'Good morning, sor!'
Hervey's spirits lifted. The old hands might still call McCarthy (who had first been an infantryman) the footiest dragoon on a horse, but his cheeriness in all circumstances was worth three sabres. 'Corporal McCarthy, there is no serjeant here.Would you be so good as to take local rank?'
'Local rank? I will, sor. Easy come, easy go!'
Hervey smiled. McCarthy's rank had come and gone throughout his service. It was just a pity – if he could think of it as mildly as mere pity – that Collins was at Nonoti still, and Wainwright at Cape Town. With those two he would have been certain of having men about him who would instinctively make the right decision (and, as God knew it, they had precious few men here to risk making anything but the right one).
While the nigh-exhausted dragoons were doing what they could to revive themselves and their troopers, Hervey handed
his torch to one of Ngwadi's men, and slipped out of the kraal to accustom his eyes to the darkness once more. There was no real need of it: if there were Zulu out there, Corporal Cox's picket would detect them. But it helped him compose his mind to the trial ahead. And trial he knew there would be. The dragoons had seen nothing on their approach march, but as Fairbrother readily conceded, this might as easily mean the Zulu hid themselves. Yesterday, Mbopa's men had been here. Where were they now? They had had a sharp check, it was true – none, though, but that Mbopa could have expected with so small a number. Hervey was certain it had been a reconnaissance in force, to test the defences of the kraal, to make Ngwadi show his strength – or lack of it. He could only presume that reinforcements were indeed marching here at warrior-speed this very moment, as the herd boys said. And if they possessed the stamina of Fairbrother's guide, they might be here now.
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