Hervey 10 - Warrior

by Allan Mallinson

  'Leave to stand-down, sir?'

  He woke; he had not seen Brereton come to his side, with the captain of the Rifles. He cleared his throat, and made a show of putting his telescope under his arm. 'By all means. General parade at . . . ten.'

  It was a generous allowance for breakfast and mustering, but Hervey saw no reason to put on a display any earlier. In any case, they waited on Shaka's word for what would happen next.

  Somervile now appeared, looking discomposed. 'My servant did not wake me. Why did not the picket officer?'

  Hervey kept his smile to himself. 'My dear Somervile, there was no need of your presence. Your sleep is more valuable to us than your pistol.'

  'Yes, yes, that's all very well; but I am quite put out. You must not take these things upon yourself so.'

  Hervey frowned. 'If I am not to take the simplest of decisions, how do you expect me to take the important ones? I must, with the very greatest of respect, remind you that I command your escort.'

  Somervile looked at him with a combination of dismay and affront.

  But Hervey was adamant. 'It simply will not do if you insist on being the soldier. I cannot have the responsibility.'

  Somervile shook his head. 'I wished only to see the sun come up on the kraal. I had no intention of usurping your command.'

  'Then I will be sure to call you tomorrow.' Hervey knew he traded on their long years' acquaintance, but he was certain of his point: he could not discharge his duty if Somervile were given leave to range.

  Private Johnson came up, saluting both of them. 'Would tha like some more tea, sir?' He addressed his remarks to Hervey, who had enjoyed his first at stand-to. 'An' you an' all, Sir Somervile?'

  Whether Johnson's incorrect form was intended or not (he could be distinctly perverse in such things), neither Hervey nor his friend thought fit to remark on it. Hot tea was ever worth a breach of etiquette.

  A steaming brew of best Bengal filled their canteens.

  Hervey's brow furrowed as he drank, in no measure of distaste, rather of mystification.

  'Summat up wi'it, sir?'

  'Johnson, there's milk in this tea. Where did you get it?'

  'From one o' them 'erd boys, last night.'

  'Which herd boys?'

  'When you were in wi' t'king.'

  Hervey tried hard to keep his countenance, for the sake of regimental pride. He certainly had no desire to inhibit Johnson's legendary skills in 'progging'. The executions at the Fasimba kraal were so fresh in his mind, however, that he could not but shiver at the thought of how dearly they might be taking milk with their tea. It was one thing to drink sour curds in Shaka's kraal. 'He gave it to you?'

  'I gave 'im some beads for it.'

  Somervile could no longer forbear. 'Admirable diplomacy, Private Johnson. Admirable.'

  ' 'E said 'e'd bring some more this morning an' all, sir. That'll be 'im there now.' Johnson nodded to the crowd of women and children advancing on them gingerly.

  Hervey turned, with no little anxiety, to look for Brereton and Welsh. He saw Collins instead, and pointed to the visitors. 'Sar'nt- Major, pass the word to be civil to them, but to be on guard. Sharp on guard.'

  'Sir.'

  In an instant, Collins had his corporals relaying the orders.

  'I don't suppose they're any different from those who swarm round a camp of soldiers anywhere, but in the circumstances . . .'

  'I don't imagine they are,' agreed Somervile, 'save that they may tell us a great deal more about matters than would your average peasant.'

  He was soon proved right. With the babble of women and children was Pampata.

  They received her warmly, offering her a camp-chair, and tea, which she drank with surprised pleasure, before she in turn presented them with a gourd full of honey. Somervile had no difficulty making himself understood, or understanding, albeit the conversation was of a straightforward kind. Hervey grasped the essentials well enough. And Pampata appeared perfectly at ease and in no measure fearful. But yet to him she was . . . preoccupied.

  At length she revealed her purpose. 'The king has sent for reports from the armies in Pondoland and in the north, against Soshangane. He is displeased with the impi in the north, for they have not pressed our enemies with determination. But I know there are some in the army who fear Shaka's wrath, and are therefore intriguing with Dingane and Mhlangana. Those two will come again to see Shaka this evening, to hear the despatches from the armies. I believe they will do him harm.'

  Somervile asked Hervey if he had understood.

  Hervey thought he had. 'Is it not but a reprise of her previous fears?'

  'It is, but with more reason. You heard her say there were malcontents in the army?'

  Hervey frowned. 'There are always malcontents in an army.'

  Somervile waved a hand. 'Yes, yes, but we are not speaking of the odd case of insubordination.'

  'I suppose not.'

  He turned back to Pampata. 'Why, madam, does Shaka not take the necessary precautions himself ? He has the means to do so, does he not?'

  Pampata had been expecting just such a riposte. 'He will not believe they would do him harm. He says that just as he could not raise a hand against one of his father's sons, they could not also.'

  Somervile made sympathetic noises.

  Hervey looked at him for enlightenment.

  His old friend repeated what she had said, adding, 'There is either a nobility among the Zulu people which surpasses all others – or Shaka is as deluded as Hamlet's father.'

  Fairbrother had now joined them, fresh from the folds and hollows; enlivened, indeed. Johnson placed a canteen of tea in his hands as he took the remaining chair.

  'Shakespeare, again, Sir Eyre? I believe he might have written a good play here.'

  Somervile nodded. 'You come most carefully upon your hour.'

  'But not to see a ghost, I hope.'

  Somervile explained what Pampata had told them.

  'And what did you say by reply? I believe I heard you tell her we were the king's good friends.' (He was careful not to use 'Shaka'.)

  'Exactly so.'

  Hervey leaned forward, lending emphasis to a look of some concern. 'But surely you are not contemplating intervention on our part without the king's express will? I must say that I consider her fears' (he was equally careful not to use 'Pampata') 'tend to . . . frankly, an hysteric passion. I cannot imagine that one such as this king, who has raised his nation by the most barbarous of acts, is about to hazard all by refusing to take the most elementary precautions!'

  Somervile did not at first answer, appearing to weigh his words.

  'What say you, Fairbrother?'

  For a few moments, Fairbrother merely continued to sip his tea. 'Sir Eyre, in the febrile condition of this wretched country I would hazard no guess at what might happen. I attempted to read the face of yon Othello, and saw nothing but the tyrant's hubris.'

  Somervile raised his eyebrows. 'Upon my word, we seem embarked on some tragedy!' He looked again at Hervey.

  Hervey was reluctant to doubt his friend's instincts (they had served him well of late), but also his own. 'I confess I find her convincing in her sincerity, but without cause other than her evident charms. She might equally be a spy. There is precedent.'

  Somervile nodded once more. 'We must treat her with the very greatest courtesy, nonetheless. She is the king's favourite, and evidently holds sway – as the deference of that wily chamberlain of his demonstrated.'

  And so they treated her attentively, and gave her little presents – horsehair, tunic buttons, a looking-glass and a silver whistle. She stayed with them for an hour and more, until the others she had come with were ready to return, and she took her leave with them, as if she shared their simple curiosity in a camp of soldiers, and no more.

  The routine of the morning passed unobserved except by the odd herd boy. The general parade drew no admirers, neither did the midday bring out those with things to trade, so that Somervile began
to wonder if he should not make his approaches once again. Heavy clouds had begun rolling in from the east, however, and so instead they occupied themselves in making shelter (amid a good deal of grumbling in the ranks that with many an empty hut inside the kraal, it was needless to take a drenching).

  Late in the afternoon, bearers arrived at the kraal with heavy portage.

  Fairbrother, who had been talking with some of the youthful drovers by the watering place beyond the collecting byre, came back into the camp soon after.

  'Izi-Yendane – Natal men,' he said. 'Skins and feathers, from the Pondo.'

  'More booty?' Hervey was still observing their progress with his telescope.

  'They won't have hunted, themselves. The Zulu say they're fit for nothing but fetching and carrying.'

  Somervile joined them. 'Quite a procession, I see. Are they auguries?'

  'I can't say, Sir Eyre. But I've just been speaking to some of the herd boys, and uncommonly free with their opinion were they. The impi gone north against Soshangane are deeply troubled. They're tired from the fighting in Pondoland, and Shaka sent them north without so much as a night in their own kraals. And he's now recalled the u-dibi, the bearers, to form into a new regiment, and told the rest – the officers as well – they must carry their own baggage.'

  Somervile pondered the intelligence. 'Shaka makes malcontents of the warriors, but the u-dibi happy. And they are youths, are they not?' He smiled. 'The eternal contest of young and old buck!'

  Hervey took a less sanguine view. 'I for one would be reluctant to alter the terms of service in the middle of a campaign! Most perilous, I should say.'

  'Mm.' Somervile turned and took up his telescope again. 'Do you suppose Shaka intends feeding us, as he promised, or does he make a show of his power by this delay?'

  'Both, I'm sure,' said Hervey.

  'Mm. Fairbrother, do you think you might discover when these brothers will arrive? That way we shall at least know not to dress too early.'

  Hervey hid his smile.

  'I'll go back, of course, Sir Eyre,' said Fairbrother. 'A few buttons and those boys will be as good as on the strength.'

  'I am excessively grateful. And now I think I will take a little exercise. Shall you accompany me, Colonel Hervey? We might ride to the north a little way and see how the ocean looks. Yon clouds are heavy, but there's no sign of their decanting onto us.'

  Sometimes there was nothing for Hervey to do but be diverted by his old friend's archness. 'Delighted, Sir Eyre.'

  And as Fairbrother went to find beads and trinkets for the herd boys, Somervile confided that he was pleased beyond all expectations that Hervey's friend was of such good service, for although his own facility with the language was better than he had dared suppose, once the true business of 'diplomacy' began he would need more than a merely serviceable knowledge of Xhosa. 'But beyond that, his ease with the country is a pearl of special worth. If anything should happen to prevent my doing so myself, I trust that you will ensure so singular a fellow has due recognition and reward.'

  *

  Fairbrother left them as they were getting into the saddle.With perhaps a couple of hours' full daylight left (some of which the blackening clouds might claim), he made his way on foot to the collecting byre. The herd boys were once again pleased to talk to him. Shaka's brothers Dingane and Mhlangana had come into the kraal by one of the entrances on the far side reserved for the king and his officials, they said. Mbopa had met them, and taken them to his hut, while Shaka received the Izi-Yendane, the 'mop heads' from Natal, and examined the skins and feathers they had brought from Pondoland.

  Fairbrother gave them the beads and other little charms. He felt almost as if he bargained too easily: herd boys, thought nothing of by the men of the kraal, would always learn more than they ought; and, being boys, they would always be keen to prove they knew more than was supposed. He drank fermented milk with them, and listened as they spoke keenly of becoming u-dibi, and in due course inkwebane, and one day warriors, and how they would go then to where the sun goes, and make all before them submit to Shaka.

  And what of their friends, who had been sent to the Fasimba, he asked them.

  The herd boys shrugged. Shaka had said they were not to drink milk, and they had defied him. If they had been dutiful they would have been drinking it today, as much as they pleased, for Shaka had now declared the mourning to be over.

  And then one of them sprang to his feet and pointed excitedly. 'Look! It is Shaka!'

  They got up from their haunches to see better where he pointed.

  Fairbrother saw. 'Where does he go? And by himself.'

  'To Kwa-Nyakamubi,' they all said.

  'Kwa-Nyakamubi?'

  'The other side of the hill. Shaka goes each evening to watch his special cattle being driven in for the night. Soon, we shall be herders of Kwa-Nyakamubi!'

  'And he always goes alone?'

  'Si-gi-di, He who is equal to a thousand warriors, has no need of others!'

  'I will go and watch the cattle being driven in too,' said Fairbrother, making to leave them. 'Do you think Si-gi-di will permit that?'

  The herd boys could barely comprehend the notion that anyone might do such a thing without Shaka's express authority. But what did they know, who were not yet even u-dibi – and he, Fairbrother, a great warrior?

  He left them and made his way (unobserved, he trusted) by every shallow fold of the veld. Even taking such precautions, in but a quarter of an hour he had reached Kwa-Nyakamubi, which was little more than a thorn-fenced enclosure, a hundred yards across, with a few huts for the chosen herd boys.

  Shaka was sitting quite alone, except for two ancient attendants nearby, on a clay mound near the entrance to the byre, his red cloak wrapped about him, watching as the best of his cattle were driven in from the grazing ground beyond the little stream of Nyakamubi.

  Fairbrother marvelled at Shaka's defencelessness. But who would dare try to discover if the praise-name Si-gi-di were without foundation? Did not the absence of guards tell all who might ponder on it that Shaka himself believed? And who, indeed, would challenge such a form as this? Even seated, Shaka was a colossus. In the ndlunkulu he had towered over them, long-shanked; but now Fairbrother saw that the stature came as much from the length of his back, ramrod straight, his shoulders square and broad.

  He watched from the cover of an impala lily, not so much hiding as not revealing himself, while the cattle, lowing peaceably, tramped by, the herd boys dancing about them, conscious of Shaka's keen eyes on their endeavours, death the penalty if he found fault.

  He heard voices behind him and to his right, a sort of marchsinging, more praise-names for Shaka. He turned and saw five warriors of the Izi-Kwembu, one of the regiments from the north, the head-dress distinctive: the tail-feathers of the blue crane. But in the head-dress too was the red-lory feather, otherwise the preserve of the Fasimba. These were, indeed, warriors of especial bravery, the bringers of news from the campaign against Soshangane.

  As custom prescribed, the warriors halted at six spears' length from their king, raised their iklwa and in unison gave the royal salute: 'Ba-ye-te! Nkosi! . . . Hail, O Chief!'

  Shaka remained seated, but raised both hands and motioned them to be at ease.

  As one, they squatted, waiting to learn their king's pleasure. They might wear the red-lory feather, but the campaign was going ill; they did not expect that Shaka would heap praises on them.

  Fairbrother strained to hear his reply. But Shaka spoke softly, seeming strangely unmoved. They appeared to be speaking with one another as equals, Shaka listening carefully, and respectfully, to their reports.

  Not many yards beyond the mound on which they sat was a hedge, free-standing, unconnected with the byre, but plainly serving some purpose, for it was too straight to be made by Nature. Suddenly from behind it leapt Mbopa, angry, shouting. And Fairbrother supposed it was indeed its purpose – to conceal the royal guards, so that Shaka was not as defenceless as su
pposed.

  Shaka turned, more curious than startled. Mbopa rushed at the warriors, waving his spear and cudgel. 'Cowards! Traitors! How dare you disturb Si-gi-di with your lying tales! Be off! Go to the guards and have them put you to death in the manner of felons!'

  The Izi-Kwembu sprang to their feet.

  Shaka seemed transfixed.

  The warriors bolted.

  But they bolted not towards the kraal, to death at the hands of the Fasimba; instead they ran north, an act of disobedience that only seemed to prove Mbopa's claim. He railed in front of his king, as if at the Izi-Kwembu still; as if . . . intoxicated. 'See, Nkosi! See how the cowards first lie to you and then defy you!'