Echoes from the Past (The Brigandshaw Chronicles Book 1)

by Peter Rimmer

  The sun when it came at the end of March steamed the wetland and many birds that Seb had never heard sang with joy. They waited another three days for the river to fall and made a crossing where rocks had tumbled against broken trees trapped in the land. For a further day, they climbed up through the Mopani Forest until the passage was blocked by a great dyke, a giant eruption a million years before that had rumbled up the molten bowels of the earth.

  "We spent two months here, my first trip looking for a way through those mountains," said Tinus. "We rode the horses a hundred miles in both directions, but found nothing to pass an ox wagon. You see over here, young Seb, where that clump of trees is different from here, shorter with a spreading canopy. Right there in front of us is the only way for the oxen to reach the ancient Kingdom of Monomotapa, a civilisation now extinct. There only the pickings of legend among the scattered blacks, the stories passed from father to son of a kingdom that traded ivory and gold with the Portuguese traders on the East Coast, that smelted iron and copper, built great fortifications and developed agriculture. There are still traces of the fortifications, still traces of the mines, but very few traces of the people who once ruled the high plateau that stretches for hundreds of miles to a great river. The climate is cool, the land well watered. Tomorrow we will start our climb through the mountain and I will show you the most beautiful country on this earth."

  At the top of the great dyke, before they descended the gentle slope to the plateau, Seb looked out over the forest of trees, three times the height of a man that spread a canopy of green to the far horizon. Swathed into the trees were vast areas of open savannah, with tall, brown grass the height of a horse's withers and over all the open ground were herds of game, thousands upon thousands of animals dispersed by the rain, now able to feed far from the rivers: elephants standing high out of the grass next to the herds of impala, giraffe feeding from the tops of trees, buffalo so many he was unable to count.

  "A perfect harmony," said Seb, roving his eyes over the great panorama.

  "On the surface, young Seb. You can't see the lion from here. They rest up under the trees in the day, hidden by the elephant grass. You ever see anything more beautiful?"

  The puffed white clouds rested above the landscape cupped by a clear blue sky, the air clear, washed by the recent rain. There was no wind.

  "We camp here for a day to rest the oxen," said Tinus.

  "Where are the people?" asked Seb. "There are no villages. Nothing but grass, trees and the thousands upon thousands of animals."

  "They killed each other."

  "What you mean?"

  "Rape and pillage are more common in these parts. Africa can be cruel."

  They stood together looking at the scenery for some time before Seb broke the silence of respect.

  "No," he said. "I never saw anything more beautiful. How long are we staying?"

  "We want to be back over the dyke before next year's rains. It won't rain now for eight or nine months. By then you'll be able to go home."

  "You think I will want to go home."

  "Your Emily will take you home."

  "Poor Emily. She will wonder where I am."

  With new grass pushing through the old, green emerging from last year's fallen brown, the legacy of the soaking rains, they outspanned the oxen and untethered their horses from the rear of the wagon. The animals moved slowly away grazing the new grass, trailing their long leads.

  Seb thought the flat area around the camp to be five or six acres with a drop in front of five hundred feet to the plain below. Craggy outcrops of rock pushed out of the grass and some of the trees were growing out of cracks in the rocks. Tinus had gone off with two guns as a red ball of sun began to slide down below the far horizon to Seb's right showering the clouds orange and gold with great stabs of fire. The broken wood he had collected from beneath the trees was piled high. The shotgun fired twice behind him and all sound was extinguished at the moment the rim of sun slid from sight. The birds and insects, the frogs and animals waited for a moment and began the noise again. Down in the plain a lion roared. Using one precious match, Seb lit the dry twigs he had gathered beneath a rock overhang and the fire took hold that would burn all night. The animals had been tethered to stop them straying over the escarpment in the night and to be close to the protection of the firelight, the loss of horse and oxen the greatest fear of the distant hunter. The night came swiftly as Seb hung a pot over one side of the fire filled with water from the stream that broke out of an outcrop of rocks to cascade over the escarpment, turning to rain long before the water brushed the lush canopy of trees far below. Tinus came out of the trees into the new firelight carrying two birds Seb judged to be the size of partridge. Tinus called them Cape Franklin but explained the colouring was different. The guns were strapped on his back and the belt of cartridges hung over his chest. In his right hand the leather hat that never left his head during the day was filled with a strange, orange fruit a little larger than a gooseberry. The big man put the birds and hat next to Seb before unloading the guns against the rear of the wagon. A second and third lion roared from the darkened plain below as the last light of day faded into darkness, the firelight reaching further and further into the new dark, sparks flying high into the night. Without being asked, Seb began to pluck the warm birds, letting the downy chest feathers be drawn to the flames. The smell was pungent. Tinus had lit his first cheroot and came to stand by the fire. Neither spoke, both listening to the sounds of the African night.

  When the birds were plucked and gutted, Seb went to the wagon and ground a handful of coffee beans. Back at the fire, he dropped the ground coffee into the pot of boiling water and the smell of coffee mingled with the cheroot and the smell of burning feathers. A hyena laughed hysterically from behind them and one of the horses whickered.

  "Smelt your feathers," said Tinus comfortably watching the firelight dance among the under bows of the trees.

  "What's in the hat?" asked Seb as he pushed the green stick through the body of the second bird and popped it over embers he had drawn away from the fire. The one forked stick that made up half of the crude spit was shorter than the other but it didn't matter. The headless bird would roast looking halfway up to heaven.

  "Fruit," answered Tinus.

  "Have you eaten them before?"

  "Never seen them before."

  "They could be poisonous."

  "There were two monkeys that fell backwards out of the tree when I fired the gun. Frightened the shit out of them. Under the tree was a mess of half-eaten fruit. We can eat anything a monkey eats."

  "How come you’ve never seen one before?"

  "Never frightened a monkey out of the tree before. Try one."

  "You try one first."

  Replete with bird and wild fruit they watched the flames of fire. The oxen had got down on the ground to chew the cud and both of the horses were fast asleep standing up. The empty mug of coffee stood on the earth next to Seb's right foot as he stared into the constantly changing flames. To get a better view of the fire, he lay on his side and shortly he was sound asleep. Tinus got up and loaded the fire and sat back on the ground with his back to a fallen tree. The hyena a few feet closer to the fire and Tinus waited, the shotgun across his knees. An hour past, before the animal's courage drew it close enough for Tinus to see the fire reflected in the yellow eyes. Both barrels were loaded with birdshot and the hyena, whose jaws could break a man's leg in half with one bite was forty yards from the campfire. Gently, Tinus pulled back the right hammer, and in one movement took the gun to his shoulder and fired.

  "What the hell," shouted Seb scrambling to his feet.

  "Now we can both go to sleep."

  They could hear the hyena yelping further and further into the trees.

  "Bird shot. More fright than pain. Won't come back tonight and the others will sense his fear. Always works. Now go back to sleep young Seb. Tomorrow is the first day in the territory where we will hunt.”

 
By the time the sun was burning overhead, the wagon was making a trail through the grassland. The path they had taken down was a gentle slope compared to the precipice from their camp. Seb looked back and not a trace of smoke rose from the dampened fire that he had covered over with dry grass. They both rode on horseback on either side of the wagon with Tinus coaxing the lead ox to plod on deeper into Africa. Since they had crossed the swollen river, they had seen no sign of man. Just game in quantities Seb had never imagined.

  For seven days they travelled deep into the virgin land where the trees had never been cut and ploughs had never turned the earth. Not once had they seen the sign of living man, only the remnants of rongwas, stone fortifications that Tinus had heard were once part of the Kingdom of Monomotapa. Each night, away from the fires, Tinus checked their direction by reading the stars, checking the exact position of south from the Southern Cross.

  At the end of March, they reached a small river where the signs of man were seen in an old fire site with logs drawn on either side to make a seat. A little way from the remnants of old charcoal a hut had stood, the building burnt to the ground. A long piece of rope hung from a fever tree, the thorns on the tree longer than Seb's index finger. The area was well shaded and high on the banks of the river.

  "This is where we camp in the dry season," said Tinus.

  "Someone's been here before."

  "Me. There are few tribesmen in the mountains. None on the plains. The Matabele cleared them out years ago. That’s why we needed Lobengula's permission to hunt. In the trees is a kraal I made of thorn bush for the oxen. That river is full of bream. Near the river we sleep under nets against the mosquitoes. Tomorrow we plant the vegetable seeds and water them from the river. I'll show you my old vegetable garden with its fence to keep out the buck and pigs. The soil in the vlei is black and rich. By the time we break camp there will be enough maize to reap for our journey. Welcome to my home, young Seb, such as it is. Now if you'll excuse me, I wish to thank God for my safe return."

  Quietly and without fuss, the big man sank to his knees and began to pray in the Taal. Seb watched him for a moment before dropping to his knees and joining the prayer. Behind them the oxen and horses watched with quiet regard. Over from the opposite side of the river a fish eagle called, the triple call achingly lonely.

  It felt to Seb they were the only people left in the world and when the seeds broke from the black earth he felt a primal excitement. The old hut had been burnt to the ground by Tinus to prevent black ants and scorpions, geckos and snakes infesting the rough bush thatch. The new rondavels had taken them a week to build, enough protection at night to give them the feeling of safety. An old anthill made the oven and a pulley system drew buckets of water up from the river.

  The day Emily gave birth to his son, Seb set out to hunt the elephant, nine months after he had been bundled on board the Indian Queen by his brother.

  "You all right?" asked Tinus.

  "I have a terrible pain in my stomach but I think it's going."

  "Wind. Probably wind. You all right to get on your horse?"

  "I'll be fine. You sure the oxen won't break out of the kraal?"

  "Never have before."

  Both men carried heavy calibre mausers strapped to their backs. The leather ammunition belts moved on their chests with the rhythm of the horses. By the time they sighted the herd of elephant, Seb had forgotten the pain in his stomach, overwhelmed by the excitement of the hunt. The long grass brushed his knees as they brought the horses to walk. A herd of impala broke and ran away from them and in the distance upwards of fifty vultures were circling a kill, waiting their turn. The white fluffy clouds had been sucked dry of water and the sun was blazing hot.

  Tinus gauged the elephant and signalled Seb to move around the herd. A herd of buffalo watched them aggressively from a leafless thorn thicket, as they rode off towards the vultures.

  "I killed the old bull in that herd on my last hunt," said Tinus. "We are going to ride up into the foothills of those mountains and camp for the night. I only kill old elephant with the biggest tusks, the bulls pushed out of the herd, poor old bastards. Nature has no sympathy for the weak or useless. Survival, that's all it thinks about. They usually die of starvation, the old bulls, or loneliness. Better they find Martinus Jacobus McDonald Oosthuizen than die of thirst too weak to reach the waterhole or too weak to climb out of the mud. We are looking for the spoor of the lone elephant, young Seb. How's your stomach?"

  "It's fine now."

  "Like the animals, you get sick out here you die."

  They passed the vultures an hour before sunset, the birds so graceful in the air now ugly on the ground. The lions had left the kill and gone off to sleep under a tree. Hyena and black-backed jackal snarled at each other over the remains of a wildebeest, the ungainly vultures watching impatiently from the ground and surrounding trees. Seb could hear the flies in the dead animal's gutted stomach and the smell of putrefying flesh was strong. Seb judged the kill was three, possibly four days old.

  The light of the sun was turning from white to yellow and throwing long tree shadows over the elephant grass as they took a path up into the hills. As the sun was setting, they found a stream and let the horses loose to graze and drink. Together they gathered the firewood before the light had gone; their vast world had shrunk to the surrounding trees picked out by the firelight.

  They drank coffee sitting round the fire with their backs to a tree trunk they had hauled into position, Seb encouraging Tinus to tell him the stories of Africa. The once frightening sounds around them were now familiar. Sebastian Brigandshaw had become one with the bush.

  They woke to the sound of gunfire and for a moment Seb thought Tinus had gone off on his own. The night was paling behind their range of mountains from where the sun was rising. Their own camp was in darkness, the fire still burning.

  "Hunters," said Seb.

  "Lobengula," said Tinus. "Those are muzzle loaders. Probably mine. This is Lobengula's hunting ground. We hunt game. The Matabele hunt people, the Shona in particular. What's left of the original tribe live in the mountains, hiding from the king’s regiments."

  "Can't we help?"

  "You had better see this so you understand Africa better. Saddle up, young Seb."

  The mountain range was covered in trees, the slopes, gentle and easy to climb with streams running down to the plain. While waiting for the light to come over the hill they had drunk the first coffee and eaten cold venison. The gunfire behind them had stopped.

  "There's a small valley in the hills," said Tinus. "I found it many years ago."

  "Won't the Matabele attack us?"

  "Only if we sided with the Shona."

  As the sun came up into the valley, the two horsemen reached the rim of the escarpment. Down in the valley the Matabele impi were loading grain onto a wagon directed by an induna, the man's headgear different to the soldiers. Most of the soldiers were carrying assegais. A small group of young women and children were huddled together under guard. The bodies of dead men and old women were strewn over the ground between the huts. Away from the huts broken stems of maize spread in the open spaces between the trees, reaching far into the valley. It was the recently harvested cobs that were now being loaded onto the wagons. Soldiers were going among the dead, cutting open the stomachs to let out the spirits. There was no animosity in their actions. Behind the loading wagons, the cattle were being brought together. With military efficiency the soldiers fired the huts, the empty grain silos and left with the valuables; the grain, cattle, young women and children. Even as Seb and Tinus watched, the valley began to empty of living people. Soon all that was left of the Shona village was the dead bodies and the burning huts. Then the morning doves began to call again.

  "Mzilikazi, Lobengula's father ran away from Shaka with his regiment," explained Tinus. "Fifty-six years ago. Shaka was going to kill Mzilikazi. The man cut a swathe through the Transvaal until Hendrik Potgieter chased him over the Limpopo. By then t
he original Zulus were outnumbered by the remnants of the slaughtered tribes. What you just saw down there. Young women who will do what they are told and young children who will grow up speaking Zulu, the future wives, the future soldiers of the impis. The short stabbing spear of the Zulu is Africa's equivalent of gunpowder. That and Shaka's training made them invincible. It is easier to rape and pillage than work the land. Every year Lobengula throws the spear in a different direction where the industrious Shona will have grown the crops and fattened the cattle. A whole year's work is stolen in a morning. Someday the Matabele, the Zulu, will grow fat and complacent. Then they will be raped and pillaged. Military power determines wealth, not hard work. Maybe all through history until one great power maintains law and order like the Romans. The beaten tribes of Africa have looked to the Boers for protection and now they are looking to the British. Rhodes has a charter from your Queen Victoria to protect these people and bring them the word of God. He wants to subdue Lobengula by buying from him the concessions to look for gold. Lobengula fears the white man. Why he gave his permission to hunt. Every dog has his day and the days of Lobengula are short. The British use massacres like that to further their own conquest; the righteous rush to do good. The power of the stabbing spear will give way to the power of the gathering machine gun. Maybe there will be peace for a while. But peace like wealth never seem to last. Someone is always stealing it."