by John Wilcox
The king was surrounded by inDunas similarly painted for war. As she neared the great tree, Alice thought she glimpsed a face she knew among the rank and file of the natives watching her. But she could not bring his relevance to mind. Not so with the yellow-uniformed and red-braided man who squatted at the right hand of the king. Gouela was in town, and he was clearly in favour.
Lobengula’s jaw dropped when he saw the two approaching, then he scowled and, as they drew near, indicated sharply that they should sit. They squatted on the floor of beaten goat dung.
‘Why you come?’ asked the king, through Mzingeli. ‘You not welcome here.’
‘I come from the White Man’s Mountain,’ said Alice. It was the term the Matabele employed when speaking of Mount Hampden, now Fort Salisbury. ‘I come for two reasons. Firstly, I wish to speak to your majesty about this war, and secondly, I hope that perhaps I can be of help to you, briefly, in treating your bad foot.’
Before the king could reply, de Sousa spoke to him quickly in Matabele. The king grunted and turned back to Alice. ‘He say you work witchcraft with your box. That why pain returns when you go. And what can you say about war when British soldiers kill my warriors?’
‘I do not indulge in magic and I have always told you that my injections’ - Mzingeli paused at the difficulty of translating the word - ‘would only give you temporary relief. If you want to get rid of gout for good, you must stop drinking the white man’s brandy and champagne and eat less meat. Your majesty,’ Alice leaned forward to emphasise the force of her words, ‘you must not listen to that man. He is evil. He makes slaves of black people and he is a rapist.’
‘Humph. I have slaves. My inDunas have slaves. Some people not good for anything else. And women like to lie under men. Eh?’ He turned to the women among the crowd surrounding him and they all giggled. Some nodded and others, more forward, shouted in acclamation. The king grinned at Alice. ‘See?’
Alice realised that the debate was going against her. She swallowed and tried again. ‘Your majesty, I have always argued with others - including my husband - that it was not right for the white man’s column to invade your country. But you allowed it to do so. The white men are now well established in Mashonaland and I am afraid that you will never get rid of them. All over the world, my people have populated countries like yours and have stayed there—’
The king interrupted. ‘Why they want these lands? Why they don’t stay in their own country? Why they want my country as well?’
Alice thought quickly. Why indeed? She was uncomfortable in this role of devil’s advocate. Better to be honest. ‘I do not know the answer to that question. Perhaps it is because we are great traders and roam the world to find new goods, or because we are great farmers who like to bring our modern ways of agriculture to make better use of land everywhere. But that is not the point.’
‘What is point, then?’ The king’s posture had softened somewhat, and when, several times, de Sousa had tried to interrupt, he had gestured to him to be quiet. Lobengula was obviously beginning to enjoy the debate.
‘The point is that, in addition to being great traders and farmers, the British are great warriors. Your majesty, I am the daughter of a general, as you know, and I have seen fighting in many parts of the world. Always the British have won.’ She began counting on her fingers. ‘In Zululand, India, New Zealand, Egypt, Canada . . .’
‘I do not know these places.’
‘You know Zululand. You know that the Zulus won a victory at Isandlwana, but that the cost of that victory was so great that King Cetswayo said an assegai had been plunged into the bowels of his people. Then the British came again and the Zulus were scattered at Ulundi and the king was forced to flee. The Zulus are fine warriors but they were beaten. I was there. I saw it all. The British now rule Zululand.’
For the first time there was a pause in the confrontation and the onlookers, who had shouted in support of each of the king’s responses, fell silent. A look of sadness came into Lobengula’s eyes.
‘Yes, I know that place,’ he said. ‘Zulus my ancestors.’ He paused again, then leaned forward, and his voice was lower this time, as though begging Alice to understand. ‘I try everything with white man. I give English everything they ask for. I let them come into my country to dig holes for their gold and they come and spread everywhere and make homes, not dig. I punish Mashona people because they do not pay tribute, as is custom, so English kill my warriors. I agree one last time to talk peace and send inDunas to Cape country. They kill them at Tuli.’ He stood and his voice rose. ‘The chameleon has struck. It is too late to talk more. No time for talking now. I call in my impis. It is time for war.’
A great roar rose from the crowd as the king finished his peroration by raising his assegai high above his head.
Mzingeli spoke softly to Alice. ‘We go now, while we can. Eh?’
But Alice shook her head and looked up at Lobengula in supplication. ‘Your majesty, I beg you not to fight the British. I know your warriors are brave and strong, but the British have mighty weapons of war - the new machine guns, cannon and many rifles—’
‘Ah.’ The king interrupted her again. ‘Not like Zulus this time. This time I have rifles and many, many more men than British. This time we throw British out of my country.’
Another roar went up and the people began to ululate, swaying their hips and slowly jogging from one foot to the other. De Sousa had stood, too, and was clapping his hands in time to the rhythm. Then he smiled, turned and said something into Lobengula’s ear.
The king relayed it to Alice. ‘My friend here offers to take you back to the mountain. Keep you safe on journey. Country not safe for white woman to cross it alone.’
Alice shook her head. ‘No. Twice before he has tried to kill me and my husband. He is a murderer and would butcher me and my servant as soon as we were on the veldt.’ She thought quickly. How to buy time? ‘Your majesty, allow me to treat your foot once more.’
The frown reappeared on Lobengula’s features. His uncertainty was obvious. The choice lay between showing his rejection of the white witch and of her people’s ways by openly dismissing her, or submitting and gaining some respite, at least, from the pain that nagged at his foot. Eventually he mumbled something very quietly to Mzingeli.
‘He say come back when sun is at highest,’ translated the tracker.
Alice rose and bowed her head, and she and Mzingeli walked away, to the derision of the crowd. As they made their way back up the hill, she heard Lobengula shout a command.
‘He tell his people not to harm us,’ said the tracker.
Alice hardly heard, for her head was spinning. She had travelled two hundred miles all for nothing. Her mission had been a complete failure. It had been a gamble, of course, but she had hoped that the strange half-friendship that had been forged as a result of her ministrations to the royal foot might have gained her a longer hearing. The killing of the inDunas at Tuli, of course, had sealed the matter. Now she had put her life and Mzingeli’s at risk once again. How to avoid de Sousa on the long ride back to Fort Salisbury?
She put the question to the tracker.
Mzingeli was silent for an unusually long time while he pondered the problem. Eventually he said, ‘Don’t know, Nkosana. Could go long way back, to Tuli, and ask for help from soldiers there. But Gouela will have trackers with him. They will pick up trail and follow. Kill us before we reach Tuli. Perhaps king will give us men to protect us on way.’
‘I doubt it. But I will ask him.’
On her return at noon, the atmosphere inside the king’s house was cold, despite the fire that he habitually kept burning. Lobengula hardly spoke, and the pile of empty champagne and brandy bottles seemed to mock Alice as she once again injected him. As she packed her bag, she raised the subject of de Sousa’s threat.
‘He don’t hurt you. I tell him. Now you go. King is grateful for you taking pain from foot. But go back to your own people and tell them that my impis comi
ng to eat them up. Go now.’
Alice bowed, and with Mzingeli made her way back towards Fairbairn’s store. The pair were just outside the inner zariba when a native appeared from one of the huts and gestured to them.
‘What does he want?’ asked Alice.
‘He say one of inDunas has news about your husband.’
Alice paused, a frown on her face. ‘What? Simon - oh goodness. He has followed us and been captured. Oh no! Come on, Mzingeli.’
‘No, Nkosana. No.’ But Alice was already running towards the man and following him down a steep incline into a little copse of trees. The tracker ran after her, and burst into the shade of the thicket to find two assegais at his throat. Alice was struggling in the grasp of a large black warrior of indistinct origin - not a Matabele - while de Sousa, resplendent in gold uniform, nodded in delight at both of them.
‘Welcome, Mrs Fonthill,’ he said. ‘I am sorry you refused my offer of protection because,’ he gestured with a cheroot, ‘this place can be dangerous, as you see.’
Alice’s mouth had suddenly become dry, and it seemed as though her tongue had swollen and made it difficult to speak. ‘You will not harm either of us,’ she gasped. ‘The king has promised us his protection.’
‘Ah, but you have said goodbye to the king, and he has other, more pressing matters on his mind than to worry about a silly Englishwoman who has set off across the very dangerous veldt.’ He nodded to where a thin, elderly native held a sack well away from his body. It was tied at the neck but something was wriggling inside it.
‘This is not exactly puff adder territory, but some of them do get this far north, and this one certainly has, as you can see.’ He allowed a thin spiral of smoke to climb into the air.
The realisation of what de Sousa intended made Alice tremble with a mixture of fright and disgust. She struggled, but the man who held her strengthened his grip. ‘Mzingeli . . .’ she began. The tracker’s eyes were wide and glowing yellow, but with two spearheads at his throat, he could not move.
‘Mrs Fonthill!’ James Fairbairn’s voice rang out clearly from the track above. ‘I saw you go down there. The king wants you urgently, I fear. Can you come right away, please? Are you all right?’
Before a hand could be clapped to her mouth, Alice shouted, her voice cracking with relief, ‘Yes, Mr Fairbairn. Please hold on to help me up the hill, if you would be so kind. I am coming now.’ Then, equally loudly, ‘Come, Mzingeli.’
The man holding her looked quizzically at de Sousa, who snarled and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Alice, her eyes on the sack, grabbed Mzingeli’s hand and they both ran out of the thicket to meet the most welcome sight in the world: Fairbairn, pipe clenched in his mouth, coming crabwise down the steep track, his hand extended towards her.
Alice grabbed the trader’s hand so tightly that the Scotsman winced. ‘Don’t worry, lassie,’ he said, ‘that bluidy man can’t hurt you now. I am too close to the king for him to tangle with me.’
The three scrambled up the slope to the track above. ‘How did you know . . . ?’ began Alice.
‘I saw you follow that man down. I knew he was one of the Portuguese’s little troop and I smelled trouble. So I came after ye. The king doesn’t want you, of course, but he wasn’t to know that. Now, don’t worry, you’ll be safe enough with me.’
‘Oh, Mr Fairbairn, we are so grateful.’ And she told him about the snake.
Fairbairn wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘Aye. He’s a bit handy with the reptiles. I remember how he tried to kill your husband. I’ll have my lads take extra precautions around my place.’ He gestured towards his store. ‘We’re nearly there. We’ll all have a cup of tea - I’m only charging thruppence a cup now.’
Alice forced a smile. ‘Cheap at the price, dear Mr Fairbairn.’
Once inside the store, the three sat together to drink their tea. ‘I’m afeared that you’ve got a problem now, lassie,’ mused Fairbairn. ‘I know Gouela. He’ll stay with the king to show he’s not following but he’ll send his men after you if you set off. You can stay here if you like.’
Shaking her head, Alice said, ‘That’s kind of you, Mr Fairbairn, but it would just enrage the king. He has told me to go. No. I suppose we shall have to take our chance out on the veldt.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘We have guns, after all. We can fight. We will need to buy provisions from you for the journey, and if you will allow us to stay overnight, we will set off before dawn and ride as fast as we can and to hell with them.’
The Scotsman grinned. ‘You’ve got courage, lassie. I will spread the word that you’re riding to Tuli. That might send ’em off on the wrong track for a wee while and give you a bit more time. Now, what will you be needing for your trek?’
Later that afternoon, Alice had finished her purchases and was taking a mournful second cup of tea with Mzingeli - ‘Have this one on me,’ said Fairbairn - when a Matabele and a woman, presumably his wife, came into the store and began speaking quietly to the trader. Alice noticed that the three kept looking at her as they talked, and then the Scotsman walked to his entrance, looked about outside and closed the door.
‘Do you ken this man, Mrs Fonthill?’ he asked.
‘What? Oh, I don’t think so.’
‘I think he’s a friend of yours.’
Alice rose and walked over to the trio. The man was thin and looked silently at the floor as she approached, as did his wife. She remembered glimpsing his face when she entered the inner kraal and walked to face the king. She felt then that she had seen him before but, as now, she could not remember where or when.
‘He says you saved his life and he wants to help you now.’
‘Why? I don’t understand . . .’
Then the Matabele looked into her face and raised his right arm. His hand had been severed at the wrist and only a stump remained.
‘Ah. The thief!’ Immediately she felt ashamed of herself for so condemning him and involuntarily added, ‘I am sorry, forgive me.’
Fairbairn grinned and waggled the pipe between his teeth. ‘Don’t worry. He can’t understand. But he has heard that the Portuguese is planning to send some of his men out after you as soon as you leave tomorrow. And he has a plan, of sorts, to help. He’s grateful to you, you see, and so is his wife here.’
‘How kind of him to want to help us. But what can he do?’ Alice was suddenly conscious that Mzingeli was by her side, listening intently.
Fairbairn nodded to the man, who looked over his shoulder nervously, then, seeing that the door stayed firmly shut, began speaking quickly.
The trader translated. ‘He’s seen your mule grazing outside and has asked if you have horses. I’ve explained that you arrived late yesterday and that I’ve put your horses in my stables just behind the house, where hopefully nobody has seen them. He’s happy about that because his plan is this. You will set out after dark tonight, before the moon comes up, leading your horses and leaving by that dried-up watercourse at the back of the store. You will take a less direct course for Fort Salisbury, going due east rather than north-east. It will be difficult for anyone to pick up your spoor among the stones in the donga. At the same time, he and his wife will take your mule and head directly to the fort. They will go as fast as they can to give you time to get away. The idea is that the trackers will follow the spoor of two people and a mule, thinking that it’s you two, of course. I have to say it’s an ingenious scheme, so it is.’
The trader took out his pipe long enough to send another column of smoke to the ceiling. ‘What you’ve got to do now is to be seen outside the store, ostentatiously loading the mule. I can give you sacks we can stuff for that purpose. You put your real provisions on your horses, of course, keeping them out of sight in the stables. It’ll mean you’ll have to travel very light, you ken. No tent, for example.’
Alice regarded the two Matabele, who were standing before her diffidently, almost sheepishly, as though they were about to be put on trial. She turned to Mzingeli.
&
nbsp; ‘What do you think?’
The tracker gave his usual pause. ‘Could be good way of stealing mule,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘Man is thief, remember. But if honest, good plan.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I am prepared to trust them, Mr Fairbairn. Will you say that I am very grateful and I hope they find the mule useful.’ She put out her hand and shook the left hand of the man and then that of his wife. They both allowed themselves to look into her eyes and returned her smile. ‘Ah, Mr Fairbairn,’ Alice exclaimed. ‘I feel I can trust them. Anyway, it seems our only hope. I realise that they are also behaving very courageously. They could well be killed when de Sousa catches up with them.’
