Footprints of Lion

by Beverley Harper

  ‘You indulge him too much, Mother.’

  ‘And why not?’ Lorna asked gently.

  Meggie smiled. ‘I hope I find the kind of love you have.’

  ‘You will. Just be patient.’

  SIX

  In Durban, ten days or so later, fate played a hand nobody could have anticipated.

  Ellie arrived at the hospital early one morning to find she had an unexpected and very badly injured patient on her hands. As a third-year intern, she was entitled to some degree of autonomy in her ministrations – dealing with broken bodies was not unusual. This one had been damaged in just about every place possible. The police were involved, believing the incident to have been a professional beating rather than an act of God or providence. They had brought the victim to Addington and would be back later, hopefully to get some answers.

  The man had been found lying next to the railway tracks near Durban harbour – not a salubrious part of town at the best of times. Bruised and battered beyond recognition, he barely breathed, yet there was still a faint pulse. After cleaning him up as best she could, Ellie examined each and every injury. She was not helped by her patient remaining unconscious and thereby unable to shed any light on what had happened. Judging by his clothes, he was a man more used to the bush than the dubious delights of Durban. A trader or hunter, he certainly wasn’t new to the shores of Africa. Ellie, through her father, had met many such characters. This one she failed to recognise. It was hardly surprising. A blow to the man’s right sphenoid bone had caused such severe swelling that his face was puffed out of all proportion. His upper and lower jaw also evidenced attention from a very solid object. Teeth were missing, lips split, gums laid bare to the bone.

  The head was clean-shaven, leaving little clue as to hair colour. The man’s brows and beard were stone grey. He was probably in his early sixties.

  Ellie’s summary of likely bone damage read like the pages of an anatomy textbook: right clavicle, lower left ribs, thoracic vertebrae, lumbar vertebrae, sacrum. The man’s knees and ankles had taken a severe beating while his right arm and most of the fingers on that hand were either broken or lacerated, no doubt from trying to fend off his attackers. Luckily, there was no evidence of internal bleeding.

  On a superficial level, scratches, bruises and cuts covered most of the man’s face, torso, arms and legs. He’d put up one hell of a fight.

  ‘He’s coming round, ’ a nurse said.

  ‘Poor devil.’

  ‘Morphine, doctor?’

  ‘Not yet. Let’s see if he can talk.’

  He couldn’t. The patient was unable to make more than a nasal moaning sound, due to the injuries to his mouth and jaw. It wasn’t long before kindness dictated that Ellie administer an injection of the opium-based drug.

  Something bothered her about this man. He seemed familiar, and yet was not. She made him as comfortable as possible, wrote up his notes, then – leaving instructions that she be called if there were any change – left to join Lindsay on his rounds.

  The penny dropped for Ellie only minutes before the police returned. She was standing by her patient’s bedside, wondering what the hell had happened to him, when he suddenly mumbled, ‘Ellie, s’me, ill. Hata tell Dallas.’ At least, that’s what it sounded like.

  ‘Will? Will Green?’ She moved closer. ‘My God, is that really you? What happened? What are you doing in Durban?’

  ‘Ngyah.’

  An uncharacteristic welling of panic rose briefly but she quickly pushed it away. ‘Lie still, Will. Don’t try to talk.’

  ‘Ngyah.’

  Ellie was uncertain whether that was negative or affirmative. Gently she took Will’s leathery left hand between hers. ‘Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.’

  A squeeze.

  ‘Do you know who did this to you?’

  A squeeze.

  ‘How many were there, Will? One?’

  Two faint squeezes.

  ‘Two?’

  Two more squeezes.

  ‘Three?’

  A squeeze.

  Three against one elderly and slightly built man. What a world of heroes we live in, she thought. ‘Was it robbery?

  Two squeezes.

  ‘Do you know why?’

  A squeeze.

  ‘You owe them money?’

  Ellie knew her man! She received a couple of hard contractions and grinned. Will might have been badly beaten but he still had his pride.

  Lindsay joined her by the bedside. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Down though not out. He’s in a lot of pain but seems to be improving. I know him. He’s fighting back.’

  Lindsay squinted at her. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yes. He’s an old friend of Father’s. Cam’s godfather, actually.’

  ‘Ah!’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Explains everything, does it?’

  ‘Sort of. Your father does have some ...er ... interesting acquaintances.’

  ‘Will is special. Back in the early days he and Dad hunted and traded through the Thukela Valley. They fought together during the Zulu War. Will lives in Swaziland, with Lord knows how many wives. He runs a trading store at Nsoko. Do you mind, Lindsay? I’d like to stay with him. The police will be back any minute.’

  ‘Not at all, darling. Take as much time as you need.’

  Ellie didn’t answer. She was checking Will’s eyes for signs of concussion. Knowing the patient had added a personal dimension to her concern. She was taking no chances.

  ‘Ngyah.’

  Ellie picked up Will’s hand. ‘Would you recognise them, Will?’

  Two squeezes.

  ‘Who were they?’ Bother, she thought, I can’t ask him that way. ‘Forget that. Were they white?’

  A squeeze.

  ‘English?’

  Two squeezes.

  ‘Afrikaners?’

  A squeeze.

  ‘Had you insulted them?’ She knew he was capable of running off at the mouth about Boers, particularly when it came to their attitude towards any black African.

  One squeeze, two squeezes, a shrug, a moan. Will’s grip eased, his head lolled to one side and he was back in the cotton-wool calm of morphine.

  When the police returned, Will was deeply asleep.

  ‘How is he?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘As you can see. Sleeping.’

  ‘Not unconscious?’

  ‘No. His system has taken over. It’s the best thing for him. I’d prefer it if any questions could wait until tomorrow. He needs to rest.’

  The sergeant eyed Will dubiously. ‘I’d say he needs more than just rest. Never seen such a mess.’

  ‘He’s tougher than he looks.’

  ‘Know him, do you?’

  Ellie nodded and told the policeman what little she’d been able to learn from Will.

  ‘Bloody Boers. Not too many of them around here. Could be some of the traders. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Drunk, I’ll bet. Silly buggers.’

  Ellie was convinced that Will had information he’d been unable or unwilling to communicate. What was it he wanted to tell her father? She’d deliberately made no mention of that to the police.

  Will’s distinctive black Basuto pony had been found grazing contentedly along the Esplanade. Nothing seemed to be missing from the saddlebags and Ellie managed to arrange stabling at the racecourse.

  ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye, ’she said later to Lindsay. ‘Why attack Will so viciously? I mean, I know he’s quite objectionable at times but surely a punch or two would have been just as effective. Why half kill him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She looked reflective. ‘It’s happening more and more, Lindsay. Apparently isolated acts of extreme violence, even murder. What about that young girl we saw last week, the one who’d been raped by three assailants?’

  Lindsay nodded but didn’t interrupt.

  ‘They were white too. She was English. Said her attackers spoke Afrikaans. The police sti
ll haven’t found them. In fact, they’ve had very little success in finding any of the bastards who seem to be committing these crimes. It’s almost as if Durban is being targeted.’

  ‘Planned attacks, you mean?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s a frightening thought. Look, I’m a bit busy right now. What say we treat ourselves to dinner this evening and talk about it some more?’

  They ate at the Royal Hotel in its recently refurbished restaurant. Will Green’s condition had continued to improve and, after another hectic day, neither Ellie nor Lindsay felt like returning to their earlier conversation.

  ‘How are Cecily and Stephen?’ Lindsay asked. ‘I haven’t managed to catch up with them lately.’

  ‘Fine. Didn’t I tell you? They’re leaving next week for Bechuanaland. Going to see Lake Ngami and that inland delta where a whole river disappears into the Kalahari.’

  ‘The Okavango. Rather them than me. According to Livingstone and Oswell the whole place is rife with sleeping sickness. You can’t even eat the meat of animals struck down by it.’

  ‘Who would want to? Cecily once told me about Randolph Churchill’s method of stopping horses succumbing to tsetse fly. Apparently he used to brush the inside of their nostrils with tar, give them copious quantities of gin, then force them to inhale the fumes of burning sulphur mixed with enough quinine to cover a shilling.’

  ‘That’s barbaric. So much for modern medicine.’

  Ellie inclined her head. ‘Then there would be plenty of work for both of us?’

  ‘Medical missionaries, you might say! It’s a nice idea but with this blessed war looming we’ll probably be of more use closer to home.’

  Their food arrived. Traditional beef curry and rice, spicy hot, complemented with sambals of coconut, tomato and onion, coriander, cucumber and sour cream, all served in separate side dishes. A large plate of poppadoms accompanied the meal, which they washed down with tankards of cold ale.

  ‘Dessert?’ Lindsay asked some time later, mopping at his perspiring brow. ‘Damn, that was good!’

  ‘Mmm. Silly not to.’

  They settled for rich and sticky – Ellie tucked into koeksisters dripping with syrup, Lindsay opted for plum pudding and hot custard. Observers must have wondered how the young couple kept such trim figures. Coffee followed.

  ‘I couldn’t live anywhere else, ’ Ellie said, apropos of absolutely nothing. ‘This place is where I belong. I’m so glad Father chose to settle in Natal. By the way, Torben says his plaster is off but he’s still hobbling around. Cranky as a caged lion, apparently.’ Both laughed, feeling no guilt at the shared enjoyment of what they knew would be an absolute frustration to someone so active. ‘Poor Mother, ’Ellie went on. ‘I suppose she bears the brunt of it.’

  ‘I doubt it. Knowing your father, one look at her and he’s jelly.’

  Dinner over, they strolled together to where Lindsay’s driver, Ezekiel, waited patiently for them. It was cold for Durban, a good excuse to cuddle close on the short journey to Cecily and Stephen’s house near the racecourse. After making sure Ellie was safely inside, Lindsay had Ezekiel take him back to Addington. The observations made by Ellie earlier in the day were still preying on his mind.

  Will Green swam in and out of sleep, hazy images alternating between fear and peace. He should have known better than to speak in front of his second wife, whose father was that deceitful dog, Mafula. Will was well aware that the man’s sympathies tended towards the Boers. While welcome to entertain any fantasy the old fool wished regarding the future of SouthAfrica, Mafula should have kept his nose out of Will’s affairs.

  In the best tradition of African marriages, Will had beaten his wife for indiscreet talk but the damage was already done. Mafula took his daughter’s words – repeated verbatim from a conversation overheard between her husband and a young visitor from Zululand – straight to a Boer commander in the area, reporting that Will Green and Dallas Granger-Acheson were two individuals who would actively resist any Boer aggression. When the time came to take up arms, they would make dangerous enemies. Although that alone wasn’t enough to warrant drastic action, Will would certainly be watched. For now, there was not much that could be done about the Zululand farmer. The Broederbond were not yet ready to show their hand.

  Then came a new development. Will had heard of Danny Reese’s tragic death. Like many, he did not swallow the lion story. There was something too pat about it. His suspicions were confirmed when a passing trader who’d had too much to drink boasted: ‘If you rooinecks stand in our way and try to stop separate development you will all end up like the Reese boy.’ It told Will two things. One, that the killing had been no accident. And two, that something secret was being planned by the Boers.

  Will lived in Swaziland, a kingdom quite independent of South Africa. Yet he had to do something. Dallas was the only person he could think of who might set some kind of enquiry in motion. He knew his former partner well enough to be sure no stone would be left unturned in getting to the bottom of both matters, particularly since the Reese family were old friends. The biggest risk was that Dallas himself could become a target. Caution was called for. Will couldn’t go straight to Morningside but, as he made regular visits to Durban, another trip south wouldn’t seem suspicious to those he knew were keeping an eye on him. And so, the well-worn cogs of Will’s brain strained and creaked until he decided that the least dangerous way to reach Dallas had to be through one of his children.

  Torben was in Durban but Will didn’t trust him. Cameron, Duncan and Frazer would be at Morningside. That ruled them out. It would have to be Ellie. God, he hadn’t seen her for years. Will found himself remembering the fair-minded little girl who had always wanted to be a doctor. He knew she was at Addington Hospital. Finding her would not be difficult.

  That dog. That mange-ridden jackal, Mafula. That ... that ... Will was at a loss to think of suitably insulting metaphors. Somehow the interfering old goat must have learned of the drunken trader’s revelations. It wouldn’t have been difficult. Will now had seven Swazi wives, which meant seven sets of in-laws. And in-laws being in-laws, intrigue was never far from the surface. Hell, Mafula’s intelligence could have come from anywhere – from another damned father-in-law even. Wherever, whatever, however, the Boers had decided it was time to teach Will a lesson. His trip to Durban provided them with the ideal opportunity.

  ‘Take him close to the edge, ’ had been the brief. They’d done that right enough. As fists, an iron bar, a hippo-hide sjambok and boots hammered their message home, Will believed his last hour had come. He fought back, remained defiant, but to no avail. All it achieved was a worse beating than had been ordered.

  Panic welled in him. Was he safe? Where was he? The silhouette of a nurse who sat beside his bed, reading a book, drifted into focus. Hospital. How he got there didn’t matter. He’d made it, found Ellie. Good girl, Ellie. Must tell her. Warn Dallas. ‘Ngyah.’

  The nurse rose immediately and, acting on Ellie’s instructions, took Will’s less damaged left hand in hers. ‘Water?’

  One squeeze.

  When she returned, Will had lapsed back into sleep.

  Next morning the police were, after a fashion, able to question Will. Though he didn’t say much, they quickly came to the conclusion that robbery had not been the motive. The man had been warned off something. Exactly what, remained a mystery. Now that he had been identified, not one of the policemen was inclined to take the incident too seriously. Will’s reputation for being an unreliable rogue even made them doubt whether his attackers had been white and Afrikaans-speaking. Surely the Boers wouldn’t dare infiltrate so deeply into British-controlled territory?

  Blissfully unaware of Will’s problems and how Ellie had been caught up in his well-intended scheming, Lorna did what she could to help Dallas overcome the weeks of enforced inactivity which seemed to have rendered his leg more immobile than either of them had anticipated. It would give way at unexpected
moments, sometimes causing him to lurch dangerously and grab for support.

  In desperation, Dallas had Mister David take him to see Roger Parry in Empangeni. ‘Age, I’m afraid. Nothing more to it than that.’ The comment did nothing to help.

  ‘What the hell do you mean? I’m not even fifty, for God’s sake.’

  ‘You’re forty-nine. Same difference.’

  ‘The leg will get better, won’t it?’ Dallas experienced a shiver of apprehension.

  ‘Of course. But not while you persist in charging around like a wounded buffalo. It needs time. The muscle has wasted a little, that’s all.’

  ‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’

  ‘Only if I thought it might help.’

  Dallas pulled a face.

  Roger laughed. ‘Relax. I watched you get down from the carriage. There’s nothing wrong, nothing that time won’t fix.’ The doctor opened a drawer. ‘Good thing you popped in, though. This arrived yesterday from Ellie.’ He handed over an ‘OHMS’ envelope bearing the return address of Addington Hospital.

  Dallas took it. ‘Thanks.’ If something important came up Ellie often communicated in this manner. Medical correspondence had a way of arriving more quickly than ordinary mail. ‘Wonder why the urgency? I’m not expecting anything.’

  ‘You won’t know until you open it. Which reminds me, I’m a busy man. Unless you have any other problems ...’

  ‘No. Thanks, Roger, I appreciate this.’

  ‘Out. My waiting room is filling up.’

  Back in the carriage, Dallas ripped open the envelope and read the contents. As he did so his eyes widened in shocked disbelief. ‘Jesus!’

  ‘I do not think this communication is from Him, ’Mister David admonished. ‘Is it bad news?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Will. He’s in hospital. He was attacked in Durban.’ Swiftly, Dallas summarised the relevant parts of Ellie’s letter and detailed the injuries suffered by his one-time partner.

  ‘This is a bad thing. Is Miss Ellie looking after him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then he is in the best hands possible.’

  Dallas turned to Mister David, heartened yet surprised by the comment. ‘You astonish me. What happened to “We have muthi for such things”?’