Footprints of Lion

by Beverley Harper

  The Zulu felt he had to justify his remark. ‘Why do you doubt me? For broken bones we have no cures that are better than yours. Miss Ellie is a very good inyanga. She can do this thing. His arm will mend in the same way as your leg. It is easy.’

  ‘Easy! You would bury it in clay and lift his body until everything inside clicks back into place.’

  ‘It works.’

  ‘So it does. It also hurts like hell.’

  ‘A man does not feel such pain, ’Mister David said contemptuously. ‘But Master Will cannot be made well in this way. If what you read is true, too many of his bones are broken, ones that are not possible to reach. For this we would need a sangoma, or Miss Ellie.’

  ‘I shall tell her. When Will is well enough to travel he must come and spend some time at Morningside.’

  ‘His wives will wish to be with him.’

  ‘According to what he’s told Ellie, one certainly won’t.’

  Mister David shrugged. ‘She has probably been punished. It is enough. She was not to blame.’

  Dallas supposed this to be true. The poor woman’s loyalties must have been dragged hither and thither – between a father to whom she owed allegiance, and her husband. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. She’d been in an impossible situation. Anyway, that was the least of Will’s immediate problems. He had to recover first and, from the sound of Ellie’s letter, that could take months.

  SEVEN

  June, 1899. While the balmy winter weather did much to quell a growing suspicion that events were moving inexorably towards war, there were many players, too many ambitions and far too many differing agendas for good to come from any of it.

  Will improved slowly, bones knitting, body fighting back. The swelling of his face had been enlivened by multi-coloured bruises. Nurses nicknamed him ‘Compote’ after the stewed fruit they regularly served for dessert. An oral surgeon, working with wire and infinite patience, had done his best to reset Will’s teeth and jaw. The results to date had him looking something like a mule, particularly since he insisted his head remained shaved. Ellie begged Will to regrow his straggly red hair but he steadfastly refused, citing tribal custom as the reason. Nits were probably closer to the truth. Whatever, no-one, least of all Will, had been aware that he had such long and pointy ears.

  ‘Impish, ’ he called himself, ignoring the mess of his mouth.

  ‘More like an aging elf, ’ Ellie said, folding her arms and staring at him.

  ‘That’s not very nice, ’Will almost whined.

  ‘It’s the truth, ’ Ellie told him shortly. ‘Let’s face it, Will, totally bald is not exactly a popular look.’

  ‘You’re just saying that.’

  Ellie threw out her hands and spun round to leave, winking at a nurse. ‘If he wants his crotch shaved, cut the whole bloody lot off.’

  The nurse giggled, quite used to Ellie’s colourful language. ‘Yes, doctor.’

  ‘Hey!’Will objected. ‘That’s enough from you, young lady.’ He was still unable to speak clearly and it came out something like, ‘Ay. Tha anuf a oo ya laddy.’ All three burst out laughing until Will held up a hand begging them to stop. Many of their conversations ended the same way.

  Dallas, prompted by Ellie’s urgent note, opted to ignore his own doctor’s advice. He and Lorna made the hundred-mile trip to Durban, both determined that when Will was well enough to travel, he come and recuperate at the farm. Though he gratefully accepted the invitation, Will warned that until then they should keep contact to a minimum. The beating he had taken made him even more determined to protect Dallas and his family.

  ‘Give me one good reason, ’ Dallas prompted, hoping to find out more.

  ‘They’ll know I’ve told you. You’ll be in danger.’

  Dallas shook his head. ‘Told me what? What’s wrong with old friends getting together, especially when one of them has been hurt? Do me a favour, Will. Stop all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.’

  Will refused to elaborate on who had put him into hospital, or why. Dallas respected his wishes and did not press for further information. Later in the day, alone with Lorna, he raised his concerns. ‘It’s not like Will. Usually he can’t wait to talk if he knows something you don’t.’

  ‘He’ll tell you when he’s ready, ’Lorna replied.

  ‘Are you aware of what it might be?’

  ‘Apparently Will told Ellie that Danny Reese’s death was no accident. He seems to have some bee in his bonnet about a Broederbond conspiracy, even mentioned that Cecil Rhodes might be involved, though for the life of me I can’t see how. The man’s ambition to paint this continent British red from the Cape to Cairo puts him and his capitalist cronies in the Cape parliament well and truly at odds with Afrikaner nationalism. How it all ties together, don’t ask me. Suffice to say, Will thinks something big and very secretive is going on.’

  It crossed Dallas’s mind that some of Logan Burton’s canny perception – rather than the surprisingly erudite conclusions coming from Will – wouldn’t have gone astray. He could not believe that the old scoundrel had ever read a newspaper, let alone made a study of politics, so whatever it was must have come from listening to others. His long-dead partner would no doubt have put a finger right on the pulse, so to speak.

  ‘Ellie believes that Will has stumbled onto something significant and was beaten up to stop him talking, more than likely to you.’

  ‘Why me?’ Dallas shook his head impatiently. ‘Damn it! I wish I knew what was bothering the man.’

  Lorna sympathised with his frustration. ‘You have contacts in this country. He doesn’t. Let’s hypothesise for a moment.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘As I see it, Rhodes may have failed with his scheming to take over the Transvaal goldfields but, even before the Jameson raid, Paul Kruger was worried by the growing number of foreigners trying to grab a slice of his cake.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that. Go on.’

  ‘So, legislation aside, what if Kruger decides enough is enough or even goes on the offensive? He uses the Brotherhood to ensure secrecy and seeks support from Steyn in the Free State. From there it’s a hop and a skip across the border to ...’

  ‘Kimberley, ’ Dallas finished Lorna’s sentence.

  ‘Precisely, and all Mr Rhodes’s precious diamonds.’

  Dallas sighed. ‘It would also explain why we keep reading about more British troops coming to Natal and the Cape.’

  ‘And that’s something else which seems to be upsetting Oom Paul.’

  Both lapsed into silence, each contemplating the inevitable consequences of a full-scale war. They were curled into chairs at Cecily and Stephen’s house, their hosts having left for Bechuanaland with no idea of a return date. It was much more convenient to stay in Durban than use the family’s beach cottage further up the coast at Umdhloti. Their original house, high on the Berea, had been sold more than a decade before.

  Lorna knew Dallas had little patience when it came to man-made uncertainties. In truth, he was not a political animal, preferring to deal with obvious right or wrong than anything complex, especially when the dilemma was devised by politicians for the sole purpose of securing power, profit or territorial gain. Their inherent duplicity irritated her husband to such an extent that Lorna sometimes wondered why he bothered to become involved. On this occasion his conclusion was deliberately vague: ‘I suppose we must all look to the future.’

  Lornashook her head. ‘You do that anyway, my darling.’

  ‘Not far enough, ’Dallas reluctantly admitted.

  ‘Is Lindsay coming for dinner?’ Lorna asked as Ellie came into the room. It was as good a time as any to change the topic of conversation.

  ‘If that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ellie’s eyes turned to her father. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Don’t you start, ’he grouched. ‘It’s bad enough when Meggie calls me that.’

  ‘Sometimes you’re so old-fashioned, ’ Elli
e said, laughing, her eyes sparkling with affection.

  Dallas grinned at her. Like all his children, barring one, Ellie could do no wrong.

  Dallas and Lorna spent almost six weeks in Durban. They were regular visitors to the hospital but their spare time gave them an opportunity to see just how much the city had grown.

  In the first week of July they attended a race day at Greyville, accompanied by Torben and Gerda. It seemed as if the whole of Durban had turned out, with ladies’ fashions just as much in competition off the track as the horses were on it.

  The atmosphere and excitement reminded Dallas of another day at the races, five years earlier, as a guest of John Dunn. It was to be the last time he would see Logan Burton’s closest friend and his own mentor of fourteen years, the one-time Englishman who introduced him to Zulu king Cetshwayo and helped negotiate a royal grant of land in Zululand. That had been the beginning. Sadly, John had died the following year, aged sixty-one, leaving forty-nine wives and a hundred and nineteen children. Dallas shook his head and smiled at the thought.

  Torben had a singularly successful afternoon using tips he kept very much to himself. Dallas had no such luck, his gut-feel selections running last in all but the main race, in which a horse called Early Mist came from behind less than a furlong out to win by half a length. The twenty-to-one outsider belonged to a C. Hammond of Dargle. Dallas didn’t bother going to the winners’ enclosure. Instead, he ordered a well-chilled bottle of Bollinger.

  Will was eventually released into the care of Dallas and Lorna just before the middle of July. They had an uneventful if long trip back to Morningside, Will’s pony secured behind the carriage and obviously happy to be back on the road.

  Installed in the guest suite, Will enjoyed the luxury of a bedroom, his own sitting-room, a cosy courtyard and private bathing facilities. Dallas suggested sending a messenger to Will’s trading store in Swaziland with news of his whereabouts. Will wouldn’t hear of it. He gave the excuse that his wives would then want to come and see him and, for now at least, their attentions were the last thing he needed. Will’s body still ached and, quite simply, all he wanted was rest. In part that might have been true, though Dallas suspected it had more to do with whatever was not being said.

  Finally, Will spoke of what was troubling him. The two men were sitting up late, a decanter of Scotch between them on the verandah. Mister David hovered, not really part of the conversation until Will asked him to join them, seeming to need the Zulu’s comments on what he was about to say. He also suggested they move to the parlour. Winter was raw and it was too cold to stay outside. Besides, as Will pointed out, they stood less chance of being overheard.

  Dallas poured drinks for himself and Will, raising an enquiring eyebrow at his cook. At times like this, Mister David was more a friend than an employee. As a Zulu he would imbibe in private – beer served by one of his wives – though he seldom, if ever, drank in the company of white men, unless it was a festive occasion. The offer was refused.

  Will hunched forwards. ‘It’s Rhodes, ’ he said succinctly. ‘He’s up to something again.’

  ‘So, what else is new?’

  Will glowered at Dallas but said nothing about the interruption. ‘It would appear that this time he and that gold-bug Alfred Beit have prevailed on Milner to put pressure on Kruger and try to force some kind of retaliation.’

  Nobody commented, so Will went on. ‘In the last few years Johannesburg has become the richest and most highly populated place in South Africa. Gold has sucked in fortune hunters from all over the world, so many that the Boers feel threatened by people they see as outsiders. “Uitlanders”, they call them.’

  ‘Making the Afrikaners strangers in their own country?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Will glanced at Mister David. ‘You’d know all about that.’

  The Zulu nodded slowly. ‘We lick our wounds and move forwards in silence, unlike the Boers who whine and complain yet do little else.’

  ‘Not so, my friend, ’ Dallas was quick to point out. ‘It was Kruger himself who brought in the Dutch, Germans and Cape Afrikaners to run his administration. There are even some Americans.’

  ‘And what a mixed-up mess it all is, ’Will added. ‘The Boers may mouth off about losing control of their gold but I don’t hear them objecting to its rewards. Fifteen million pounds is what they expect from the Witwatersrand this year alone. On top of that, the Uitlanders are taxed, denied political involvement and generally regarded as inferior. Damn it. They’re treating them almost as badly as the blacks who dig their bloody mines for them.’

  ‘Kruger’s government hasn’t trusted any Uitlander since the Jameson raid, ’Dallas said, referring to a scheme devised by Cecil Rhodes to exploit their discontent and take over the Transvaal goldfields. His friend and colleague Dr Leander Starr Jameson, along with five hundred Rhodesian mounted police, had waited on the Bechuanaland border for word of a promised uprising. Nothing happened. Prevaricating between Britain’s Union Jack and the Transvaal Vierkleur, not to mention being distrustful of Rhodes himself, the Uitlanders dithered to a point where any opportunity was lost.

  Backing Rhodes’s plan had been Britain’s newly appointed Colonial Secretary, Joseph Chamberlain. When no revolt occurred he distanced himself from the plot by threatening to void the British South Africa Company’s charter to administer Rhodesia unless invasion plans were stopped once and for all. Rhodes was forced to agree but late in December 1895, Jameson, acting on his own, went ahead and entered the Transvaal. The Uitlanders – instead of providing support– opted for negotiations with Kruger. The raid was an ill-conceived, unqualified disaster.

  Will was nodding at Dallas’s observation. ‘Yes, that’s where it started.’

  Jameson had been captured. He, along with five of his officers, was sent for trial in England and later imprisoned. Rhodes was forced to resign as Cape premier. The sympathies of Cape Afrikaners and those in the Orange Free State – who had kept well out of the whole fiasco – lay entirely with Kruger, uniting them in a common condemnation of Britain. The whole of South Africa had become brittle, like granite – rock hard yet easy to split. Chamberlain’s answer to the deteriorating situation had been to appoint a proven administrator, Sir Alfred Milner, as Governor of the Cape Colony and British High Commissioner for South Africa.

  ‘What have you heard?’ Dallas asked quietly, dreading the answer.

  ‘Milner is working up a new crisis. He’s insisting that the Uitlanders be allowed a number of major concessions, threatening force if they’re not implemented. By demanding the impossible the man’s hoping for a military confrontation which will give Britain an excuse to reunify South Africa and, in doing so, gain control of the Transvaal goldfields. Kruger has been pushed too far. It’s only a matter of time before he forges an Afrikaner alliance with the Free State to attack the Cape Colony and Natal.’

  ‘Jesus!’ It exploded from Dallas in a shocked rush of breath. ‘They could do it too. We don’t have anything like enough men to defend both.’

  Will went on: ‘As I understand it, we have ten thousand regular troops spread between here and the Cape. Kruger and Steyn have ready access to at least fifty thousand men of military age and several thousand others would probably join up too. We need another forty thousand, maybe more. Britain is talking about sending five thousand – ten at best – and even that could take months to finalise. It’s to be war, Dallas. Lose, as we’re likely to, and Britain can kiss this continent goodbye. Win, an unlikely event as I’m sure you’ll agree, and the Union Jack will fly from Cape Town to the Zambezi.’

  Dallas rose and replenished their glasses. ‘You’re a dark horse, Will Green. Are you sure of all this? I’ve never heard you speak of such things before. How do you know so much? You live in Swaziland, well away from all this political manoeuvring.’

  ‘Do I? Do you really think Kruger will stop at the Zululand border? No, my friend, Swaziland has its gold too. This war’s going to be all or nothi
ng.’

  In the silence that followed, Dallas realised how close Lorna had come to working out what was going on. Gold or diamonds, it didn’t matter. Both sides coveted southern Africa’s mineral wealth and, it would appear, were more than willing to fight for its control.

  Mister David’s hooded eyes reflected the flickering fire, now burnt low in the grate. ‘War, ’ he intoned in his deep voice, ‘is a devil which devours all in its path.’

  ‘Man is the devil, David, ’Dallas said, dropping the ‘Mister’ as he usually did on such occasions. ‘Though this time, it will not be your war.’

  Will it not, Mister David wondered. ‘Why then do I have a feeling that, once again, the tribes of my country will pay a heavy price? I have listened to the words of my chief, who repeats those of others. We will be drawn into your war whether we like it or not.’

  Dallas had no answer.

  ‘I’m positive my information is correct, ’ Will insisted. ‘The more I think about it, the more I believe those bastards in Durban meant to kill me. It’s the only way they could be sure I’d keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘They? Who were they?’

  ‘Names, I do not know. Their language, their actions, both suggested the Broederbond.’

  ‘That’s supposed to be a peaceful organisation.’

  ‘And the Pope is supposedly religious.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll try again?’

  ‘Most probably. It depends on how ready they are.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  Will gave a half-smirk. ‘Die, I suppose.’

  ‘Not funny, my friend.’

  Will looked serious for a moment. ‘Indeed it is not, and the very fact that I am here places you and your family in just as much danger.’

  Paul Jooste’s eyes swivelled around the room until he located Venter. He nodded at the man. ‘How’s your boy?’

  ‘Recovering.’