To compound the problem, de Wet struck at Bloemfontein’s waterworks, destroying the pumping station at Sannah’s Post twenty miles to the east. While there he had a stroke of unexpected good fortune, ambushing Brigadier-General Broadwood’s 2nd Cavalry column. An urgent SOS was sent to Lord Roberts, who, fearing an attack on Bloemfontein itself, did nothing. De Wet took over four hundred prisoners, capturing seven artillery pieces and a hundred and seventeen wagons. One of them contained mailbags, the contents of which were carefully checked before being burnt. The letter from Tanith to Duncan was of no interest to anyone.
Stanley King could probably have gone home sooner but he was in no rush. During his time in hospital he had received not a single visitor and only one letter, an official envelope containing his honourable discharge from active duty. Attached to it was notification that his bravery at Spion Kop had been Mentioned in Despatches.
Slowly his wounds healed, inside and out. He read newspapers and books – anything he could lay his hands on – often falling asleep in his own special chair which Meggie had placed outside on the shaded verandah. They talked a great deal about all manner of things and played games of chess which progressed a few moves at a time.
‘It’s not fair, ’ Meggie laughed, knocking over her white king. ‘You have all day to think about your next move.’
‘And thought about it I have. It’s time I got back to the farm. Doctor Parry’s little exercises are all very well but they’re not getting anything done.’
‘At least you won’t be going back to Ladysmith.’
‘Judging by the Mercury, Buller doesn’t seem to be doing much either. He’s got fifty-five thousand men sitting on their backsides and Roberts won’t let him do a damned thing with them.’
‘He thinks the war is nearly over but Buller doesn’t agree.’
‘And in my armchair editorial opinion, the man’s quite right. Boers still control Van Reenen’s Pass and the Biggarsberg. Even in Natal they’re a long way from being beaten.’
‘That reminds me: did you read in the paper that Piet Joubert died in Pretoria?’
‘I saw that. He never fully recovered after falling from his horse. Louis Botha’s taken over so that should shake things up a bit.’
‘Right, Mister King, to more pressing matters. How do you intend getting home?’
‘I thought you might like to take me. It would be a chance to see the place.’
‘Somehow I don’t think my mother would agree.’
‘Not on your own, of course. I need supplies so if it were possible to borrow a wagon ...?’
‘I suppose Mister David could drive. It’s a bit over thirty miles, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but there and back in a day might not be possible. It will depend on the road.’
‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll speak to Mother.’
‘Good.’
Meggie was surprised when Lorna readily agreed that Stanley King could borrow a wagon and use Mister David as driver for his return to Nkwalini. ‘After all, he is an old friend of your father’s, ’her mother said.
‘Then you won’t mind if I go along too? Stan – Mister King has invited me to see his farm.’ For one terrible moment Meggie thought that her mother might want to come too.
‘Of course not, my dear. You’ll like it up there. The country is quite different from here: much drier.’ With that she changed the subject. ‘Now, come and see what Aminta has been doing in the vegetable garden. We’re going to try something new this year. Suza! Saba! Come on.’ Only one dog followed.
Mister David and Meggie arrived at the hospital just after seven in the morning. Stanley was already sitting in his chair on the verandah, wearing a dressing gown over the only clothes he had: his hospital pyjamas.
‘I think we forgot something, ’he said as Meggie walked towards him.
‘Try these. They’re Duncan’s. The boots might be a bit tight but it was the best I could do. See if they fit while I have a quick word with Matron.’
When she returned, Stanley was talking to Mister David. The borrowed shirt and trousers were obviously too small, a fact further emphasised by his bare feet.
‘No luck with the boots, I’m afraid. David’s put them in the wagon. Shall we go?’ He didn’t seem a bit embarrassed about his comical appearance.
They spent an hour at the Pioneer store, loading up with goods ranging from nails to mealie meal, potatoes, sugar and tea. The Zulus who were hanging around obviously knew him and Meggie heard the word Ndlovu on more than one occasion.
The journey to Nkwalini was uneventful yet it took nearly six hours, the lush coastal vegetation soon left behind as they followed the river valley then climbed into rolling hills covered with acacia scrub. Mister David pointed out a spiral-horned kudu motionless in the bush watching them, its colour and striped markings making it nearly invisible. Only the occasional twitch of an ear gave it away.
‘Tolo, they’re called in Bechuanaland, ’Stan commented. ‘Nice eating too.’
‘Then it’s a pity you haven’t got your rifle or that would be dinner taken care of.’ Meggie realised her words were a way of saying that she and Mister David wouldn’t be leaving until the next day.
‘I have no idea what we’ll be eating tonight.’ Stan had understood Meggie’s meaning.
There was virtually no traffic on the rough road, though the Zulus they passed invariably raised a right hand, palm open in the traditional sign of friendship. Some even called out, welcoming Ndlovu or simply having a conversation with Mister David until they were out of earshot. This created a good feeling.
Kingsway seemed dry and dusty compared to Morningside. It was sprawling, with newly constructed fences and an extensive Zulu kraal of at least a dozen domed dwellings. The main house appeared surprisingly small, dominated by a huge ornately carved front door. There was no garden except for what looked like a few small sisal plants.
‘Water can be a bit of a problem up here, ’ Stanley said, as if reading Meggie’s thoughts. He greeted everybody from his induna, down to the smallest abantwana, calling each by name. Two babies had been born in his absence and these were proudly brought to him for inspection.
After making arrangements to unload and out-span the wagon, Stanley made sure that Mister David would be looked after before he and Meggie walked over to his house.
‘Mustn’t forget to give you back your brother’s clothes. They’ll be washed and dry by tomorrow.’
Standing before the huge front door Meggie realised just how thick and solid it was.
‘Once belonged to David Livingstone, ’Stan told her, pushing it open. ‘I’ll show you to your room and have some water brought in. Candles are by the bed.’
The house had one central room which the front door opened onto. Opposite was a large stone fireplace – big enough to sit in – with logs piled beside it. There were two doors in the right hand wall and one opposite.
‘Your bedroom, my bedroom, kitchen, ’ Stan said, pointing out each in turn.
‘Are those the tusks you were telling me about?’ Meggie indicated two long narrow teeth on either side of the fireplace.
‘No. Michael’s are under my bed. They’re much bigger.’
Meggie didn’t ask to see them.
Stan excused himself to give instructions. On the table – which seemed to be used for everything – was a charcoal sketch held flat by four pieces of crystalline and gold rock. She lifted one, testing its weight. A corner of the drawing curled back.
‘Unfortunately, it’s only iron pyrite, ’Stan’s voice came from the open doorway. ‘They call it fool’s gold.’
Embarrassed at being caught snooping, Meggie almost dropped the heavy paperweight. ‘Did you do the drawing?’
‘A long time ago, before that damned east coast disease nearly wiped us out. I leave it there to remind me of what this house will look like one day.’
‘It’s good. I like it.’
‘Come, let me show y
ou round.’
There wasn’t really much to see but Meggie loved every inch of it. The drawing was one man’s dream that she knew would eventually become a reality.
They ate chicken peri-peri, spicy, hot and tough as old boots. ‘Sorry about the food, ’Stan said. ‘Give me more warning next time and I’ll come up with something better.’
‘It was fine, ’ Meggie lied. ‘Next time sounds good.’
They said goodnight, both aware that one word, one touch, was all that would be needed to change their relationship for ever.
‘Rabala sentle, ’ Stan smiled. ‘That’s Setswana for “sleep well”. And thank you.’
Meggie lay in the strange bed thinking about the picture and things she would one day add or change. How much of it was conscious thought and how much dreaming was impossible to tell.
Meggie and Mister David left at eight o’clock the following morning.
Eight weeks after Torben and Gerda had first been interrogated, a nervous maid announced the arrival of three official visitors. Gerda was, once again, terrified, so frightened in fact that the callers had to reassure the very pregnant lady of the house that their visit had nothing whatsoever to do with her. It was then that the penny dropped for Torben who, characteristically, exploded with anger before calming with the realisation that something important was sought of him, something which could prove significantly profitable.
All four men were comfortably seated in Torben’s study. ‘Mister Petersen, ’the spokesman said without introducing himself, ‘we understand you recently supplied General Buller with a number of artillery pieces to replace some that were unfortunately, shall we say, stolen near Colenso. May we ask from where you obtained such specialised items?’
Torben hesitated, reluctant to divulge his source of supply yet aware that if he didn’t, collaboration with the enemy might be assumed.
‘We understand your reticence and apologise for having to force the issue.’
A slightly younger man leaned forwards. ‘Truth of the matter is, those guns were of the very highest quality. Most certainly not ours: the barrels were so much better. We think they came from Germany. As you can imagine, this could place us, and to some extent yourself, in a most awkward position. The service you provide is not in question but your sources could prove embarrassing. Everything has to be above board, I’m sure you can see why.’
Torben nodded in agreement. He was well aware of the political dangers peculiar to his business.
The older man spoke again, this time more harshly. ‘So. From where did they originate?’
‘I’m simply the middle man, you understand.’
‘We do.’
‘They’re shipped out of Copenhagen.’
‘Denmark! That explains it.’ All three sat back in obvious surprise.
‘I have family connections.’
‘That’s excellent. And you can obtain more?’
‘Most certainly.’ Torben saw money floating before his eyes. Was this the chance he’d been waiting for? A couple of years earlier, when the trust fund established by his true mother became available to him, Torben had found the contact he needed in Europe. Jette Petersen’s banker brother, Olaf. Albeit in different languages, both men had seen the same writing on the wall, though for them it was red map of British colonial Africa and it didn’t take them long to work out an arrangement profitable to both parties, draw up an agreement and invest in stock.
‘When?’
‘I can provide five breech-loading 12-pounders right away. Anything else would need a little longer.’
Three sets of scheming eyes met in silent jubilation. ‘And how long would that be?’
‘Six to seven weeks.’
‘That fast, eh? Very well, Mister Petersen, five it is. Same price, same terms. Cash. Fifty percent down, balance on delivery to the fort here in Durban.’
The third man, who up until now hadn’t spoken, rose and extended a hand to conclude their deal. ‘I don’t need to mention that this is all very hush-hush.’ Producing a key from his fob watch pocket he opened the brass latch locking a well-worn leather case.
‘Say no more.’ Torben rose, trying to conceal his excitement. ‘Discretion is an essential part of my business.’
‘Excellent.’ The man glanced briefly at his companions. ‘Howitzers?’
‘Size?’ Torben slipped into familiar territory.
‘Five-inch, breech-loading.’
‘How many?’
The man rubbed his chin. ‘Let’s say ten to start with.’
Visions of impending wealth were rushing around in Torben’s head. Outwardly he remained calm. ‘Within the week.’
‘Where from? The original source, please.’
‘Czechoslovakia.’
‘Only the best.’
Business concluded, the three men shook his hand. ‘We’ll be in touch, ’the youngest said as they departed.
Torben returned to the study and sat staring at the pile of money they had left on his desk. He was in. Now all he had to do was deliver.
Gerda appeared in the doorway, her frame almost blocking it. ‘What did they want?’ she asked, entering the room.
‘Can’t you see?’ He picked up a bundle of Bank of England promissory notes and waved them in the air. ‘They’re hooked, my darling.’ Reaching out an arm he eased her onto his lap. ‘This is the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. Gerda, this is where we get rich.’ Torben was bubbling with excitement. ‘You don’t have to worry anymore. It’s not you or your family they’re interested in, it’s guns, lots and lots of lovely guns. Long may the war continue.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
He gently kissed her. ‘Not at all, poppet. Queen Victoria wants what I sell. It’s as simple as that. Didn’t I tell you it was a perfect time to be in the arms business?’
‘Does that mean we can buy a better house?’
‘Patience, dearest. Wait a while and you can have whatever you like.’
‘Oh, Torben. Something big, on the Berea, and a new carriage.’ His happiness was infectious and spread through her. ‘A shiny black one with leather seats. Lanice will be green with envy.’ Gerda loved to lord it over her sister. ‘Our baby will have nothing but the best.’
‘Indeed, ’Torben said, absent-mindedly stroking her arm. ‘He or she will be blessed by our good fortune.’
‘It’s a boy, Torben. I can feel it.’
Lord Roberts was far from happy with the deteriorating situation around him. Despite the apparent success of his olive branch offer to a war-weary enemy, de Wet was still running riot, easily avoiding French and Colvile, who had been attempting to curtail his activities since the setback sustained at Sannah’s Post. With only eight hundred handpicked men, de Wet had surprised the British garrison at Reddersberg and in twenty-four hours forced its surrender. The Royal Irish Rifles lost nearly fifty officers and men, with over five hundred more taken prisoner and sent by train to Pretoria. Bobs took his anger out on the much-decorated veteran Lieutenant-General Gatacre, who soon found himself on a ship bound for home, replaced by Sir Archibald Hunter from Natal.
De Wet’s flying column had since swung south, laying siege to a force three times its strength at Wepener. Doggedly, the largely colonial troops held on, digging in and beating back attack after attack until finally, sixteen days later, de Wet gave up and disappeared to the north, unwilling to engage an infantry relief column which was slowly plodding towards him.
Although Presidents Kruger and Steyn were seeing the success of changed tactics, they still believed that Lord Roberts’s advance on Johannesburg and Pretoria could not be stopped solely by such an unconventional strategy. Time was running out.
Tanith was just over three months pregnant when Duncan first learned of her condition. Having received no word from home in more than six weeks he had no idea that she anxiously awaited his response to a letter posted in the middle of March.
She could hardly believe that her fiancé didn’t care,
but when the pregnancy could no longer be disguised, Tanith broke down and told Lorna. The reaction was not at all what she had expected.
‘That’s wonderful news, darling. Your mother and I were wondering when you were going to say something. Duncan must be delighted.’
Tanith shook her head in a mixture of amazement and relief. ‘That’s what I don’t know, ’ she said. ‘I told him in a letter weeks ago but he hasn’t replied.’
Lorna took over. ‘That boy never writes to me either, so I tell you what, we’ll send a telegram to his father. That should shake things up a bit.’
Duncan stared at the telegraph message Dallas had handed to him. ‘Congratulations, son. This might have raised a few eyebrows in Empangeni but, judging by the look on your face, that won’t bother you one little bit. While we are here, might I suggest you allay the young lady’s fears with a few well-chosen words in reply?’
Duncan pulled a blank form from the pad, found a pencil and wrote. His missive was considerably longer than private messages were allowed to be, but the operator had nothing else to do and turned a blind eye to regulations.
EIGHTEEN
The night had been bitterly cold and Cameron felt its pre-dawn bite through the thin army blanket. He lay in a foetal position trying not to move, one hand thrust between his legs for comfort and warmth. Dawn was touching the veld. Soft pink fringed the cloudless curtain of darkness as one by one the stars disappeared.
‘Wake up, sir.’ An out-of-place voice cut through cotton-wool thoughts of Ginnie. Fragments of a distant dream fled with the opening of his eyes, only to be replaced by the acne-scarred face of Sergeant-Major Mulligan hovering above him.
‘Thank you, Sarn’t-Major, ’ he said, rising to a sitting position, shivering and surveying a frost-covered landscape dotted with flat-topped kopjes. ‘Anything to report from the sentries?’
‘Nothing of consequence, ’ the older man replied, pressing a battered tin mug of steaming coffee into his commanding officer’s hand. Cameron took a grateful sip of the strong black brew and raked a hand through his longer than usual hair. The detachment of specially selected men spoke softly as they went about their business preparing for another day in the saddle, hounding the retreating komandos of Steyn and de Wet.
Footprints of Lion Page 24
