Cam turned to Will. ‘If you were these men and wanted to reach Lourenço Marques, would you go to the coast then south to the port or stay inland and make for the railway?’
‘No question in my mind, ’he answered. ‘I’d head for Ressano Garcia.’
‘Across the border from Komatipoort. Inland it is then, ’Cameron nodded, pleased that his thoughts had been confirmed.
The hours passed slowly and largely in silence as they pressed on. ‘How far ahead do you think they are now?’ Henry asked their young tracker.
‘Perhaps half a day, ’ Eli replied, chewing reflectively on a blade of grass. ‘But we are no longer gaining on them.’
Cameron heard the conversation and realised that Will’s wagon was slowing them down. He reined round and rode back to speak with his godfather.
‘Do I sense a problem?’ Will asked.
‘Your son is doing you proud, ’ Cameron replied. ‘But we are not closing the gap.’
‘Then Eli must go ahead with you, ’ Will said immediately. ‘Even on foot he will be faster than those you follow.’
It was what Cameron had hoped to hear.
‘I shall go on to Swaziland. Look after my son, Cam, and Godspeed.’
They made their farewells and left Will trundling slowly south. Cameron, Henry and Eli pushed on at a fast pace with Will’s son leading like a good bird dog at point. He was extremely fit, his half-run, half-walk devouring the miles until, just before sunset, a shot rang out, bringing him to a dead stop.
Heidi and Alice, along with dozens of women and children suffering a similar plight, had travelled in an open freight train from Standerton to Pretoria. There they were joined by many others and herded into different carriages to continue the journey. Their destination displayed a sign marking it as Middelburg. She remembered the name now: it was the place where Louis Botha and that evil man Kitchener had spoken of peace. That had only been a few weeks ago, before Milner and the British government made new demands causing the talks to collapse. Since then the farm burning and forced removals that brought them to this strange and terrible place had increased in intensity.
The cheese and bread Heidi had packed with her meagre possessions were long gone. British soldiers had supplied water at some of their frequent stops but no food. From the railway station, the frightened and confused passengers either walked or were taken in horse wagons to a bare patch of old farmland where conical tents and white-painted rocks defined the salient features of Middelburg concentration camp. Dust drifted over the grassless veld and the stench of open-pit latrines caused Heidi to gag as they stood in the sun awaiting registration. Wherever she looked, people wore shabby working clothes which had seen better days. The uninterested faces of existing detainees stared at those waiting in line – not because they sought something, but because they had nothing else to do. There were no smiles of greeting, only sullen expressions of defeat and apathy. Heidi felt a sense of panic and held Alice closer.
Registration completed, a bored British doctor gave Heidi and Alice a cursory examination before handing them on to one of the Boer trustees, who took them to a tent, telling the exhausted ‘mother’ that this would be their new home. Before leaving, he briefed Heidi on the do’s and don’ts of the camp.
Holding Alice to her breast, Heidi slumped down on the canvas bed which all but filled a space devoid of anything else except two neatly folded and well-worn blankets. ‘Shh, ’ she whispered, rocking Alice, who grizzled in her arms from lack of a meal. ‘Help will come, my little one. The Lord will provide.’ Heidi had no idea why she had said that. What hope was there for them, she thought. They were prisoners, far from the home which lay in charred ruins two days’ journey away.
In that moment of despair Heidi wanted to lie down and die but knew she could not. The infant she held needed her to live. During the last months she had all but forgotten her own child and had no idea if a husband who still knew nothing of Alice had also been lost to the unforgiving land she so loved. Somewhere out there, he and his two brothers were fighting for what they believed. For this, strangers had destroyed their home and brought her to this desolate plain in what might as well have been a foreign land. Heidi rocked the baby in her arms and hummed the familiar strains of ‘Sarie Marais’. Alice responded by dribbling and closing her eyes. Keeping up the rhythm she wondered where their next meal would be coming from. Staring at the sleeping face she realised that nothing had changed. Life would always be a fight for survival.
‘You have just arrived?’ a woman’s voice asked from the tent flap, causing her to jump. ‘Do you have extra food that I might buy?’
Heidi stared at the stranger and was immediately struck by her gaunt appearance. She was probably near to her own age but unknown horrors made her look much older. ‘I am sorry. We have nothing, ’ Heidi replied. ‘Surely they feed us here?’ she asked. ‘They must!’
The woman stepped into the tent and gazed down at Alice. ‘How old is your baby?’ she asked in a tired voice.
‘She is eleven months.’ Heidi was more or less correct.
‘And quite beautiful, ’the woman said, a tear springing to her eye. ‘I prey to God that she has a happy life.’
Startled, Heidi laid Alice on the bed and tucked a blanket round her. ‘Why do you say such a thing?’ she asked, standing up.
The woman did not reply. Shaking her head she started to walk out of the tent, then stopped and looked back. ‘This is a place of death for those so young. I lost a child only last week.’ With that she put her head down and hurried away, leaving Heidi with a feeling of dread. She had been in the same place and knew what grief could do to a person’s mind. At least now she had Alice.
TWENTY-SIX
A dozen or so skittish buck burst from the bush ahead then stopped, looking back in the direction from which they had come. Guinea-fowl rattled their distinctive alarm call as they sought refuge in the trees. Eli spoke quietly. ‘The ones you seek are not far ahead and have shot one of those impala to eat. It is good. They do not know we are here.’
‘What do we do?’ Henry asked.
Cameron looked at the lengthening shadows. ‘It will soon be dark, ’ he said softly. ‘Let them settle down for the night. We’ll hit them at dawn while they’re still half asleep.’
Henry nodded. He liked the plan.
Eli had done his job and done it well. In the morning he would leave to rejoin his father. The matter with Klaas and Ramos was no concern of his.
From a saddlebag Cameron produced three sticks of the biltong Will had given him before they left the wagon. The dark sun-dried meat, soaked in vinegar, salt and spices, was still raw in the centre. Having eaten nothing since before dawn it took the edge off their hunger.
Henry hobbled the two horses, removing both guns and placing them within easy reach. Despite the ever-present danger of lions, a fire was too risky. Eli would take the first watch, followed by Henry then Cameron. As darkness closed in, a distant glow pinpointed the position of Klaas and Ramos. Later, they heard raised voices and laughter. Sounds carried far in the African night.
An hour before sunrise, Cameron thanked Eli and wished him a safe return to his father. Will’s son carried no weapon other than a knife as he disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness. ‘Time to go, ’ Cam spoke quietly to Henry, who rubbed his eyes and flung back a dew-covered blanket.
The grass was wet underfoot and not a breath of wind ruffled the awakening bush. Somewhere in the distance a lion announced to all that he had eaten well. Moving warily they approached the still-burning fire which had been further away than Cameron expected. They were close now. Near enough to make out two blanket-covered bundles stretched beside it. The Dutchman had not worried about keeping watch, relying on a huge blaze to ward off any prowlers. It had done exactly the opposite, Cameron thought as they slipped closer.
A horse suddenly snorted, its nervous whinny causing the sleeping men to sit up in alarm. Beyond the fire they could see nothing but both had
snatched up weapons. Klaas pointed what looked like a .38 revolver while Ramos worked the lever of a Winchester .44-40 then waved it back and forth in the darkness.
‘Who is it?’ Klaas shouted in Afrikaans.
‘Drop the guns!’ Cameron called back in English.
‘Or die where you sit, ’a second voice said from somewhere else.
Not knowing how many men were out there, Klaas and Ramos realised they had little choice and did as instructed. Cameron stepped forwards, the twin muzzles of his ‘Cape’ gun pointing ominously at the man who had spoken. Henry moved in from beyond the fire, keeping Ramos covered.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Klaas switched to English. ‘And what do you want with us?’
‘It matters not who we are, ’ Cameron replied. ‘What we want is a simple answer to a simple question. Give us that and you can be on your way.’
‘You are not Portuguese, ’ Klaas said. ‘If this has to do with what goes on across the border then you are contravening the neutrality of this territory. Not even the Boers would risk doing that.’
‘As I said, ’Cameron repeated, ‘all I want is the answer to one simple question.’
Puzzled, the Dutchman stared up at the tough-looking figure standing over him. ‘What is it you wish to know?’ he asked.
‘The whereabouts of a baby girl taken from my brother in Durban.’ Cameron’s tone made it clear he meant it. ‘You were responsible for her abduction.’
For a moment Klaas appeared confused by the question. It seemed so out of place here, in the middle of nowhere. ‘Petersen’s child, ’he said after a long delay. ‘And if I tell you where she is how will you know it is the truth?’
Cameron saw he had a point. ‘Because if you have lied my brother and I will find you again and there will be no second chance.’
Light dawned in the Dutchman’s eyes as he realised Duncan had not been killed in the boardinghouse blaze.
‘I am rapidly running out of patience, ’ Cameron said. ‘Tell me now or by God I’ll take you back to military intelligence in Pretoria. They would love to have a cosy little chat with you.’
Everything happened so fast that Cameron was caught completely off-guard. Ramos had recognised Henry and noticed him switch his attention momentarily to Klaas. It was all the time he needed. Slipping a pistol from his boot he raised it and fired in one fluid motion, missing his target by the merest fraction of an inch. Cameron turned in time to see Ramos flung back against his blanket. Henry only had one shot but it hit Ramos in the centre of his chest. Sensing danger he swung back to Klaas. The man was lunging at him with a wicked-looking knife. Instinctively, Cameron fired from the hip.
The explosion which followed was deafening, tearing the gun from his grasp and flinging him to the ground. Cameron had not checked the borrowed weapon and when he squeezed the back trigger the bullet slammed into a dried hornet’s nest in the left barrel, tearing it apart like a tin opener and sending a shard of jagged metal into his groin, another furrowing its way across his face and almost taking off an ear.
Lying stunned on the ground, Cameron was vaguely aware that Henry had swung his empty rifle, smashing it into the side of Klaas’s head. The Dutchman crumpled and fell heavily on top of Cameron. Henry hauled the limp body aside, kicking his knife well out of reach. Before checking on Cameron he gathered up both handguns and the Winchester, discarding his Martini in favour of the eleven-shot carbine.
Cameron could feel the pain coming in waves. Something seemed to be wrong with his hearing as well. Henry was kneeling over him, tending to his wounds. The wounds on his cheek and ear had stopped bleeding and were not life threatening but the metal splinter lodged close to his stomach was much more serious. ‘Klaas?’ he asked through gritted teeth.
Henry shook his head. His blow had killed the man.
Cameron rolled his eyes in frustration. He had taken a risk going after the Dutchman in Portuguese territory. Now the only hope they had of finding his half-brother’s baby was gone and his own chances of survival were not worth putting money on. Another wave of pain caused him to cry out.
Dawn was breaking and time had no intention of standing still. Henry rummaged through the things Klaas and Ramos had been carrying but found little of use. He fabricated a bandage of sorts then announced. ‘I am going to make a litter.’
Finding the right trees was far from easy but by using Klaas’s knife, blankets and leather reins, Henry was able to construct something that he hoped would work. Once satisfied, he took one of the horses and rode back to recover their own mounts and equipment. When he returned, Cameron had passed out.
It took Henry another hour – by which time the sun was high in the sky – before he was ready to move out. He had turned loose the horses they didn’t need and left everything else as it was. Vultures were spiralling high above. Hopefully, Africa would take care of the two bodies, neither of which had died of natural causes. He had no idea where they were going, but it made sense to turn west and try to get back across the border.
Henry looked critically at Cameron, whose well-tanned face had a dirty-grey pallor. He wondered if his friend could survive. Without medical help he would be unlikely to see another sunrise. ‘Just sip, ’ he said, bending down and trickling water between his parched lips.
‘How long have we been going?’ Cameron asked weakly, as Henry checked the litter and its occupant.
‘Half a day, ’ he said. ‘We are making good progress.’
‘You don’t need to pretend. The hand of death is near and I must ask something of you before it’s too late. It is a matter of great importance. I have a farm near Dargle, below the Inhluzan ...’
Henry was not listening. He had seen a column of mounted men coming towards them through the shimmering afternoon heat. There were ten of them at least, armed and wearing the uniform of Portuguese soldiers. Cameron could make out the rhythm of their horses’ hooves. At least his hearing had improved.
‘I think we may have a problem, ’Henry said.
As they approached, the horsemen adopted a crescent formation and advanced at walking pace, carbines drawn and ready for use. A man wearing the gaudy uniform of an officer rode forwards towards Henry and Cameron. He spoke but neither of them understood what he had said.
‘No speak Portuguese, ’ Cameron looked up from the litter and shook his head.
‘English?’ the officer asked.
Cameron nodded.
‘I speak some. What do you do here?’
‘Hunting, ’Cameron lied. ‘Had an accident.’
‘Do you have permits?’ Without waiting for an answer, the officer gracefully dismounted and removed his riding gloves. He was surprisingly young, with fine dark looks and a pencil moustache. Carefully he examined the bloody swab of makeshift bandages. ‘You need a doctor, ’he announced. ‘It is fortunate that we have one close at hand. Tell your boy to follow.’
Henry glanced at Cameron, who said in Zulu the equivalent of ‘So far, so good’.
The Portuguese soldier swung into the saddle and with a short hand signal formed up his patrol and moved out. Henry trailed along in the rear, leading Cameron’s horse and the litter behind his own. A little over an hour later they arrived at their destination. From the number of tents, wagons and horse lines, Henry realised that the camp housed a regiment-sized cavalry unit. In the heat of the still afternoon the Portuguese flag hung limply from a white-painted pole.
Fewer than ten minutes later, Cameron lay on a table in an open-sided tent, the sloping roof of which displayed an internationally recognised red cross. A short, white-coated man with a bald head and thick spectacles carefully probed the wound in his abdomen. As the doctor, who reeked of garlic, placed a cloth over Cameron’s nose and mouth, he recognised the pungent scent of chloroform. Within seconds his world faded into oblivion. The young officer stood outside, watching the proceedings with undisguised interest.
When Cameron regained consciousness he found himself on a camp stretcher in a te
nt lit by a single spluttering lamp. Henry sat beside the bed, head drooping and breathing heavily as he slept.
‘Amanzi, ’ Cameron croaked, bringing the Zulu awake.
Henry picked up a pitcher, pouring some of its contents into an enamel mug and holding it to Cameron’s mouth. The tepid water trickled slowly between his cracked lips.
‘Better, ’Cameron said, once he had quenched his raging thirst. ‘How am I doing?’
Henry gently lowered his friend’s head to the pillow. ‘The doctor removed this.’ He held up a two-inch piece of jagged metal. ‘And has done what he could to improve your ugly white face.’
Cameron gave what he thought was a grin.
‘I think that without his skills you would not be here, ’ Henry went on.
‘It is also thanks to you.’ Cameron had no doubt that Henry had saved his life.
An armed guard stood outside the tent. Henry leaned forwards and spoke softly into Cameron’s ear. ‘We are now prisoners of the Portuguese. It seems they have found our two friends.’
Cameron swore under his breath, wondering if they hung those found guilty of murder. ‘The good doctor may not have done me such a favour if we are accused of killing them. Let’s not forget, Ramos was Portuguese.’
‘And he tried to kill us, ’Henry said, attempting to remain positive. ‘You are alive and that is what matters.’
Cameron had no idea if this confidence could be justified. He stared up at the canvas above him, aware of the tightly pulled stitches as pain pushed back through the morphine which had been administered when he first arrived. Henry’s presence was somehow soothing. It was probably the first time in his life that Cameron really thought about the Zulu as a person. Henry had simply been there – for as long as he could remember. His friend, yes. Colour didn’t come into it but he was from a different class, a servant. This man had just saved his life and sought nothing in return. Truly, that made them equal.
Footprints of Lion Page 40
