"Allan Wilson and his men," Craig explained, "they exhumed their bodies from the battlefield on the Shangani, and reburied them here."
On the north wall of the memorial were the names of the dead and Craig ran his finger down the graven roll of honour and stopped at one name.
"The Rev. Clinton Codrington," he read it aloud. "He was my great-great-grandfather, a strange man, and his wife, my great-great-grandmother was a remarkable woman indeed. The two of them, Clinton and Robyn, founded the Mission Station at Khami. A few months after he was killed by the Matabele, she married the commander of the column who had ordered Clinton to his death, an American chap called St. John. I bet there was some interesting hanky panky there! A bit of hithering and thithering, a touch of to-ing and fro-ing "They used to do it even in those days?" Janine asked. "I thought it was a recent invention." They wandered on around the side of the hill and came to another grave. Over the grave stood a misshapen and dwarfed ms asa tree that had taken precarious hold in a fault in the solid granite. Like the one on the summit, this grave also was covered by a heavy plate of weathered bronze, but the inscription read. "Here lies the body of SIR RALPH BALLANTYNE, FIRST PRIME MINISTER OF SOUTHERN
RHODESIA.
He deserves we'll of his country." "Ballantyne,"she said. "Must be an ancestor of Roly's." "A mutual ancestor of both of ours," Craig agreed. "Our great-grandfather, Bawu's papa. This is the real reason why we have driven out here." What do you know about him?" "A great deal, actually. I have just finished reading his personal journals.
He was quite a lad. If they hadn't knighted him, they would probably have had to hang him. By his own secret confessions, he was an unqualified rogue, but a colourful one." "So that is where you get it from," she laughed. "Tell me more "Funny things." he was a sworn enemy of that other old rogue up there." Craig pointed up the hill towards Cecil Rhodes" grave. "And here they are buried almost side by side. Great-grandpa Ralph writes in his journal that he discovered the Wankie coal field but Rhodes cheated him out of it. He swore an oath to destroy Rhodes and his Company, he actually wrote that down! I'll show you! And he boasts that he succeeded. In 1923 the rule of Rhodes" British South Africa Company came to an end. Southern Rhodesia became a British colony, old Sir Ralph was its prime minister. He had made good his threat." They sat down, side by side, on the curbstone of the grave and he told her the-funniest and most interesting of the stories that he had read in the secret journals, and she listened with fascination.
"It's strange to think that they are a part of us and we a part of them," she whispered. "That everything that is happening now had its roots in what they did and said." "Without a past there is no future," Craig repeated the words of Samson Kumalo, then went on, "that reminds me, I have something else I want to do before we go back to town." This time Craig did not have to be warned of the hidden turn-off, and he swung onto the track that led past the cemetery, down the avenues of spathodea trees to the whitewashed staff cottages of Khami Mission.
The first cottage in the row was deserted. There were no curtains in the windows and when Craig climbed up onto the porch and peered in, he saw the rooms were bare.
"Who are you looking for?" Janine asked, when he came back to the Land-Rover.
"A friend "A good friend?" "The best friend I ever had." He drove on down the hill to the hospital and parked again. He left Janine in the Land-Rover and went into the lobby. A woman came striding to meet him. She wore a white laboratory coat, and her unnaturally pale face was set in a belligerent frown. (I hope you haven't come here to harass and frighten our people," she began. "Here police mean trouble." "I'm sorry," Craig glanced down at his uniform. "It's a private matter. I am looking for a friend of mine. His family lived here. Samson Kumalo-" "Oh," the woman nodded.
"I recognize you now. You were Sam's employer. Well, he's gone."
"Gone? Do you know where?" "No," flatly, and unhelpfully. "His grandfather, Gideon-" "He's dead." "Dead?" Craig was appalled. "How?"
"He died of a broken heart when your people murdered someone who was dear to him. Now, if there is nothing more You want to know, we don't like uniforms." By the time they reached town it was late afternoon. Craig drove directly to his Yacht without asking her Bpermission, and when he parked under the mango trees, Janine made no comment, but climbed out and walked beside him to the ladder way
Craig put a tape on the recorder and opened a bottle of wine, then he brought down Sir Ralph's leather-bound journal that Bawu had loaned him, and they sat side by side on the bench in the saloon and pored over it. The faded ink and pencil drawings that decorated the margins delighted Janine, and when she came to a description of the locust plagues of the 1890s, she was captivated.
"The old geezer had a good eye." She studied his drawing of a locust. "He might have been a trained naturalist, just look at the detail." She glanced up at him sitting close beside her. He looked like a puppy, an adoring puppy. She deliberately closed the leather-bound book without taking her eyes from his. He leaned closer to her, and she made no effort to pull away. He covered her lips with his own, and felt them soften and part. Her huge slanted eyes closed, and the lashes were long and delicate as butterflies" wings.
After a long time she whispered huskily, "For God's sake, don't say anything stupid. just keep right on doing what you are doing at the moment." He obeyed, and it was she who broke the silence. Her voice was shaky.
"I hope you had enough forethought to make the bunk wide enough for two." Still he said nothing, but lifted her up in his arms and took her to see for herself.
"Do you know, I didn't realize it could be like that. "There was wonder in his voice, as he stared down at her, leaning on one elbow.
"It was so good and natural and easy." She traced a fingertip over his bare chest, drawing little circles around his nipples. "I like a hairy chest," she purred.
"I mean you know, I always felt it was such a solemn thing to do after vows and declarations." "The sound of organ music?" she giggled. "If you'll excuse the expression." "That's another thing," he said. "The only time I have ever heard you giggle is when you are doing it, or when you have just done it." "That's the only time I ever feel like giggling," she agreed, and giggled again. "Do be a pet and get the wineglasses." "Now what is so funny?" he demanded from the companion way.
"Your bottom is white and baby smooth no, don't cover it." While he hunted in the galley cupboard, she called from the cabin, "Do you have a tape of the "Pastoral"." "I think so." "Put it on, pet." Why? "will tell you when you come back to bed." She was sitting at the head of the bunk, stark naked in the lotus position. He put one of the wineglasses in her hand, and after a short struggle managed to twist his own long legs into the lotus and sat facing her.
"So tell me,"he invited.
"Don't be dense, Craig I mean isn't that just a perfect accompaniment?" Another great storm of music and love swept over them, leaving them clinging helplessly to each other, and in the aching silence that followed, she tenderly stroked back the sweat-damp hair that had fallen into his eyes.