'I find no fault.'
'Nothing at all?'
'If you were to press me, I might say she were a little cresty – more stallion-like than mare – but that is mere taste. Handsome is as handsome does; and she does well. And she is by no means illfavoured. No, quite the contrary.'
'Nothing more?' Colonel Smith had not expected to buy a country-bred, and he would be certain of his decision.
'Again, if you were to press me, I might say that her pasterns are long – I've never cared for length below the fetlock – but I myself would not be disobliged by such a fault in country such as this.
Were we back in the hills of the Peninsula, I might prefer them shorter, but here you will have no trouble in it, I'm sure.'
Colonel Smith nodded. 'I am glad you say so. I liked her.' He turned again to the breeder. 'Very well, Menheer . . .'
They settled on a price which pleased them both (for the mare showed more quality than either of them had expected), and with assurances of a full month's warranty, the breeder received the promise of a further visit, this next time for a saddle horse for Juana. They parted, if not exactly as friends, then as trusted men of business, the Hottentots assembled in a line, like a guard of honour.
'I will say that I am much taken with the Cape-bred, Hervey,' declared Colonel Smith as they drove away in his whiskey, Hervey's hack following on a long rein. 'And I thank you heartily for your counsel.'
'Think nothing of it. I was glad of the diversion, and in truth it was instructive. I'm not as a rule so interested in these things, but I should like to see Kuyper's stud books, or whatever he calls them. I think there's a deal more blood in his horses than I supposed.'
The sun was now high, and both men were glad of their widebrimmed straw hats. Hervey sat back, content to take his ease with another at the reins. Neither of them spoke for half a mile, the distant views and the Cape's invigorating air wholly diverting.
At length Colonel Smith's thoughts turned to Somervile and his expedition. 'I have a mind to take charge of the governor's escort myself for this affair of his,' he said, out of the blue.
Hervey cleared his throat. It had become a habit of his when faced with something unpalatable and which required a considered but instant response – rather as he would check a horse before a fence. 'Indeed?'
'Yes. I see both opportunity and trouble ahead.'
So did Hervey, but he did not want the complications of an officer his senior on the expedition. Besides aught else, he reckoned he would have considerably more influence – restraining influence – on Somervile than would another (even General Bourke). 'But would your duties at the castle permit it?'
'These things can always be arranged. What escort do you propose?'
'Fifty sabres, and a section from the Rifles,' he replied, and somewhat grudgingly. 'With Welsh, their admirable captain, who was at Umtata with me.' (He hoped that mention of the battle would remind Colonel Smith of his 'native' credentials.) 'I don't know the Reliant's exact capacity, but if she can't ship them all, and the chargers and bat-horses, I shall reduce the number of sabres to accommodate the riflemen.'
'As I imagined. But landing at Port Natal with such a force will need some herald, will it not, lest Shaka take fright?'
'Somervile has sent word to Natal to prepare the way. Voerlopers, our Dutch friends call them.' Again, Hervey thought that a little display of local knowledge might give his companion second thoughts.
They were rounding a blind corner by a craggy outcrop, and the driving horse shied suddenly. The whiskey lurched to the left, and the nearside wheel-spokes splintered painfully against the jagged granite.
'Damnation!' spat Colonel Smith, recovering his balance.
Hervey had already jumped down to take hold of the horse, which stood stock-still in surprise, but which otherwise showed every sign of bolting. 'We'd better unhitch him.We can't change the wheel with him between the shafts.'
Colonel Smith got down, patting the gelding on the neck encouragingly. 'He's no shier, as a rule.'
'They never are,' replied Hervey ruefully. 'Could have been anything – snake, probably.' He began unfastening the harness.
A falling rock made them turn.
'Perhaps that was it,' said Colonel Smith, anxious only to get the gelding from between the shafts before there was any more damage.
Hervey looked back again. A black face atop a crag thirty yards off ducked down into cover.
'Indeed it might have been. See,' he said, gesturing. 'Yonder, the rocks with those yellow flowers.'
Colonel Smith looked, but saw nothing.
'There was a Kaffir.' Hervey let go the harness and cupped his hands to his mouth. 'Wenza ntoni apho!' he called.
There was no reply, nor sight of the man.
'Curse them! Two or three backs to the wheel would serve nicely.' He turned again to the harness.
Neither of them heard the Hottentots edging their way behind the crags towards them. Only the whiskey-gelding, who whinnied in vain.
'Steady,' growled Hervey, unfastening the last buckle.
The gelding shied suddenly. Hervey jumped clear, cursing.
But now he saw them – spears, blades, clubs. 'Christ!' he gasped, drawing his sabre as Colonel Smith lunged for his own on the whiskey's seat.
He ran straight at the nearest, sword levelled. Before the man could guard or parry, the point was four inches in his chest.
Hervey withdrew – 'on guard' – for the split second it took for the Hottentot to crumple, then lunged at a second.
A third rushed him with a nailed club. Hervey gave point again – this time above the breastbone.
A fourth faltered, then turned and ran. The rest took flight with him, making for their craggy fastness as suddenly as they'd come.
Hervey turned to see Colonel Smith, sword drawn.
'What in the name of God . . .'
'We were lucky,' said Hervey, grimly. He did not add that he reckoned himself careless for having to count on it, for he should not have allowed himself such an ambush.
The Hottentots had died so quickly that Colonel Smith's blade had not been needed. He shook his head in admiration as he returned his sword. 'I don't recall I ever saw such sabre-work. My compliments to you, sir.'
Hervey raised his eyebrows. 'The warrior's trade. Yours, as mine.'
'Just so; but all the same . . . Were they bandits?'
Hervey was yet making sure that those at his feet were not feigning death. He threw the clubs into the scrub, and a rusty cutlass. 'Maroons,' he said, sighing at having to use his sabre thus. 'That's what Fairbrother calls them, at least. Wretched creatures. See the brand on this one?'
He wiped his sabre on a patch of moss before sheathing it.
'Wretched indeed,' said Colonel Smith, examining the mark – and the shackle scars about the ankles. 'But I shall have the burghers form a posse to apprehend them. I've no craving for chasing runaways, but if they threaten the peace so . . .'