'I am able to determine that for myself. Nod to the guard of honour forming up for us.' He cleared his throat. 'Or I imagine it's a guard of honour.'
A dozen inkwebane in ceremonial dress, a single red-lory feather in each head-ring, the distinction of the Fasimba, were mustering outside the sango. They carried the short, stabbing spear, the iklwa, and black war shields, and appeared oblivious to the impalings under which they paraded.
Somervile raised his hat to return their salute. Hervey and Fairbrother saluted in the usual fashion, for although a salute was meant for the senior officer, and therefore returned by him alone, it seemed prudent to err on the side of unequivocal respect.
'I've a mind they were alive when they were hoist,' said Hervey, trying to keep his stomach down, for the stench of corruption was almost overpowering.
'Seven days ago, I'd say,' opined Fairbrother, not to Hervey's mind very usefully.
They rode through the opening in the great thorn stockade and halted inside the empty cattle byre, the herds grazing in an adjacent valley. The inkwebane followed, silent, and ranged in a half-moon behind them, closing off the sango so that Somervile's escort remained outside; though whether or not it was their intention to exclude them, Hervey could not tell.
'What is the meaning of that butchery, Isaacs?' asked Somervile as they reined to a halt, intent on remaining in the saddle for both his dignity and safety.
Isaacs was now barely able to sit upright. He gasped rather than spoke his reply. 'I'm fearful you'll see many another. They'll 'ave broken Shaka's mourning orders. Like as not the woman was with child.'
This much they had learned in Cape Town; but to see it for themselves . . . 'Bestial!' hissed Somervile.
'And no crops planted, no milk drawn – only to be poured on the earth.'
'Madness!'
'That is Shaka. When you meets 'im, you'll understand.'
An older warrior, wearing the otter-skin head-ring, the privilege of the married man, advanced on them.
'One of the gatekeepers,' said Isaacs, only with the greatest effort. 'Pay 'im no honours unless 'e crouches – which 'e won't.'
The warrior turned to face them squarely. He carried the iklwa, like the guard of honour, but a smaller shield.
'Wozani!'
'He wants us to follow 'im.'
'To the head man?'
'Can't be certain; but they're expecting us plain enough.'
'In that case we will dismount – once we have our horse-holders.' Somervile turned in the saddle and beckoned forward the escort. 'Since we're bidden, the guard'll have to let them in.'
Hervey prayed they would.
At the keeper's nod, the inkwebane parted left and right, making an opening just large enough to allow the escort to enter in file.
Hervey beckoned Trumpeter Roddis to him, reckoning a bugle preferable to the best swordsman. Then the five of them struck out behind the silent old warrior, across the byre towards the isigodlo, the private quarters of Shaka's man, the induna. Isaacs was now so fevered that he needed Fairbrother's support.
Another thorn fence, smaller than that of the outer perimeter of the kraal, enclosed the isigodlo, a collection of seven or eight beehive-shaped huts made of tightly woven grass. They passed through a narrow gate guarded by a single warrior, and made for the largest of the huts.
The induna himself greeted them. His smile, if equivocal, was easy nonetheless. He bid them enter.
Inside were calf skins spread on a clay floor. The induna gestured for his visitors to sit. Three serving-girls, their breasts bare, brought hollowed gourds filled with beer.
Isaacs, whom the induna appeared to know, began speaking. With the very greatest effort, and periodic gestures towards the others, Somervile in particular, he began to explain their coming here.
He spoke of 'Um Joji', as Shaka called King George, which appeared to establish the party's importance. Indeed, the induna seemed more flattered by the minute with the visitation (although Hervey could not but suppose that he had hourly expected them, and knew precisely their status).
Gradually, the induna allowed himself more ease. He was especially intent on Fairbrother, and when the latter spoke to him in Xhosa he narrowed his eyes as if to gain a sharper resolution of his features. With only a little help from Isaacs, Fairbrother explained that he had spent many years at the Cape and had made it his business to be fluent in the tongue of his nearest neighbours.
This brought nods of approval.
And half an hour passed agreeably. Somervile had not expected to learn anything (nor had Hervey); his principal concern was with how long he would be required to sup here before he could decently take his leave. However, the induna told them that half the bootycattle were to be returned to the Pondo king, Faku – a gesture of peace on Shaka's part. And ripe intelligence.
A gesture of peace, or a sign of weakness? Somervile pressed him for more. 'Ask how the campaign went, and now that against Soshangane.'
But Isaacs could barely summon the breath.
Fairbrother tried instead.
It took a little longer, but he was confident of his ability. 'The induna says the Pondo fought hard, but that Shaka crushed them, as he has crushed all his enemies. There is no news yet from the north, but Soshangane will be crushed like Faku.'
Somervile looked at the induna, and bowed. 'And what of the clash at Umtata, with Matiwane's warriors?'
There was an even longer exchange, Fairbrother pressing the induna hard.
'It is as we heard, Sir Eyre. He says that Matiwane had been no vassal, or even friend of Shaka's. I could not exactly follow all he said, but it seems that Shaka's keen to know how Matiwane's warriors were brought to defeat by our fewer numbers.'
Hervey did not doubt it. Shaka could hardly be indifferent to the defeat of an army trained in the manner of his own. 'Does the induna suppose we were there?'
'I believe he does.'
The serving-girls brought more beer, but before they could pour much of it, the older warrior returned, and with a graver expression than when he had greeted the visitors at the sango.
He whispered into the induna's ear.
The induna looked perturbed. He questioned him urgently, sotto voce, and then gave way, for the briefest moment at least, to a look of dismay, before masking it with resolution, and rising.
He bowed to his guests, who rose with him, and from a loop fastening by the door of the hut he took his ceremonial staff.
Somervile motioned to Fairbrother.
With no time to think how he might phrase his question, Fairbrother asked simply if they might be of help.