Warrior

Somervile was still deep in thought, however.

When at last he broke silence, it was with a look that said he was resolved on something novel. 'Our own late regency was perhaps not entirely devoid of merit. Perhaps this is our opportunity to bring order to their benighted affairs, deliver them from error's chain.'

'You mean an English regency?'

'Why not? We have had such arrangements in India.'

Hervey cleared his throat. 'Forgive me, Somervile, but is that within your authority? Would the duke approve?'

'I have certain plenipotentiary powers . . . '

Hervey was still unconvinced. 'Even if that be so, how are we to find the child?'

Fairbrother, beginning to dust himself down, smiled grimly. 'I suspect that all we need do is follow Mbopa's trail, for he will be Herod-like.'

'Or statesmanlike? Himself as regent?'

'He might will it, Sir Eyre, but there's the little problem of his rank. There's Ngomane.'

Somervile nodded, conceding the point. Ngomane was chief minister, Mbopa merely chamberlain. 'He's at his kraal, did not Pampata say – Nonoti?'

'She did.'

'How far is it?'

Hervey took out his map. 'If this is at all faithful, nine or ten miles, but what the country is like, I cannot say.'

'Then we ought to send word there at once.'

Hervey agreed, but he was reluctant, still, to remain so much on the defensive. 'Might we try also to discover the state of affairs here, in the kraal?'

Somervile thought for a moment. 'Very well. We'll go at once.'

Hervey shook his head. 'That would be a needless risk. Fairbrother and I will go.'

Somervile looked faintly vexed at being once more excluded from a more active role in his own embassy, but was wise enough not to object. 'As you wish.' And then he turned again to Fairbrother, seeming to recollect something. 'What did they do with Shaka's body?'

Fairbrother frowned. 'I didn't observe, Sir Eyre. I confess that my head was in a hole.'

'Quite so,' he replied, chastened. 'But I think we must discover it. A king's obsequies should not lightly be set aside.'

They found Pampata kneeling by Shaka's side, alone, rocking to and fro, and moaning softly.

'This is Mbopa's work, I tell you,' she said without rising. 'It is as I foretold. Like the hyena, he circled, waiting.'

'You saw it, Nkosazana, madam, little chieftainess?' asked Fairbrother, gently.

She did not look at them, or move her head this way or that to signify her answer. 'I know it to be true. And then with those other dogs, Dingane and Mhlangana, he crept in for the kill when my lord was pulled down.'

How did she know this? Fairbrother pressed tenderly. 'Who has told you, Nkosazana?'

'My lord tells me.'

Hervey wanted to console her, as he would the widow of one of his own men. He crouched beside her, put an arm around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, nodding to Fairbrother to cover the body – which he did with the bloody cloak. 'Come, Nkosazana. We shall bear him into the kraal.'

Fairbrother beckoned Serjeant Hardy and his six dragoons.

Hervey stood supporting her as they took up the body.

'Nkosazana,' began Fairbrother, judging it the moment that she would answer truly. 'Do you know where is Shaka's son?'

She understood. But her look of anxiety told him she had misunderstood his purpose. 'Nkosazana . . .' He struggled to find the words. 'We wish to find the boy to make him chief under King George's protection.'

Pampata looked searchingly at him, and then at Hervey. She had trusted them, and yet her lord was dead. Yet what alternative was there? Dingane and Mhlangana would hunt down the child; they would hunt her down. Her peril could be no greater.

The dragoons bore Shaka's body with as much observance as they would one of their own officers, at first across the saddle, and then, as they neared the entrance of the kraal, on foot. They did so in part because their commanding officer rode with them, and Serjeant Hardy's sharp eye was on them, but also because Shaka's majesty somehow exerted a power even in death. And there was, too, the soldier's rough-hewn sympathy for the widow of the fallen warrior (if mingled with less worthy feelings).

The kraal was deserted, ghostly in its sudden emptiness. Night was fast falling; there would not be time to dig the traditional grave of a chieftain, to slaughter the customary black ox and wrap the body of her lord in its skin, but Pampata did not despair: instead she brought Shaka's most treasured cloak from the isigodlo, and dressed Inkosi ye lizwe, the Lord of the World, for the journey of his spirit to the place of his ancestors. And when she had done this, they went and found an empty grain pit, near the great council hut, and into the pit they reverently lowered the earthly remains of Shaka Zulu.

It was dark when they were finished. They sealed the grave with a stone and covered it with thorn bushes so that Mbopa and the brothers might not discover the last resting place of the king, and defile it. Yet although it was dark, Pampata would not leave the grave except by the most strenuous urging, and even then she was intent on making at once for the chief minister, Ngomane. Only with the gentlest persistence were Hervey and Fairbrother able to persuade her to come back to the encampment with them: there she could rest safely, they assured her, and then travel with them the next day, for Somervile himself intended going to Ngomane's kraal.

The camp stood-to-arms a full hour before first light. Every man knew what had happened, and expected – feared – the worst. Hervey himself had slept but little, doing the rounds of the picket twice before midnight and twice after. He did not know if the Zulu attacked at night, but he could take no risks. He did not believe that their burying Shaka had gone unseen, and it might serve Mbopa in implicating them in his death, if he had a mind to. In the febrile condition of the place, as Fairbrother had put it, Mbopa might have his warriors cast aside all that Shaka had taught, and throw themselves at once on these izinkonjane, these 'swallows'.

But morning came peacefully, if overcast. Hervey had lain with his telescope trained on the distant kraal from the first signs of daylight, and observed only stillness – no smoke of cooking fires, no singing, no calling of the herd boys. He could not recollect so complete a flight in Spain or in India, and wondered on the fear that wrought it; and the peril which fear of that degree threatened.

They breakfasted quickly – cold, just smoked cheese and rum. He had considered striking camp and quitting the hillside while it was dark, but he could not be certain that his patrols would detect Mbopa's men in the pitch black, and to be caught off balance so might have gone badly for them. And so he had decided instead to follow the Indian practice – chota hazree, 'little breakfast', then two hours' marching before an hour's off-saddling, a good mash of tea, and boiled bacon and biscuit.