But after only half an hour Pampata made a sudden diversion to a stony outcrop by what was evidently a dry waterhole. Hervey thought he knew why: an abundance of dark-green leaves, and brilliant red shrubs clustered with fruit the size of grapes.
A flock of small but equally colourful birds quit their gorging as they approached, and rabbits bolted to their burrows. He felt sorry, almost, for having disturbed them.
But Pampata waved him from his interest in the fruit, making a sign that could not be mistaken for anything but 'poison', and instead took herself to the outcrop, where she crouched and then beckoned him over. 'See, inconi.'
He could see nothing, nothing but the rock itself. How was that to heal his wound?
She pointed.
The white marks – streaks, patches – he had merely thought to be the colour of the rocks. Pampata shook her head. She began to explain, but he understood nothing. She pointed to the burrows, and made a motion with her fingers to suggest rapid movement – the rabbits running, perhaps – but still he could not see what she meant. Then she pointed between his legs and arched her hand towards the ground with a 'psss' sound, which ended with a girlish giggle as Hervey grasped her meaning.
So the white marks were rabbit urine; but he was none the wiser.
Pampata picked a broad, flat leaf from one of the shrubs, motioned to his sabre and made a scraping gesture at the white patches.
Hervey drew his sword to oblige. Pampata was not content until they had collected two teaspoons' worth.
He then removed his arm from the tunic sleeve for a third time, and sat on a rock to await the application of the white magic. He had no second thoughts about her medicine, for he had learned an age ago, in India, how effective native cures could be (and, besides, some of what he had seen 'respectable' practitioners in England do smacked of so much quackery). The aloe had eased the pain to begin with, and although the ncwadi had brought no relief, the wound hurt no more now than before, which in his experience was unusual. What manner of cure, then, would the inconi work? Horse urine was an ammoniac, he knew; was the rock rabbit's?
Pampata wiped the wound clean of the ncwadi pulp. Blood began again to ooze, though not so freely as before. She let it fill the claw marks, dabbed at them with the torn sleeve of Hervey's shirt, then pressed the linen on the wound with the flat of her hand, and with increasing force until she was satisfied that the oozing would not defeat her purpose.
For a full five minutes Hervey endured such a pain as brought the most prodigious sweat to his brow.
She removed the linen, threw back her head and poured the white powder into her mouth, which she had filled with saliva.
Before he could ask her purpose – he now saw it was wholly impractical – she took his shoulders firmly in her hands, put her mouth to the wound, and squirted the milky astringent into the torn flesh.
Hervey was at once filled with admiration, and more – which he could not rightly determine. When she was finished, a new poultice of ncwadi applied and his arm eased carefully back into its sleeve, he turned to thank her. 'Ngibonga kakhulu, Nkosazana.'
She made a face, as if to say it was nothing.
But Hervey would not have it. He took her wrists to express his earnest. 'Ngibonga kakhulu.'
She gave a half smile of content, though of sadness too, unlike the earlier exchange, and rose. 'We have many miles to make today, mfowethu.'
He nodded. This was mere diversion; it gained them nothing in their true mission. But he could not let it pass without a proper expression of his esteem. He did what he had not done in many a year: he pulled a button from his tunic – not one of the black ones, but the silver dragoon button which he wore on the inside of his tunic-fall – he buffed it bright on the leg of his overalls, and presented it to her. 'Ngibonga kakhulu . . . dadewethu.'
He had called her 'my sister', as she had called him 'my brother'.
Pampata took the token reverently.
XX
A SOLITARY DUTYEarlier
Johnson had lain all day among the wild pear trees on the little hill to the south-east of the kraal, with Molly calmly pulling at the grass beside him. He had fastened the reins to his swordbelt so that if he fell asleep she would not break cover and reveal their hiding hole – or, worse, take off and leave him in this wild and Godless place.
She had not done so when the Zulu attacked. His Cape pony and the bat-horse had bolted good and proper when he had walked back towards the troop – on account, doubtless, of the rifle fire – but Molly had stood her ground, as a well-trained charger ought. And when he had raced back to her pursued by more Zulu than he could count, and vaulted half into the saddle, so that he lay rather than sat astride, she had broken into the most even of trots, allowing him to get his balance, and then the reins and finally the stirrups. They had galloped, then, for the ridge on which the troop had camped, and when he had stopped shaking, and recovered his breath, and his wits (the instinct for flight displaced everything but brute strength), he had begun to take stock of the sorry situation.
From this position, he could see even better the fate that had befallen Captain Brereton's dragoons, and the certainty that none had escaped death. The Zulu were already stripping the bodies. But where Colonel 'Ervey was he had no notion – except that he was not among the dragoons below. Was he inside the kraal still? Had the Zulu woman given him away?
What was he supposed to do, now? What could he do?
First, he could make sure he wasn't caught. Even if the Zulus did have some of the troop horses, they wouldn't be able to catch him as long as he stayed mounted and Molly stayed sound. He would have to show himself, though, or how would Colonel 'Ervey know he was there? Could he keep riding round the kraal till Colonel 'Ervey saw him?
But what if he were a prisoner inside the kraal? Could he leave Molly tied up, hidden, and go into the kraal by himself ? He had the rifle, after all. And when it was dark he ought to be able to get in somehow . . .
But he would have to look in every hut! And as soon as he fired the rifle, the whole of the kraal would stand-to, and then there would be no chance of getting out (there were only twenty or so cartridges left).
No, surely it would be better to keep looking for him outside. Colonel 'Ervey would know how to get out; he'd got out of worse places than here! Just as long as the Zulu woman hadn't given him away.
He reloaded the rifle and slipped it back into the saddle sleeve. 'Right, Molly, lass; we're gooin' lookin' for thi master!'
He had to think sharp again, however, for there were Zulus coming up the rise. Had they seen him (he thought he had kept his head down)? Were they after him, or just wanting to scour the camp ground?
He looked left, the way the rest of the troop had gone. Perhaps if he dropped back a bit, and headed in that direction, he would find somewhere to keep watch on the entrance which Colonel 'Ervey and the Zulu woman had gone through?