Warrior

Hervey raised his eyebrows at the dryness of his friend's appraisal.

'Oh, indeed she does,' Somervile insisted, misreading the gesture. 'And I might add that I have pity for her in her condition of bereavement.'

Hervey's mouth fell open. 'Somervile, you astonish me. Did you ever suppose her grief to be the less for her being . . . an ingénue?'

Somervile looked at him, puzzled. 'Hervey, are you quite well? Your sojourn has not left your faculties impaired?'

Hervey knew his old friend to be capable of studied obtuseness, but on this occasion he had a very real fear that he was being entirely candid. 'Somervile, I may assure you, in the most certain of terms, that Pampata is as much a woman – more a woman, I might say – than many a one you would meet in London.'

Somervile studied the officer before him, the major of dragoons, lieutenant-colonel of mounted rifles, and thought to himself that this mission to Shaka, if no advantage of state proceeded from it, was worth it yet for the discovery of such sensibility – of such appreciation of humanity. He felt buoyed by it, indeed. He would prepare a paper on the Zulu; he would read it to the Royal Society at Somerset House. 'Capital, Hervey. Capital!'

All afternoon, men from the outlying kraals came into kwaWambaza. They carried with them spears and short shields, and bags of mealie cakes, the warrior's iron rations. Some appeared apprehensive, perhaps even resentful, for they had been stood down from military service for the season, and there was the late planting, which although a woman's work, required their supervision at least. The sight of white faces did nothing at first to allay that resentment, but Ngwadi greeted each of them with a fraternal warmth that soon converted them into willing warriors. And when the chief presented a man with his war shield, the property of the nation, Hervey observed how each appeared to take it as if it were some sacred trust.Whatever misgivings he and Somervile had on seeing the first of this reluctant mobilization, they were soon dispelled. Or rather, they were displaced by anxiety at the actual rate of mobilization: by nightfall, there were not yet two hundred warriors under arms.

Hervey spoke with Pampata before dark. She looked immeasurably better for her repose. Her eyes, which had been almost closed in the exhaustion of the last miles, were wide and clear once more, and the dust of the veld was gone, her skin shining instead with the scented palm oil with which Ngwadi's serving-girls had anointed her. Hervey sat himself easily by her side while she made a necklace to replace the one she had lost at the Thukela.

'Are you well, dadewethu?'

'I am well, mfowethu.' She said it sadly, however. 'There was much killing this morning.'

'There was,' replied Hervey, as sadly but with resolution, and knowing there would be more. 'When Captain Fairbrother returns with more men, you must go to Mpapala and seek out Shaka's heir,' he said, as if telling her the detail of some small thing.

Pampata continued working at her necklace, her eyes remaining on the beads. 'And shall you come with me, mfowethu?'

She said it as if his replying 'no' might be some disappointment – or even a sign of faithlessness – to her.

'I must remain by the side of Somervile. That is my duty.'

She continued her beadwork without reply.

'But I will come to Mpapala as soon as Somervile wills it – when Mbopa's men are . . . slain.'

'There will be nothing more for me once I reach Mpapala, but I would see you there, mfowethu, before you return to where the white man lives.'

Hervey touched her arm. 'You may depend upon it.'

XXIII

MUCH KILLINGNext day, before first light

'Halt!'

The picket had come in at evening stand-to, slept a little, and an hour or so before first light, Corporal Cox and his three picked riflemen had slipped between the hurdle and the great thorn fence once more, out into darkness that had come with the setting of the moon.

'Who goes there?'

All four rifles were now at the aim, though there was nothing to be seen. Only the thud of hoofs gave them their direction.

'Captain Fairbrother and party,' came a voice from the bat blackness.

It could be no trick, but Corporal Cox stuck to the drill. There was always the chance that the Zulu might take advantage otherwise. 'Advance one and be recognized!'

The lead dragoon-scout dismounted and led his horse towards the unseen sentry. At five yards Cox could just make out his shape.

'Halt!'

'It's me: Pat McCarthy!'

'Come on, then, Pat,' replied Cox, keeping his voice low. 'How many of you?'

'The captain and nineteen more. No, twenty-one, counting the guides.'

'Call 'em in, then, Pat. I's'll count 'em.'

So began the lengthy procedure, while the other three riflemen kept the sharpest lookout – and cocked ears – for Zulu trying to follow them in.

Fairbrother, now come to the front of the column, was first into the kraal.

Hervey, standing with a torch by the thorn hurdle, could scarce believe it. 'My God, but you're a welcome sight, Fairbrother – or shall be when it's light!'

'Hervey? What . . .'

His astonishment was complete.

'Serjeant Donkers did not say I was here?'

'I haven't seen Donkers.'

'I sent him to Nonoti.'

'I came directly from Shaka's kraal. The herd boys told me Mbopa is making for here. A thousand warriors they said; but you know herd boys . . .'

Hervey didn't, but he knew Fairbrother. 'We can muster, perhaps, three hundred. But say: how in the name of heaven did you find this place?'

'One of the herd boys, Ngwadi's clan. Not much short of a hundred miles, by my reckoning, and no more sign of tiring than the horses. We hardly checked, so good a moon was it. We managed to get a line on here before it set, and then went by the stars.'

'Remarkable. I should have been prodigiously proud to manage it myself. You saw nothing untoward?'

'Empty country. Even the game have fled. That of course means nothing, for if the Zulu want to conceal themselves . . .'

'Well,' said Hervey, clasping his friend's arm, 'let us not be too ready to imagine the worst, even if we must prepare for it. Let us have you fed and watered, and then after stand-down, a little rest. I'll have early need of your scouting.'

'You shall first have to wake me!'

'Depend upon it! And . . .' his voice changed, 'what of the dragoons at Dukuza?'

'Buried. We saw to that. And French read a few words over them. More seemly, I thought, than my doing so.'

Hervey nodded, which by the light of the torch Fairbrother took to be approval (in truth it was more a gesture of resignation). He wished no man dead in another's place, but he was relieved that French had not been with the others at Dukuza: a last-minute change of duty – the haphazard fortune of war.