A Flower for the Queen: A Historical Novel (19 page)

“Thunberg’s enthusiasm was irrepressible, and I was infected with it daily during the hours that we spent together, me teaching him to draw and he teaching me the art of hunting and the ways of the Xhosa, Khoikhoi, Attaqua, Damaqua, Gauriquas and innumerable other tribes that he had come across in his travels.

“I should have been happy. I was surrounded by an infinite array of new subjects to draw and catalogue. For someone who had spent his entire life immersed in the world of plants, this should have been an experience to be cherished and savoured, as each new day laid out before me the treasure trove that Banks had promised.

“And yet, if it had not been for Thunberg, I am convinced that I would simply have ridden in Schelling’s shadow the entire way, not noticing a single plant or animal along the way, such was my impatience to get the flower and then get home.

“Even though I collected and drew more new plants each day, my heart was not in it. It was merely a distraction to keep my eyes from searching for the tell-tale plume of dust on that otherwise endless blue horizon.

“It was Thunberg who always held me back whenever we conducted our sorties to spy on Schelling’s caravan. Despite his effusive self-confidence that tugged at the coattails of arrogance, I knew that out there I had no choice other than to trust his judgement.”

The cart came to a stop as they reached a fork in the road.

Up to that point, the two-week journey towards the eastern edge of the colony had passed without serious incident. Thunberg and Masson had continued to collect and observe plants of every imaginable type as they travelled across a landscape that reminded Masson of the descriptions he had read of the northern Mediterranean. The main difference was that he had not read of anyone traversing that coastline in constant fear of his life from such a multitude of threats, be they man or beast.

They passed many farms and homesteads, and whilst the occupants were often very poor, they always offered to share what little they had without expecting anything in return. Small game was plentiful, and they managed to supplement the meat that they hunted with roots and fruits that they foraged along the way.

Whenever they found fresh water, the growing number of empty wine bottles were filled as insurance against the possibility that the next watering place would either be dry or too brackish. They had just forded a freshwater stream and come out of a tall forest of assegai trees — so named because their branches were used by the Khoikhoi to make the shafts of their spears — when the track forked, one route leading east towards the ocean and the other leading inland to the north.

“This is it,” Thunberg said after conferring with Eulaeus. “This is where we head inland and overtake them.”

For almost the entire journey thus far, they had been hemmed into a narrow plain by a range of mountains that ran parallel to the coast. As they came closer and closer to the frontier, with no apparent way through the mountains to an inland route, Masson had begun to worry that Thunberg had miscalculated and that they would end up following Schelling all the way to Two Rivers. But now, with what Thunberg said was just three or four days left, Masson saw that he need not have worried. The mountains that had contained them for so long now petered out, giving way to a hilly coastal plain through which they could traverse without obstruction.

“We’ll take the north track that heads into the interior and then break out east again just before we get to the next range of mountains,” Thunberg said. “It’s slightly longer, but the track is every bit as good as the coastal one. If we push hard, we can easily make up the time.”

Thunberg dismounted from his horse and inspected the tracks in the dirt, conferring with Eulaeus before standing up and gazing eastwards to where they could just about see a faint smear of dust rising off the land, wavering in the heat haze. “Schelling’s headed for a large village of Xhosa that lies a bit further down the eastern track, just before it reaches the sea. He’ll be needing a guide to take him the rest of the way, and hopefully they’ll hold him up with negotiations for a spell and give us more time to realise our passing manoeuvre.”

“But won’t we need a guide as well?” Masson asked.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” asked Thunberg, suddenly fascinated by something that had become lodged under his fingernail. It took up so much of his attention that he did not look at Masson while he spoke. “Two Rivers is where Eulaeus is from. He knows the area better than you know the lines on your own palm.”

Masson couldn’t believe his ears. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Thunberg squirmed. “When you say it like that, it sounds much worse than it is. Really, I just didn’t want to get your hopes up. Eulaeus says that he hasn’t seen the
isigude
himself, but he thinks he knows where to look.”

“To think that I had begun to trust you,” Masson said, shaking his head. “What did you have in mind? I don’t think you could have abandoned me like Willmer did; that would go against that gentlemanly code you hold in such high esteem. Were you hoping that I would expire in the wilderness so that you could go on to collect the flower yourself?”

“Look,” Thunberg said in a conciliatory tone, “we’re losing time. Every minute we spend arguing here is time we could be spending outflanking Schelling. If we press on now, we can be at Two Rivers the day after tomorrow, and maybe even a day before Schelling. That’ll give us enough time to find the flower and then get going on our return journey. Eulaeus will see to it that the chief puts them onto the wrong trail, and by the time he works out what’s happened, we’ll be halfway back to Cape Town.”

Masson frowned and took a deep breath. He could sense that the flower was almost within his grasp, and yet he still did not have the full measure of Thunberg. He wondered what else lay in store.

“Fine. Let’s do it your way, but without any more surprises.”

As Thunberg led the way onto the northern trail, he gave Masson his warmest smile and made a dramatic show of placing his hand on his heart as if swearing an oath. “No more surprises. I promise!”

The team raced across the plain for the rest of the day. As they headed away from the coast and the mountains dropped away, vistas opened up in every direction. The coastal woodlands that they had passed through were replaced by open stretches of grassland broken up by short, thorny trees and scrubby bush; as a result, the amount and sheer variety of game far exceeded anything they had seen up until then.

They saw elephants and rhinoceros, as well as entire herds of zebras and their brown-flanked quagga cousins, not to mention the seemingly ever-present springbok. Although Masson had seen examples of most of these animals on the way up the coast, this was the first time that he had laid eyes on so many of them in such close proximity. He found himself having to catch the others up because he was constantly stopping in disbelief, trying to take in what seemed to him an impossible number of animals. He was struck dumb with wonder at how fertile the land must be to support so many creatures.

When evening rolled around, the group stopped to rest and feed themselves and the horses before setting off again under the cover of night.

It was whilst they were eating that Masson almost dropped his bowl at a sound that seemed to wrench his heart from his chest. At first it had been distant and he had not thought much of it, blending in as it did with the symphony of evening sounds. But as it grew closer and more distinct, it not only took over the symphony but silenced each and every other instrument until it was alone in the black and otherwise noiseless void of the night.

When the roar came again, it seemed to him so close that he felt sure that at any moment a blur of yellow fur and white fangs would bring both their supper and the journey to a swift and bloody end. As he left his upturned victuals in the dirt and raced for one of the loaded rifles that they kept on the back of the cart, he saw that Thunberg and Eulaeus had remained seated and were looking up at him with bemused interest.

“Don’t worry, Masson, the land here is flat, and with the breeze like it is, sound carries a fair distance. More than likely they are miles away, and anyway, the fire will keep them at bay.” Thunberg’s words did nothing to reassure Masson, especially when he went on to say, almost cheerfully, “Still, probably not a bad idea to keep going.”

After pushing on through the night and stopping only for a herd of elephant that was on its own night march across the plain. Dawn broke in the east, revealing the outline of another range of mountains that rose up jaggedly against the northern horizon. They had reached a shallow and slow-moving river whose course was carved deep into the earth, leaving banks about thirty feet high that were made up of a crumbling, reddish dirt that was bare of any vegetation and which had been striated by gullies and rivulets carved by the last flood waters.

“There’s more than likely a crossing point a bit further upstream,” Thunberg said after conferring with Eulaeus. “Once we get over, the path splits, and we can head back to the main trail that runs along the coast. With the progress we’ve made, Schelling should be at least half a day’s ride behind.”

Masson nodded his head and yawned as he followed on behind Thunberg, who turned and said, “You can take a rest on the back of the cart if you like.”

“Between the lions and your navigation, sleep is more than likely the last thing I could do right now.” Prompted by rumblings in his stomach, Masson remembered that they had not yet had breakfast.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“Well,” replied Thunberg trying to sound upbeat, “we can’t stop to hunt, but there are still some biscuits and plenty of water. And we still have some wine—”

Eulaeus cleared his throat and made a sucking noise through his teeth. Thunberg frowned and cast a glance at the back of the cart. All the crates had been emptied of their contents and then re-filled with the bulbs, seeds and cones they had collected along the way. The bottles lashed to the sides of the cart were all either empty or filled with water.

“Ah, no wine then. But at least we still have Pieterszoon’s brandy.”

This time it was Masson’s turn to shake his head as he lifted from the cart one of the jars containing the various samples of insects, reptiles and amphibians that had been caught and then preserved in the light brown liquid.

“Now that really is a disaster — we may just have to turn back for home right here and now,” said Thunberg grumpily. He took the jar from Masson, opening it and taking a tentative a sniff. Just as Masson thought he might quaff the liquid, Thunberg shook his head wistfully and reluctantly closed the jar again.

“Well,” he said, “we’ll just have to sustain ourselves on water and biscuits for now and if we make good time, perhaps we can do some hunting for our dinner.”

Eulaeus passed out the hardtack biscuits and water, and after a brief pause, they continued along the path which tracked the course of the river. After a few minutes, Masson stared into the distance and raised a pointed finger to the horizon. “What’s that?”

Two giraffes were grazing on the thorny branches of an acacia tree. “
Giraffa camelopardalis,
of course,” replied Thunberg. “Surely you’re not that hungry?”

“No. That!”

Beyond the giraffes, towards the horizon, was a faint rust-coloured dust trail rising up above the gorge and coming towards them. Within a few minutes, the source of the cloud was revealed to be a caravan of about half a dozen wagons, each pulled by a team of six oxen that strained against their yokes as the men, covered in dust and sweat, cracked their
sjamboks
and drove the train on in the bright morning light.

“Trekboers!” exclaimed Thunberg, his excitement immediately giving way immediately to confusion. “But they’re headed in the wrong direction. I’ll go and speak to them and see what’s what. Hand me some of that tobacco, maybe we can trade it for some brandy.”

Thunberg grabbed some of the tobacco and stuffed it into a pouch. “You wait here with Eulaeus.” Masson was about to object, but Thunberg cut him off. “It’s nothing personal, it’s just that if there’s one thing these people distrust, it’s an Englishman. Do you know what they call you?”

Masson shook his head. “But I’m not English—”

“
Zoutpeel
,” continued Thunberg, ignoring him. “It means salty skin. Because a man who stands with one foot in Africa and one foot in Europe cannot avoid immersing certain parts of his anatomy in sea water.”

Thunberg rode up and cheerfully greeted the man driving the leading wagon. After some discussion, Thunberg returned, looking confused.

“Well, there’s some good news, some bad news and then some news which could go either way, depending.”

Fearing the worst, Masson said nothing, waiting for Thunberg to continue.

“The good news is that the crossing point is just up ahead, and I’ve managed to trade the tobacco for some dried meat. It’s no giraffe, but at least it’ll keep your hunger at bay.”

“But that’s excellent!” cried Masson. He grabbed the sack and pulled out a stick of the
biltong
, which he tore into as though it were his last meal.

“Ah, yes. That’s where the bad news comes in, I’m afraid.”

Masson stopped mid-chew as Thunberg took a deep breath. “There seems to have been a breakdown in relations with the border tribes over the pasturelands. The Trekboers claim that all their cattle have been taken and their farmsteads burned to the ground, and that anyone crossing over onto the other side of this river is walking to certain doom. They say they’re headed back to Cape Town to try to convince van Plettenberg to send troops to form a garrison here.”

“Do you think they’re telling the truth?” asked Masson.

“Not really,” Thunberg scoffed. “Van Plettenberg couldn’t care less; he answers only to the Company directors, not to wayward Trekboers who become more African and less Dutch with each passing day. No, they’ll probably end up taking some cattle from another tribe further inland and claiming it as compensation.”