Hervey 10 - Warrior (31 page)

'It would not do for Shaka to be put in mind of his fat halfbrother,' said Fairbrother.

Isaacs had spoken much of Shaka's half-brothers during yesterday's ride – their character and which of them would succeed to the throne. Dingane thought of nothing but women, a milksop; Mhlangana was a fine warrior but no statesman; Mpande was fat and self-indulgent; Ngwadi, Nandi's son by a commoner, was beloved of Shaka, but lived many miles distant, and had a lesser claim on the throne than any. Was there truly no son, a son of which even Shaka might be unaware? To which Isaacs had replied that if there were such an heir, and his name were to become known, his life would soon be at an end, for Shaka had a most unnatural fear of sons, and the inevitable challenge of the young buck. And even if his identity were to escape Shaka's knowledge, he would not long survive Dingane's spears.

Mbopa now returned, and with him a woman of about Hervey's age, tall and severe, though handsome. The serving-girls paid no formal respects, except for their glances, one to another.

'Pampata?' suggested Fairbrother, his voice lowered confidentially (Isaacs had spoken of – warned them of – Shaka's favourite).

They rose.

Unlike the serving-girls, Pampata wore the sidwaba, the longer, hide skirt of the betrothed or married woman, with a necklace of plaited cow-hair and feathers between her high, unsuckled breasts. Her hair, like Shaka's, was cropped, and stood proud. Her eyes were bright, active, intelligent. She spoke in a slow, measured way, lower in pitch than a white woman. Her bearing was one of dignity, if not authority, and at once commanded all attention.

Mbopa's interpreter said that she wished to greet them, and that Shaka, despite saying nothing directly to them, was much pleased by their arrival.

Somervile bowed, saying that he perfectly understood the king's greeting, that it was most gracious of him to leave his
ndlunkulu
to come to them at this hour, when affairs of state must be pressing (he presumed the visit of the brothers to be such), and that they waited on his pleasure with complete ease.

Pampata turned and spoke to Mbopa in a way that denied them hearing. His face betrayed disquiet. He spoke some words by return, but Pampata was insistent.

He stepped back, gave her a long and searching look, and then withdrew, followed by the interpreter and the serving-girls.

Hervey moved to Somervile's left side, allowing himself a free hand to draw his sabre. Somervile merely smiled encouragingly.

Pampata looked each of them in the eye, searching perhaps a little longer in Fairbrother's, and then addressed Somervile directly. How she knew that any of them would understand, Hervey could not suppose, save perhaps that she had been observing them discreetly.

'Shaka is a great man and a great king,' she began, almost defiantly. 'You are, I know, repelled by the sights of death all about.'

Fairbrother made sure that Somervile and Hervey had understood.

Hervey had, but again he wondered how she knew their minds. Perhaps, though, she too was repelled by the sights of death.

'But let not your unknowing of our ways deceive you: without Shaka there is no nation, and with no nation there is no peace. When Shaka accomplishes his purpose, which will be soon, there will be peace throughout all the land.Without Shaka there will only be war.'

This took longer for Fairbrother to translate, and he was not sure that he did so entirely faithfully, but the essence of it at least was clear – as much by the speaker's inflection.

Somervile felt able to reply, if in a distinctly unpolished mix of Xhosa and Zulu. 'Madam, why do you say "without Shaka"? By what means would the nation be without its king?'

'I do not fear the white man.'

Somervile narrowed his eyes, and looked at her intently. 'I would not have you fear us, madam. Who is it that you do fear?' He glanced at the door to suggest what he meant, his voice lowered.

Pampata stood proud, despite the peril in her words. 'I fear Shaka's brothers. They are not his true brothers but only the sons of his father. And I fear Mbopa. None of this I fear for myself but for Shaka and his people.'

'Why do you speak with such . . .?'He could not find the word, and turned to Fairbrother: 'Urgency?'

Fairbrother looked at Pampata, shaking his head. '
Sheshile?
'

She nodded. 'Because the people are tired, they do not understand why they must mourn for Nandi so much, and Shaka's brothers would take advantage of that. Even now, as we speak.'

Somervile realized that here was a course he had not considered. What was His Majesty's interest in such an eventuality as Pampata was suggesting? His India instinct was to see advantage in the overthrow of a ruler who did not wholeheartedly support the Company. 'What do you wish me to do, madam?'

'Shaka sends his guards away, believing himself to be in no danger, as if tempting a hand to move against him, so that he himself might stay it. While his brothers are here he is in the greatest danger. You have warriors enough to protect him from harm.'

Hervey struggled to understand the exchanges, needing Fairbrother's whispered translations, but he caught the essence of what Pampata wanted, and he reeled at the thought of it. 'Somervile, I must counsel—'

His old friend shook his head; he had understood her well, and would have her reveal more. 'Who is Shaka's legitimate heir?' he asked, his voice lowered almost to nothing.

Fairbrother had to try several constructions before he was certain she understood.

Pampata glanced at the entrance, and then turned back to Somervile. 'There is a child, a boy-child,' she replied, almost inaudibly. 'Nandi has called him "Little Bull-Calf".'

'Your child?' whispered Somervile.

She shook her head, seemingly with a most intense disappointment. 'I cannot say more now.'

Somervile nodded. 'But if Shaka will not have his own warriors guard him, he will surely not permit us to?'

'You are here in the
ikhanda,
already.'

'But—'

Mbopa returned. They fell silent.

He eyed them warily. 'Lady,
Si-gi-di,
He who is equal to a thousand warriors, commands your presence.'

Hervey wondered how much he had overheard. Did he use that praise-name to warn them that their own little force was ineffectual?

Pampata ignored him for as long as she dare, her eyes on Somervile still, almost beseeching.

Somervile held her gaze for as long as he dared, rapidly turning over in his mind this new intelligence. At length he bowed. 'Madam, we are your servants.'

XVI
THE MOUNTAIN FALLS

Next day

'Bugle'Roddis sounded reveille at the first intimations of daybreak, the little darts of sunlight that shot up in the eastern sky like fire-works at a fête.

They had camped a quarter of a mile from the kraal – on favoured ground, said Mbopa. But it was to the west, so that the rising sun was in their eyes. Hervey had not supposed that this was coincidental. Half an hour before reveille, therefore, as the troop and the riflemen quietly stood-to-arms, a dozen of the most trusted dragoons, with Fairbrother, had slipped out in pairs, beyond the pickets, to scout for any Zulu using the shadows and the favourable light to make a stealthy approach.

But as the sun's full face slowly revealed the ground to the watching dragoons and riflemen, Hervey saw not warriors but women and children. They had gathered as spectators, just as the Spanish and Bengali peasants used to gather. A camp of soldiers was a thing of universal fascination.

They might have been decoys, even innocent decoys, to distract them from the manoeuvring of the warriors around the flanks. But it was to detect such manoeuvring that he had sent out Fairbrother and the picked men. Had he truly expected to be attacked? To a soldier the question was pointless: expectation and possibility required the same precautions. But if he had been asked, he would have said 'no'. The threat to Shaka's life, which Pampata had pressed upon them, had proved empty: his brothers had left Dukuza for their own kraals before nightfall, and Shaka himself had walked peaceably abroad, observing his visitors from a distance in the manner of one who was merely intrigued by the appearance of something new. The discipline of the field, however, the stand-to-arms dawn and dusk (which too many of his acquaintance derided as slavishness), was a rule of life as that of any religious.

And he thought of Sister Maria. She would be on her knees at this hour. How he wished he had been able to return and speak with her. She had pointed the way at their convent meeting, but there was so much he would have asked about the twists and turns of the path he knew he must take. Nothing had been resolved, but it had, at least, been a beginning.When he was returned to England he would be able to take up these things again. There had been nothing he could do about Kat; there had been nothing he could do about Kezia – nor Georgiana, nor Elizabeth – but he knew his relief on embarking for the Cape had been almost indecent.

'Leave to stand-down, sir?'

He woke; he had not seen Brereton come to his side, with the captain of the Rifles. He cleared his throat, and made a show of putting his telescope under his arm. 'By all means. General parade at . . . ten.'

It was a generous allowance for breakfast and mustering, but Hervey saw no reason to put on a display any earlier. In any case, they waited on Shaka's word for what would happen next.

Somervile now appeared, looking discomposed. 'My servant did not wake me. Why did not the picket officer?'

Hervey kept his smile to himself. 'My dear Somervile, there was no need of your presence. Your sleep is more valuable to us than your pistol.'

'Yes, yes, that's all very well; but I am quite put out. You must not take these things upon yourself so.'

Hervey frowned. 'If I am not to take the simplest of decisions, how do you expect me to take the important ones? I must, with the very greatest of respect, remind you that I command your escort.'

Somervile looked at him with a combination of dismay and affront.

But Hervey was adamant. 'It simply will not do if you insist on being the soldier. I cannot have the responsibility.'

Somervile shook his head. 'I wished only to see the sun come up on the kraal. I had no intention of usurping your command.'

'Then I will be sure to call you tomorrow.' Hervey knew he traded on their long years' acquaintance, but he was certain of his point: he could not discharge his duty if Somervile were given leave to range.

Private Johnson came up, saluting both of them. 'Would tha like some more tea, sir?' He addressed his remarks to Hervey, who had enjoyed his first at stand-to. 'An' you an' all, Sir Somervile?'

Whether Johnson's incorrect form was intended or not (he could be distinctly perverse in such things), neither Hervey nor his friend thought fit to remark on it. Hot tea was ever worth a breach of etiquette.

A steaming brew of best Bengal filled their canteens.

Hervey's brow furrowed as he drank, in no measure of distaste, rather of mystification.

'Summat up wi'it, sir?'

'Johnson, there's milk in this tea. Where did you get it?'

'From one o' them 'erd boys, last night.'

'Which herd boys?'

'When you were in wi' t'king.'

Hervey tried hard to keep his countenance, for the sake of regimental pride. He certainly had no desire to inhibit Johnson's legendary skills in 'progging'. The executions at the Fasimba kraal were so fresh in his mind, however, that he could not but shiver at the thought of how dearly they might be taking milk with their tea. It was one thing to drink sour curds in Shaka's kraal. 'He gave it to you?'

'I gave 'im some beads for it.'

Somervile could no longer forbear. 'Admirable diplomacy, Private Johnson. Admirable.'

' 'E said 'e'd bring some more this morning an' all, sir. That'll be 'im there now.' Johnson nodded to the crowd of women and children advancing on them gingerly.

Hervey turned, with no little anxiety, to look for Brereton and Welsh. He saw Collins instead, and pointed to the visitors. 'Sar'nt- Major, pass the word to be civil to them, but to be on guard. Sharp on guard.'

'Sir.'

In an instant, Collins had his corporals relaying the orders.

'I don't suppose they're any different from those who swarm round a camp of soldiers anywhere, but in the circumstances . . .'

'I don't imagine they are,' agreed Somervile, 'save that they may tell us a great deal more about matters than would your average peasant.'

He was soon proved right. With the babble of women and children was Pampata.

They received her warmly, offering her a camp-chair, and tea, which she drank with surprised pleasure, before she in turn presented them with a gourd full of honey. Somervile had no difficulty making himself understood, or understanding, albeit the conversation was of a straightforward kind. Hervey grasped the essentials well enough. And Pampata appeared perfectly at ease and in no measure fearful. But yet to him she was . . . preoccupied.