Hervey 10 - Warrior (38 page)

When it was really light, and he could see there was nothing at all – just the long grass, and the kraal half a mile away – he started to feel better, because he'd stuck to his post all night and hadn't been too frit and run away, and he hadn't fallen asleep or done anything like that. Except that he'd been a burden on poor Molly. So now he got down and undid her girth again, and this time he unfastened the bit on one side of the bridle, and let her have a good length of rein so she could pull at the grass.

And now he was feeling hungry too, and he rummaged in one of the saddlebags, because he knew Colonel 'Ervey always had a few bits of things to eat (as
he
did too, but his pony had gone) – and there
were
some things to eat, some biltong and some corn cakes, and two hard-boiled eggs. He'd give Molly the corn cakes. She grabbed the first from him, and then the other two, and she nudged him for more when she'd done. He chewed a bit of biltong, but it made him want to drink, and he knew he'd have to be careful with the water just in case he couldn't get near any more till a lot later. The eggs were best. That's what he liked most of a morning, and Colonel 'Ervey always bought lots of eggs whenever he could and boiled them hard and kept them in his pocket or in the saddlebag, because old Mr Corporal Coates, his friend before he died, told him a long time ago, when he was a boy, before he joined the army, that he ought to take boiled eggs with him whenever he went on campaign, and he was always very good about sharing them with him.

He took out the telescope to have a good look round, but the glass was misted and it was a bit of time before he could dry it properly. But when he had, there was nothing – not even many Zulus about like yesterday. So he reckoned he ought to get moving soon, go round the way he had yesterday, show himself every so often – shout 'Colonel 'Ervey, sir!', even. Because the Zulus'd never be able to catch him on Molly, just so long as she didn't go lame – and there was no reason for her to go lame because she'd been hotshod, proper, before they'd left Cape Town, and this ground wasn't nearly as hard as it was in England sometimes.

So he fastened the bridle again, and tightened up the girth, and rubbed her nose and said nice things to her – as he had all night, but now he could say them so's she'd be sure to hear – and got back into the saddle and set off to find Colonel 'Ervey.

But he saw no sign of him. He didn't call him, because it didn't seem right to – because the Zulus would hear, and they'd know then that Colonel 'Ervey was hiding somewhere, and would start looking for him. He showed himself once or twice – well, three times, really, if you counted the same place twice, there and back – but it just felt like he was waiting for a Zulu to come and throw a spear at him, and then he'd be no good for anything, and certainly not to find Colonel 'Ervey. So after midday – which he could tell because he'd noticed yesterday how the shadows changed direction – he came back to the pear-tree clump to work out what he'd do next.

The easiest thing would be to go back where they'd landed. He'd be able to find his way all right. And he might even find that Mr Isaacs, where they'd left him, if he hadn't got better and gone back. But that wouldn't really be what Colonel 'Ervey would do, was it, because he wouldn't leave Mr Somervile by himself? He'd try to catch up with him; that's what he'd try to do. That's what he'd be
trying
to do, because he couldn't still be in yon kraal or they'd be doing something that'd tell you they'd got him –
bastard
Zulus!

But where had Mr Somervile gone? Nobody had told him. All he knew was as they were going one way and Colonel 'Ervey was going another. But he wouldn't want to be going another way now, would he? He'd be wanting to catch up with Mr Somervile, and Captain Fairbrother.

Yes, that was it – Captain Fairbrother.
He'd
know how to find Colonel 'Ervey, even if he were in the kraal still. He bet he could catch them up on Molly. And it wouldn't be that hard, would it, to see where they'd gone, because fifty horses couldn't not leave an easy trail to follow? So if he set off now he'd be able to catch up with them in a day or two. Except that he'd have to do sentry again by himself at night, and he wasn't sure he could.

But what if Colonel 'Ervey wasn't doing that at all? What if the Zulus had killed him?

He sank to the ground, as if his legs turned slowly to jelly. And warm tears began trickling down his grimy cheeks.

XXI
THE WATERS THAT COVER THE EARTH

Afternoon

Hervey and Pampata stood staring at the Thukela in dismay and disbelief. In the morning they had crossed the Inonoti with barely twenty strides, the water not rising above Pampata's knees; but here the river was wider than Hervey could have thrown a spear, and looked deeper than his 'sister' could ford (he had learned already that she could not swim). Besides, the Thukela was in spate, its current stronger than he would have cared to tackle even on his own.

Pampata knew the cause. The Inonoti, she explained, was but a small river, rising from the ground not so very far from where they had crossed, whereas the great Thukela rose in the mountains – uKhalamba, the barrier of spears – many miles to the west. The clouds that had crossed their sky must have shed their water there in a great rain,
mvulankulu,
which the Thukela had collected and now returned to the sea.

This was some comfort at least, for Hervey knew well enough that a spate river could fall as quickly as it rose. But he could not see how so much water could pass at such a speed without a great deal more behind it. He had watched the cloud for three days, and thought it unlikely there would be any let in the current before morning. With difficulty he asked her how deep was the Thukela when the waters subsided.

She pointed to her breastbone.

It was not encouraging: if she had to wade at that depth, it could take days before they might ford. And then a darker thought occurred. '
Ingwenya?
' he asked, pointing at the river.

Pampata shrugged, as if to say 'who knows?'

But if she had crossed the river before, she must surely know?

Her gestures indicated that she could not say one way or the other.

'How many times have you crossed the river?'

'
Kabila.
'

'
Twice?
Only twice?' How could she know the way to Ngwadi's kraal – a hundred miles – if she had crossed the Thukela but twice?

She understood him perfectly, and looked away. 'You will not come with me?'

He almost gasped at her determination. Instead he smiled. 'I will go with you.'

They spent an hour or so foraging, though without much success. Hervey had no great appetite for the creatures that crawled or slithered out of their path, though he could easily have caught one with his sabre, and there was no game to tempt him, even if he had thought it worth risking a shot – which he did not. He wondered if there were fish in the river, although how to catch them he did not put his mind to. They found some monkey orange, with their bitter fruit, but little else beyond the odd root that might have been enjoyable had they been able to boil it. Hervey was not hungry, though. The ostrich eggs had filled his stomach, and with a rich yolk as fortifying as red meat. He would not pine for bread and beef.

Instead they sat in the shade of a lala palm, watching the Thukela, resting and gathering their strength for the morning when the river would be lower. Hervey took off his boots as Pampata washed her feet in the river, then sat beside her to wash, and soothe, his own.

'
Qaphela – ingwenya,
' she said, with a cautionary laugh.

Beware the crocodiles: he took his feet out.

After a while he asked her about the rock rabbit, and how she had come to know the medicine in its urine. It was an ancient knowledge, she replied, taught her by her mother. All Zulu women knew of it, though not all of them could use it to advantage.

And then she smiled, as if at a happy memory of something in her distant past, her childhood. 'Do you know why the rock rabbit has no tail?' she asked, indeed quite childlike.

Hervey returned the smile, and shook his head.

It was a long story, made longer by frequent interruptions for the sake of clarification. 'At the newness of the land,' she began, 'animals did not have tails. All were happy except
ibhubesi,
the king of beasts, so one day he asked them to his court to receive presents that they might look more beautiful. All the animals went to the lion's court except the rock rabbits, who preferred to bask in the sun, although they still wished for their presents, and so asked the monkeys if they would bring them for them. The lion gave presents to all who came – presents of a tail – but being very old and his sight failing, he made many mistakes, giving, for example, the elephant a very small tail, but the squirrel a very long one. The monkeys took home their tails, wishing they were not so short, and those of the rock rabbits. But when they saw the rock rabbits they refused to give them up: "We shall attach them to our own," they said, "to make them longer." Since that day the rock rabbits have had no tail, but are no longer so lazy.'

Hervey lay back against the lala palm, hands behind his head, for all the world as if he were in the garden at Horningsham. The wound was now but a dull ache. He could take his ease. 'A charming story.'

'And one that has a lesson too,' added Pampata. 'Do not send another to do one's bidding.'

This Hervey managed to understand, but not without the need to open his eyes.

'Yes, sleep,
mfowethu.
I will watch for us both,' said Pampata, once the parable was done.

Hervey raised a hand slightly, in thanks, and closed his eyes again. But just as he was about to succumb, he snapped to and sat up as if he had heard a distant alarm.

'What is it,
mfowethu?
'

'Nothing, but I forget myself.' He got up, adjusting his sabre, and the pistol at his belt. 'I must go a little way back to see how things are. Stay here. I will return before the sun falls below that hill yonder.'

Pampata looked puzzled. 'Why do you not stay here, where we cannot be seen?'

He tried to explain. 'I am a soldier,
dadewethu.
I cannot only hide and wait.'

She bowed, understanding what impelled the warrior, if not always why. 'I will stay here,
mfowethu.
'

He backtracked for half a mile, until he came to a fold in the ground which would afford him a little elevation on the otherwise flat floodplain. He ascended cautiously, for he did not want to show himself, first crawling, and then rising to his knees, and only to full height when he was sure he had seen all there was to be seen from a crouch.

But the country was empty – empty of Zulu; he knew it teemed with other life, whether he could see it or not.

He sat down. He would stay sentinel here until dusk came, and only then return to Pampata and make fast for the night.

He turned his face to the sun, taking in its strength, watching, listening – trying not to think of what had happened, but of what was to come.

After an hour he saw the vultures. Or rather, he became aware of what they did, for there had been vultures overhead since early morning. They had come together, collected, flocked, whatever it was that vultures did when they no longer patrolled alone, to circle in a slow but purposeful way above a single point. And he could not be certain of it, but the circle seemed to be advancing, just perceptibly – exactly as he had observed before Umtata, when Fairbrother had first alerted him and they had thereby detected the advancing Zulu.

But how far away they were he couldn't tell. And it might signal nothing at all, for before Umtata the vultures had flown in a sort of extended line, the formation in which the Zulu had come on. This was different. All he could do was keep watch.

Half an hour passed. They were advancing, certainly (he could now make out the wings separately from the body). And all the time they had kept up the same routine of circling. If it were a stricken animal they were intent on, it would by now have gone to ground, would it not? Why would they keep post above the Zulu? But then, why had they kept post before Umtata?

And did the Zulu – if they
were
Zulu – follow their trail, his and Pampata's? What trail could two people make? He tried to calculate: how long would it be before they closed on the river? He could only do so by the vultures' appearance, how it was changing, a method he'd scarcely had any practice in. Perhaps a couple of hours?

He wondered if he should alert Pampata. But what could they do? They might, he suppose, put more distance behind them, beat up- or downstream, but they would leave a trail, if they had been doing so before, and then the Zulu would hasten. And was not this the surest place to cross the Thukela, she'd said? Pampata needed to sleep; she did not need to be woken and made more fearful, especially when he couldn't be certain there were Zulu out there. No, all he could do, again, was wait – and thank God for this searching light of the veld.

The first sighting sent a shiver down his spine. Now he had no choice but to rouse Pampata.