The Horns of the Buffalo (18 page)

The large dining room had more pretension than the drawing room. Candles set in silver candelabra reflected in the dark red mahogany of the table, which had been elaborately laid. A cream Sèvres dinner service was set inch-perfectly at each place and two wine glasses and a brandy goblet stood as sentinels by each soup spoon. The chair backs were elegantly shaped and cut as fine as filigree and the seats were of crimson velvet. Dark paintings, mainly of animals and still life, hung on the walls, and a huge, seemingly French gold-framed mirror dominated the fireplace. Simon felt that they could have been dining at the Queen's new castle at Balmoral.

General conversation at the table was perfunctory, not least because the food was so good: a fish from the coast that tasted like sole, followed by roast pig cased in golden crackling. The wine, of course, was superb - an 1865 claret had been carefully decanted. Simon noticed with a twinge of annoyance that Jenkins was spending most of his time talking quietly to Nandi, who was seated at his side. He turned to Dunn.

‘You told me earlier, Mr Dunn, that the Zulus hated the Boers. Why is that?'

Dunn put down his knife. ‘It would take too long to go into all the details from the past. But when the Dutchmen left the Cape and went on their Great Trek to get away from the British, they set off northwards and easily put down the Basuto and Matabele they met on the way. Most of them settled in what is now called the Orange Free State and then the Transvaal. But some of them peeled off to the south-east and took their wagons through the Drakensbergs - know where they are?' Simon nodded. ‘They came up against the Zulus for the first time. Old Dingane, the King at the time, tricked the leader of the Boers and sixty of his followers and impaled the lot. Then he wiped out the women and children waiting in the wagons and, because the British in the south had somehow got involved, turned on the little settlement of Durban - it was called Port Natal then - and burned that.'

Other pockets of conversation around the table had died away and everyone now listened to the big bearded man.

‘I remember that well, although I was only five. For a week Dingane's impis torched the town. They killed my grandfather on the beach but my father was somehow able to get my mother, my three younger sisters and me on to a little schooner in the harbour and we got away. We had come to settle there, you see, so it wasn't a very good welcome. But we all came back.'

He smiled and mopped up gravy with a crust of bread. ‘The Boers came back as well and they defeated Dingane at Blood River, where they laagered their wagons and held off twelve thousand Zulus, killing three thousand of them. Then the territory sort of swayed back and forth between the Boers and the Brits over the years - not least because the Afrikaaners may be damned good fighters but they can't organise brooms in a broom cupboard. It has, of course, ended up with your lot.' He looked up. ‘Am I boring everyone?'

‘Not at all,' said Simon.

‘Fascinatin',' said Jenkins. They both meant it.

Gratified, Dunn continued. ‘Well, the old enmity between the Zulus and Boers goes back, of course, to Dingane, Blood River and all that. But it's been revived over the last few years. There's a dispute which has been rumbling for ages over a large tract of land east of the Blood River to the north of here.' He gestured over his shoulder.

‘The Transvaal Boers claim that it was ceded to them by Mpande, Cetswayo's father. The King denies this and is looking to the British and his old friend, Somtseu, to back him up. So far, they have, but . . .' Dunn let a pause hang in the air for a moment. ‘If Shepstone wants to buy the Boers' friendship for annexation of Transvaal, then he could switch sides.'

He looked at Simon. ‘That's why the King was so tetchy when he met you. He thought that maybe Shepstone had sent you to reassure him. There is a rumour that some sort of commission is going to sit in London to sort out this land business. But I'm worried about it all. As I've said, there are many of Cetswayo's warriors who have never washed their spears. If this tribunal thing goes the wrong way, that could give them the excuse. And then we could all be involved.'

Simon nodded silently. Listening to the big man's fears, his thoughts had fled back to that darkened room in Cape Town and Colonel Lamb's talk of confederation and conquest. Either way, it was difficult to see how the future could deny the King's impis the chance to earn their manhood. He needed to think.

The pessimism in Dunn's voice had settled like a pall over the table and even Jenkins could think of nothing to say. Simon pushed back his chair. ‘I am most grateful to you, Mr Dunn, for your clear account of events.' He turned and bowed to Catherine. ‘And to you, ma'am, for a most delightful dinner.'

‘Hear, hear,' growled Jenkins.

‘Oh, don't go yet,' said Dunn. ‘Mr Jenkins, you must have another brandy.'

Jenkins beamed. ‘Well, I don't mind if—' he began. But Simon cut in quickly.

‘That's very kind of you, but I think we should retire. It's been a long day.' Bowing again to Mrs Dunn and to Nandi, Simon led the way to the door.

As they parted at their bedroom doors, Jenkins beamed at Simon. ‘I'm not sure what exactly is goin' on 'ere, bach sir,' he said, swaying slightly on his feet, ‘but for the moment, I rather like this postin'.'

‘Well, don't get to like it too much,' hissed Simon, ‘because I don't know what's happening either. But I don't like the sound of any of it. We could still be dropped like a hot potato by Dunn - and straight into Cetswayo's lap. And here.' He grabbed Jenkins's arm and pulled him close. ‘Where on earth did you learn all that stuff about champagne? Were you making it up?'

Jenkins withdrew his arm with unsteady dignity. ‘Cerdenly not,' he said. ‘As smadder of fact, I was officers' mess corporal in the 1st Battalion and me an' old Captain Talbot used to do all the buyin', see. I got to know the merchant very well.' He smiled reminiscently. ‘As smadder of fact, I got to know some of the wines as well.' He leaned forward confidentially. ‘To be honest, bach sir, that Bollinger '65 wasn't as good as I made out, see. He's bought the wrong year. Now the '67 . . .'

‘Oh, do shut up, 352, and go to bed.'

‘Very good, sir. As you say, sir.' Jenkins executed an immaculate about-turn, crashed into the doorpost and fumbled his way into his room.

 

Simon was in a deep sleep when a steady, insistent shaking dragged him back into consciousness. A fresh-faced Jenkins, his black hair slicked down and his eyes bright over the bristling moustache, was beaming down at him. ‘Better get up, sir. The sun's been up for nearly an hour and Mr Dunn's ridden off somewhere. Everyone's up an' about. I've done my best with your boots but I can't get 'em to shine 'ere for some reason.'

‘To hell with the boots. I don't want to look like a guardsman here. Why on earth didn't you wake me?'

‘As a matter of fact, sir, as you probably just noticed, like, I'ave woken you.'

‘No, you fool. I meant earlier.'

‘Ah well. I felt that we both deserved a bit of a lie-in, after all that ridin' an' all.'

Scowling, Simon pulled on his clothes, washed his hands and face in the china bowl on the washstand and hurried into the kitchen, with Jenkins scurrying behind. There, they were given eggs, bread and bowls of coffee by a huge Zulu woman who was obviously mistress of the kitchen. As they finished their coffee, a smiling Nandi appeared, her hair tied back, looking as fresh as the morning.

‘Father has had to leave,' she said, ‘but he has asked me to say that you are free to do as you please. Except that he does not think it wise for you to ride further than, say, ten miles from the house.' Her smile grew wider. ‘But I thought, Mr Fonthill, that it would be a good idea if we begin the Zulu lessons right away.' She turned to Jenkins. ‘And my brother James is happy to take you, Mr Jenkins, with him to herd some cattle, if you would like that. It would give you a chance to see more of the country.'

‘Good idea, Jenkins,' said Simon, as the Welshman opened his mouth to protest. ‘Get to know the country and all that.'

‘Oh, if you say so.' He turned sullenly to Nandi. ‘I rather thought that I would like to learn Zulu too, look you.'

‘Some other time, Jenkins,' said Simon. ‘Now just go and get to know the country like a good chap.'

After Jenkins and James had ridden off, Simon was surprised to find that Nandi had provided two saddled horses for them, too. ‘Don't we go to the schoolroom?' he asked.

Nandi shook her head gravely. ‘Oh no. I know a nice place away from the house where we will not be troubled. It is not far and we can concentrate there.'

They rode through pleasant, undulating countryside, well watered and grassed. Simon reflected that Dunn had carved out for himself what surely must be some of the best grazing and sugar-growing territory in Zululand. He speculated that they were not far from the coast, and although the humidity was higher than at Ulundi the sun was not too hot. For once, Simon thoroughly enjoyed being on horseback. He followed Nandi, who sat in the saddle with supreme confidence, riding with her bare feet thrust forward in the stirrups. They spoke little.

They followed a small stream until it widened out into a dark green pool beside a hollow that was covered with moss and coarse, springy grass. ‘This is my favourite place,' said Nandi as she dismounted. ‘Come and sit under this tree.'

They tethered their horses to a low branch and then sat under the tree's cool shade, Simon beginning to feel slightly disconcerted by the intimacy of the surroundings, but intrigued by the matter-of-fact assurance of the young girl.

‘Now, Mr Fonthill,' said Nandi, once they were sitting together.

‘I think you should call me Simon, if you would like to.'

She clapped her hands girlishly. ‘Oh, Simon! Simon. It's such a lovely name. So . . . English.'

‘Is it? I've never really thought about it.'

‘Yes, it sounds very . . . what is the phrase? Anglo-Saxon. Yes, that's it.'

‘Anglo-Saxon! Nandi, where did you learn your excellent English? Surely not here, in Zululand?'

‘Oh no. Papa sent me to boarding school in the Cape when I was very little. I was taught in a convent.' Her face clouded over for a moment. ‘I hated that and I was glad to come home when I was sixteen. Father sent James away too - we are the two oldest, you know - but he disliked it as well, so now, although he has a lot of money, Papa doesn't bother to send any of the other children away. I try and teach them here.' She chuckled ingenuously.

‘May I ask . . .' began Simon nervously. ‘You are not, I think, Catherine's child?'

Nandi shook her head. ‘We are all Catherine's children in that she is the head wife - and she is good to us all. But she and Papa never had children. My mother was the second wife and I think Father loved her very much. She was of very fine and pure blood and was the daughter of an inDuna.' She dropped her head. ‘But she is dead now.'

‘Oh, I am sorry.'

Simon looked at the face before him, now dappled by the shade. Nandi's skin was the colour of coffee after a dash of cream has been added to it and there wasn't a wrinkle or a line to be seen. Her hands were cupping her cheeks now, and the fingers were slender, not splayed at the tips as with many Zulu women, and he noted that she had polished her nails. Simon could clearly see the hard protuberance of her nipples as they pushed against the shift she was wearing. He wondered if she went bare-breasted when there were no visitors at the house.

To his amazement, he heard himself asking the question.

‘Oh yes,' said Nandi, quite unfazed. ‘It is much easier when working. Most Zulu women do. And I have good breasts. Look.' In a smooth, fluid movement she pulled her shift over her head and proffered her breasts. ‘They are quite firm,' she said. ‘Men like to touch them, though Papa doesn't like it and has told me that I should wear a dress when men are present, like white women do. But I don't mind you touching them, if you would like to.'

The invitation hung limpidly in the air as Nandi sat perfectly still facing Simon, a smile playing on her lips. A cavalcade of emotions flashed across Simon's brain: surprise, embarrassment, lust and then a dull warning of danger.

He licked his lips. ‘As a matter of fact, I think it's French,' he said weakly.

She frowned. ‘What is?'

‘The origin of Simon.'

‘Oh, really. How interesting! Are you part French, then, as I am part Zulu?' The breasts stayed tantalisingly close, beautifully formed, tip-tilted to the nipples and still, so to speak, on offer. He wondered if she was teasing him. The little smile was still there, now more in the eyes than on the lips. If she was quite innocent, some sort of noble savage, then those black eyes would surely not twinkle so. She had moved almost imperceptibly closer.

Slowly, Simon leaned forward, his mouth slightly open. Then he stopped. With a sharp inward breath he sat bolt upright and turned his face upwards and stared desperately at the blue sky framing the tracery of leaves.

‘I think you had better put your dress on again, Nandi,' he croaked.

‘All right,' she responded cheerfully. ‘You are quite right. I did not bring you here for ukuHlongonga - although, Simon, that would be very, very nice, you know.'

‘Uku . . . what? I don't understand.'

‘I will tell you another day. Now.' She had been kneeling but now she crossed her legs underneath her and sat upright in a businesslike kind of way. ‘I have something important to say to you, Simon.'