The Shangani Patrol (25 page)
Read The Shangani Patrol Online
Authors: John Wilcox
It was clear, however, that the king did not agree. He gave a shouted order and the victim, now regaining consciousness, was roughly seized again by his captors, so that Mzingeli was forced to remove the knife from the tourniquet loop.
Alice took a deep breath. ‘Ah, I see that your majesty has lost respect for my healing powers. In that case, of course, I can no longer treat your painful foot. I wish you good evening.’
As Mzingeli translated, Alice bent down and slowly began repacking her medical bag. Then she stood, and with a deferential nod, turned and began making her way to the door.
A shout from the king halted her. ‘Why you interfere with our customs and judgement?’ he demanded. ‘Do I do this with Queen Victoria in your country?’
There was a logic to the question that confounded Alice for a moment. ‘Ah, but Queen Victoria would never give two punishments to one man for the same crime,’ she said. ‘The loss of the hand would be considered sufficient in any civilised country.’ The criticism implied by the use of the word ‘civilised’ put her on even more dangerous ground, she realised, but she was determined to hold her position.
Mzingeli translated, though unhappily. ‘Careful, Nkosana, please,’ he pleaded. But the king was speaking again. This time he was addressing the
inDunas
, wives and others crowded into the room. The tracker continued: ‘He say your words have wisdom and ask why no adviser said same to him in past. He say he cannot do all thinking himself.
InDunas
should advise like you. You clever woman. You heal and you speak well. Man shall go to his family.’
inDunas
, wives and others crowded into the room. The tracker continued: ‘He say your words have wisdom and ask why no adviser said same to him in past. He say he cannot do all thinking himself.
InDunas
should advise like you. You clever woman. You heal and you speak well. Man shall go to his family.’
Alice felt relief flood over her. ‘The king is gracious, wise and compassionate,’ she said. ‘If he will allow me to finish my work with this man, I will attend to his majesty’s foot.’
Lobengula nodded, a touch petulantly, and Alice knelt again at the thief ’s side. The stump was still bleeding, of course, but less so. She applied a second pad, bound it more tightly, and retied the tourniquet, less tightly. Then she selected a white cotton sling from her bag and arranged it around the man’s neck, so that the arm was held pointing upwards, close to the chest. Finally she nodded. ‘Take him,’ she said.
The king gestured with his assegai, and while the mutilated man was helped to his feet and escorted from the room, Lobengula lowered himself on to his couch. Alice asked for water to wash, and a bowl was brought. Then she inspected the royal foot. It was swollen, of course, and still discoloured, but not as enlarged as when last she had seen it. Perhaps the king was, indeed, reducing his indulgences. Certainly the pile of bottles had disappeared.
Alice returned to her bag. In Cape Town she had resorted to a pharmacy, and now she laid out on the beaten earth the fruits of her visit: a box of Blair’s Gout Pills, ‘The Great English Remedy’, and a bottle of Clarke’s World Famed Blood Mixture. She had been assured by a doctor she had consulted in the Cape that these, coupled with a restrained and balanced diet, would reduce the symptoms of the affliction and indeed help to remove it altogether. She was anxious to lessen the king’s reliance on her injections of morphine, for she wished to keep the drug for more serious emergencies.
She doled out a week’s supply of the pills and explained that one should be taken every day with water, supplemented by a teaspoonful of the Blood Mixture. Then she injected the king, as before, with morphine, this time reducing the dose.
Immediately the king’s good humour was restored, although it was unclear whether this was because the drugs took immediate effect - which was unlikely - or because he had managed, narrowly, to keep face over the sentencing of the thief. The great beam came back.
‘How long you stay this time?’ he asked.
‘I am not sure,’ replied Alice, thinking quickly. ‘I know that my husband is anxious to seek the king’s agreement to a question he will put to your majesty, but certainly we are not anxious to leave Bulawayo. In due course, however, I understand that we intend to explore to the east, towards the Indian Ocean coast.’
‘Oh! Very difficult country that way. Very dangerous. Why you go?’
‘Er . . . I understand that Mr Rhodes is anxious to find a route to the coast, either by river or by land.’
‘Why he want that?’
‘Your majesty must ask my husband. I do not know.’
‘Ah. Rhodes always want something.’
‘Um . . . yes.’ She smiled, packed her bag, bowed and left, Mzingeli in tow.
The two walked together in silence back to the huts until, nearly there, Mzingeli spoke. ‘You very brave woman,’ he said. ‘Very fine.’
Alice gave the tracker a sad smile. ‘Thank you. The trouble is that I very much doubt whether it was worthwhile, for I am sure that the man will die, probably of shock or blood poisoning. Still, better he dies in bed than being dragged under by some foul-smelling crocodile.’ And she gave an involuntary shudder.
Alice decided not to tell Simon of her intervention, and they prepared for their dinner with the king in companionable silence - broken, inevitably, by the arrival of Jenkins, who still perforce shared their hut.
‘Been to Mr Fairbairn’s,’ confided the Welshman, ‘just to see if ’e’d ’eard anythin’ about the Portuguese bloke, look you.’ The strong smell of whisky he exuded gave the lie to that, but apart from exchanging glances, neither Simon nor Alice decided to issue a rebuke.
‘And what did he say?’ asked Fonthill.
Jenkins gave a chortle. ‘I got Gouela all right. In the shoulder. ’E’s walkin’ about with ’is arm in a sling. An ’untin’ accident, ’e’s tellin’ everybody.’
Simon nodded. ‘Well,’ he reflected, squatting on a stool and pulling his head through his best shirt, ‘if there was any doubt about who was behind that attack, that settles it.’
‘Do you intend to tell the king?’ asked Alice.
‘I think not. However . . .’
‘Yes?’
Fonthill grinned. ‘If Lobengula does make a fuss about being short-changed with the number of guns I have brought, I would be sorely tempted to say that old Gouela took half of them when he attacked us.’
‘Oh, I don’t think . . .’
‘No, neither do I. It would be wrong to lie about it, and anyway, I could never prove it. So I will just keep quiet and see how things develop.’
Alice sat for a moment in silence, and then decided it would be wise to tell Simon about her intervention after the mutilation, and of her brief conversation with the king following her treatment of his foot. Jenkins and her husband listened with rapt attention as she unfolded her brief tale, and at its end, Fonthill shook his head slowly.
‘My dear Alice,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’
‘I do,’ said Jenkins. ‘It was a very brave thing to do. I wouldn’t ’ave pushed my nose in there, with the old bastard in ’is ’and-choppin’ mood. You did very well, Miss Alice, if I may say so. But blimey. It just shows what these people are capable of, isn’t it?’
Fonthill stood and wrapped his arms around his wife. ‘Yes, it does. So don’t do anything like that again, my love. Will you promise?’
She pushed him away. ‘Certainly not. I had him over a barrel and he knew it. I wouldn’t have treated him if he had let the poor wretch be taken to the river. And that was that. I would do it again if necessary.’
Fonthill raised his eyebrows to Jenkins, shrugged his shoulders and resumed dressing. ‘What did he say when you mentioned the exploration trip to the east?’
‘He wanted to know why Rhodes wanted you to go, but I told him he had better ask you.’ She grinned, her grey eyes sparkling in the gloom. ‘I thought I had got into enough trouble for one day.’
‘Ah.’ Fonthill gave a histrionic sigh. ‘Acknowledgement at last! But thank you for telling me. I had better think of a good reason.’
As the sun dipped away and the brief African twilight began to disappear, revealing the first spray of stars in the blue-black sky, the three walked together down to the king’s hut. The heat had gone, taking the flies with it, and the evening was soft and delightful. After careful thought, Alice had decided to wear her only dress, having smoothed out the wrinkles with a sprinkling of water and the application of her hand. A touch of femininity, she had reasoned, would not be out of place after her show of masculine determination earlier.
Fonthill regarded her with approval as they strolled together, arm in arm. Alice had tied back her hair with her favourite apple-green silk scarf-a treasure of much importance in her tiny wardrobe - and donned open-toed sandals. A touch of face powder and a little rouge had smoothed her sunburned cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling.
‘How nice to go to an elegant dinner in the tropics,’ she said. ‘I wonder if the old boy will serve us champagne.’
‘Hmm. Equally, he might decide to cut our hands off. Which reminds me.’ He turned to Jenkins, walking amiably by their side. ‘I know you’ve had a touch of whisky, 352,’ he said, ‘so do please behave yourself tonight. If somebody stamps on your foot, take it as a compliment. Don’t punch him on the jaw, there’s a good fellow. The family has been in enough trouble for one day.’
‘I shall be ’ave with great property . . . propoty . . . prop . . .’
‘Propriety?’
‘That’s the word, Miss Alice. On the tip of me tongue. Not a finger out of place, see. Oh, incidentally, old Fairbairn ’as been invited.’
Fonthill’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ah, so it’s a kind of diplomatic party all round, probably to celebrate the fact that Lobengula’s got his guns and gold.’ A second thought struck him. ‘I wonder if de Sousa will be invited. We shall see.’
They entered the large hut to find that, thankfully, the fire had been allowed to die down, even though the evening had become cooler with the descent of the sun. Benches of differing heights and provenance had been arranged in a great circle around the fire, with Lobengula’s old wooden throne arranged on one side of the circle, facing the door. The king had not yet made his appearance, but all of the senior
inDunas
were there, including the man who had led them to the king on their first entrance to the country and who had been saved from punishment by Fonthill on their arrival at Bulawayo. He came forward with a grin, and made a great show of shaking hands, European style, with Simon, Alice and Jenkins, as though they were old friends. Fonthill took this as a good sign.
inDunas
were there, including the man who had led them to the king on their first entrance to the country and who had been saved from punishment by Fonthill on their arrival at Bulawayo. He came forward with a grin, and made a great show of shaking hands, European style, with Simon, Alice and Jenkins, as though they were old friends. Fonthill took this as a good sign.
Nini, too, came bustling over, an ironmongery of copper charms and medallions cascading over her huge bosoms. ‘How is you?’ she enquired.
‘We is . . . ah . . . we are very well, thank you, Princess,’ said Simon, bowing over her hand.
The king’s sister made an impatient gesture, and beer was immediately produced for all three. Receiving his, Jenkins gave an extravagant bow and immediately caught the attention of Nini. ‘You not married?’ enquired the princess.
‘Ooh, yes,’ the Welshman hurriedly replied. ‘I ’ave three wives back ’ome.’
Nini immediately whirled round to Fonthill. ‘He say you only allowed one wife at a time.’
Jenkins thought quickly. ‘Ah well, you see, your majesty, two of ’em are dead an’ buried, like. I’ve got one that is very much alive, look you. An’ that’s all I’m allowed, see. Great pity it is.’
The princess looked puzzled, but let it pass. Now she put her face close to Jenkins’s and examined his great moustache, taking its end between plump finger and thumb and rubbing the hairs vigorously. ‘Why you grow this?’ she asked.
‘Er . . . to make me look pretty, see.’
At this, Nini threw back her head and roared with laughter, giving a lead to all of the wives and girl servers in the hut, who laughed along dutifully, although they could not have understood for a moment the meaning of the joke. Fairbairn now joined the party, bringing with him his distinctive aura of tobacco smoke and whisky, and he immediately engaged the princess in fluent Zulu, which relieved Jenkins of his duties as purveyor of pre-dinner small talk.
The Welshman caught a stir in the far corner of the room - was there another entrance? - and he immediately turned to Fonthill. ‘’E’s ’ere, bach sir.’ He jerked his head.
Simon followed the direction of the nod and caught a glimpse of the familiar yellow uniform. De Sousa was talking to a couple of
inDunas
, standing firmly and with his right hand nonchalantly tucked into his unbuttoned jacket, Napoleon style. No sling was evident. Fonthill grinned. ‘He’s not prepared to show us that he’s been wounded,’ he said. Well, well, well. I must go across and pay my respects and . . . ah . . . offer him the hand of friendship.’
inDunas
, standing firmly and with his right hand nonchalantly tucked into his unbuttoned jacket, Napoleon style. No sling was evident. Fonthill grinned. ‘He’s not prepared to show us that he’s been wounded,’ he said. Well, well, well. I must go across and pay my respects and . . . ah . . . offer him the hand of friendship.’
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