The Covenant (118 page)

“What thing?”

“Die balk van Slagter’s Nek, Oom Gideon.”

And that was precisely what had happened. Lang-Piet Bezuidenhout and his cronies had ridden down to Graaff-Reinet to buy the wooden beam of the Slagter’s Nek gallows from a family who had preserved the grim relic for some eighty years.

“The rebels must hang from this very beam,” the old man shouted as his cronies cheered. “We want justice.”

The judge, Oom Gideon de Beer, said quietly, “Lang-Piet, in these days we dispense a fairer kind of justice. Sit down and be silent.” Then he turned his attention to the man waiting in the dock: “For your crimes you will be taken from jail and hanged.”

In this extremity, Maud Turner came to Frank’s rescue. With bars separating her from the man she considered her fiancé, she listened intently as he told her every detail of what he had done since she had said farewell to him at Kimberley. When he explained what he had written in his Vrymeer report to Rhodes, she cried, “But that would
exonerate you!” And when he told her of the Zimbabwe report, which the Boer commando had taken from him, she was exultant: “It proves you honestly were doing scientific work. That makes your Vrymeer questionings legitimate.”

But how to get possession of the two documents? The first was held by Rhodes, who would be further incriminated if its contents were revealed. The second was held by the Boers, who would not likely deliver it. There seemed no way to obtain the papers.

With no other recourse, and with the death of her fiancé imminent, she took the bold step of going directly to the president of the Boers, and she found him sitting on his stoep, wearing a top hat and making himself available to any complaining citizen. At first he terrified her: that face of monumental ugliness, the deep voice that rumbled like a volcano, the flecked beard that rimmed his features, the tight-fitting black frock coat. But after he heard her out, he spoke to her, in English, with a warmth that surprised her.

“You want me to save the young man’s life?”

“I do!” she cried.

“You sit down here. You say two documents are in existence?”

“They are! They are!”

“And if I could see them, they would exonerate him?”

“They would, sir.”

“Then why don’t you produce them?”

She took a deep breath. “Because Mr. Rhodes has one. And you have the other. And you are both very stubborn men.”

He halted his interrogation and called for his wife to fetch them coffee, and when Mevrou Kruger appeared on the stoep, a heavy, wheezing housewife, she seemed more like a kindly grandmother than the first lady of a republic. Her Coloured servant handed Maud a gaudy cup and saucer, with a second saucer to hold a helping of rusks. To her husband, Mevrou Kruger handed a double portion of rusks, then sat beside him with hands folded.

“You say you are Miss Maud Turner?” the president asked.

“Yes.”

“And you planned to marry this young man? Before he was caught as a spy?”

“He was never a spy, sir.”

“But you yourself told me that in his first report he informed Mr. Rhodes of our strength.”

“That he did, but if you remember, he also warned Mr. Rhodes against any military adventure.”

Mevrou Kruger broke in: “Do you still want to marry him?”

Before Maud could respond, President Kruger astounded her by breaking into a hearty laugh. “My dear young lady! Do you think we Boers want to give the English a motive for revenge, such as they gave us at Slagter’s Nek?” He paused. “Have you ever heard of Slagter’s Nek?”

“I’ve been there, twice. Do you know the role played by Frank’s ancestor? Reverend Saltwood the missionary? Who tried to halt the hangings?”

“We Boers do not cite missionaries as evidence,” Kruger said, and again he broke into laughter. “Miss Turner, early this afternoon I commuted all the sentences.” He reached over and patted her knee as Mevrou Kruger offered fresh coffee to both her husband and his guest.

“Yes,” Kruger said as Maud daubed at her eyes. “He’s free, if he can pay his fine.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five thousand pounds.”

She gasped. This was more money than she had ever visualized, a vast fortune really, but she firmed her chin and said, “Somehow I’ll get it.”

“No need. Mr. Rhodes has already informed us that he’ll pay it.”

“Then Frank is free?”

“Yes.”

Her fortitude deserted her. With trembling hands she put the saucers aside and buried her face in her hands. After a few moments Mevrou Kruger came to her side and helped her to her feet. “He was free when you arrived,” she said. “My husband likes to talk with pretty women.”

When Mr. Rhodes learned that Frank was determined to marry Miss Turner, he was deeply distressed. The loss of any of his young gentlemen to matrimony was a calamity, but to have Frank leave when he was going to be so sorely needed was intolerable. Summoning Miss Turner to his offices in Kimberley, he put it boldly to her that she was ruining the young fellow’s life by insisting upon marriage.

“Seems to me,” she snapped, “it’s you who’ve done the ruining.”

“Don’t be pert, young woman,” he replied.

“I didn’t land him in jail,” she retorted, and the debate was on.

Rhodes pointed out that if Frank stayed with him he would always have a fine job, at the center of things, helping to decide affairs of great moment, to which she replied, “He decided how to get himself hanged.”

“I saved him,” Rhodes said, and he proceeded to depict the bright future that awaited this brilliant chap—

“He’s not brilliant,” she cut in. “He’s not even bright, if you ask me, getting involved in your daydreams.”

Ignoring the interruption, Rhodes explained the dismal prospect that would await Frank if he married and lost his job, to which Maud asked, “Why must he lose his job? If he does a sensible thing like marrying the woman of his choice?”

“Because no man can work as my personal assistant, and share the dreams I have, and cater to a woman, too.”

“Your dreams, Mr. Rhodes, are addled, and I’m taking Frank away from you before you turn him crazy, too.”

The threat was easier made than discharged, for when Frank was brought into the discussion, Rhodes pleaded for the young man’s continued help, especially at this time of crisis: “You must come with me to London. To help me face down the inquisitors.” And he made such a plaintive appeal, explaining the morass of legal problems he faced as a consequence of the rebellion, that Saltwood once more allowed himself to be entrapped by this man.

“Maud, I’ll be gone only a short time. He needs me.”

“I need you,” she replied. “And if you go, don’t count on my waiting for you forever.”

“Maud!” It was a cry she did not hear, for she had left the offices, and in her stead Frank had in his hands a sheaf of legal papers which he must study before sailing from Cape Town.

Maud’s patience was to be severely tested, for not only did Rhodes keep his hold on Frank during this time, with its involved lawsuits and frenzied meetings, but he dragged him into another set of extensive negotiations in an attempt to strengthen his empire. He had exited from his troubles with more power and money than before; he had engaged in criminal acts against both the Boer republics and his own government, but had emerged almost unscathed. He did have to
resign as prime minister of Cape Colony, but he retained his seat in Parliament permanently.

He turned once more to his grand design. The map of Africa must be painted red; Rhodesia must be extended in all directions. German infiltrations must be halted and Belgium watched. He had a thousand schemes, plus a special one which lay entwined with his heart: this he discussed with Saltwood, whom he considered, all things in balance, to have been the very finest of his eighteen or so young gentlemen.

“What do you think of it?” he asked one morning during their second trip to London as he shoved at Frank a rumpled paper covered with ink scratches. It was the rough outline of a new last will and testament—seventh in line—explaining his involved plan for a perpetual trust. It would receive millions of pounds, to be doled out to bright young men in the British colonies and America to enable them to attend Oxford and there imbibe the instruction which would encourage them to go forth and make the world British.

Mr. Rhodes proposed four large criteria for identifying the perfect man: scholastic achievement; success in manly sports; exhibition of moral force and leadership; and what he called “qualities of manhood,” which included truth, courage, devotion to duty, sympathy for the weak, kindliness, unselfishness and fellowship. Young men who exhibited these qualities were to be handsomely endowed with scholarship funds and given every advantage in gaining a start in life.

“Well?” Rhodes asked impatiently.

“You establish very high standards, sir.”

“You met them. All my young gentlemen at Kimberley met them.”

When this reference was added, Frank understood what Mr. Rhodes hoped to accomplish with his largesse: he wanted an endless supply of the young men who had served him so well—Neville, Richard, Edgar, Elmhirst, Gordon, Mountjoy, Johnny, and so on, through eternity, men with first names only, who did not bother with girls but who stood tall and tended the duties of empire. The list of attributes Mr. Rhodes had drawn up were those best calculated to produce just such men, and there would always be both a need and a place for them.

But even as Frank studied this description of himself he had to be amused by one incongruous aspect. “What’s funny?” Rhodes asked testily.

“Your criteria,” Frank said with a chuckle he could not repress. Tapping the paper, he said, “Mr. Rhodes, you wouldn’t qualify on a single item. You hate sports and ridicule us when we engage in them. You took nearly a decade to win your degree. You had little sympathy for the Matabele, until they were thrashed. And as for truth, I’ve heard you give quite wrong explanations of your acts. Courage you may have, but you weren’t in the front line when your revolution took place. And damnit all, you showed no kindliness to Maud. Not only would you fail to win one of your scholarships, you wouldn’t even be considered.”

Laughing heartily, Rhodes reached for his will, waved it under Frank’s nose and said, “These criteria are not meant to identify men like me. We who move the world are not pleasant people, but we need pleasant, inoffensive people to help us. These scholarships will uncover such people.” When Frank started to speak, Rhodes interrupted: “Stay with me, most precious of my young gentlemen, and we shall attain the dreams. You’re to administer the scholarships, you know.” As he started to leave the room he turned back to say, “You’re to find me an endless supply of decent chaps just like yourself.” Handing the will back to Frank, he said, “Think about it.”

For some time Frank sat staring at the floor, anticipating the great times he could have in Oxford, administering the scholarships, but this opportunity vanished when two visitors to his hotel room changed everything.

The first was his cousin, Sir Victor Saltwood, M.P. for Salisbury. He was brief and harsh: “You’ve behaved like a damned fool, Frank. I sent you one of the finest young women this world could produce, and what in hell do you do but leave her and go off to some pile of rubble in what they call Rhodesia. And when you come back you get yourself nearly hanged. Your life was saved by that girl, and yet you abandoned her.”

“Mr. Rhodes needed me. You’ve seen what happened in London.”

“Needed you, yes, but dictate to you how your life should be lived? If you had any gumption, you’d tell him to go to hell, get aboard the next ship, and marry Maud Turner.”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost her, Victor. I’ve hardly seen her these past years.”

“You haven’t at all. She understands the pressure you were under. After you left her the first time she got herself involved with schools in the farm districts. She’s done a splendid job. Her father tells me
she’s visited your folks at De Kraal, loves them, and is prepared to wait till you come to your senses. But she’s only human, Frank, and others want to marry her. She writes me that she’s giving you two months.”

“She is!” The world seemed to spin back from the abyss of loneliness which Frank had envisioned for himself. He had supposed that Maud was lost and his life was to be an endless extension of the present, but now his cousin was saying that he had been in communication …

“I want to send a cable,” he cried impulsively, and on the back of Mr. Rhodes’ proposed will he scribbled:
Maud, Sailing home immediately. Marry me the day I arrive, please, please, and save my life
.

He was signing it when Mr. Rhodes returned to the room to fetch his will, but before he could reach for it, Frank thrust it at him, his words face up, and said, “Sir, I think you should be the first to know.”

Displaying no emotion, the great financier read the proposed cable, smiled, and said to Sir Victor, “Stated in plain language.” He summoned a bellhop and asked him to bring the manager of the hotel. When that gentleman arrived, Rhodes said, “See that this telegram is filed instanter. And book us two staterooms on the
Scot
sailing on Friday.”

“No, sir,” Frank said with a firmness that pleased his cousin. “I don’t want you arguing with me all the way to Cape Town. My mind’s quite made up, you know.”

“Of course it is, and properly so. I wish to be present at the wedding.” Turning to Sir Victor, he said, “The best, I think. This boy was the best of the lot.”

“Was?” Sir Victor repeated.

“Yes. He won’t be working with me any more. I had plans for him, but times change, plans change.” And he accompanied Sir Victor from the room, a bulky, tired man, only forty-six years old, whose weakened heart could not keep pace with his dreams.

Frank’s second visitor was the managing director of the Union Line, which operated the mail ships to South Africa. It seemed strange that a man of such high position would be delivering the tickets, even to such a frequent customer as Mr. Rhodes, and Frank said so: “I know he travels back and forth at least once a year, but this is most considerate of you. I shall tell him.”