The Horns of the Buffalo (44 page)

And Alice? Betrayal? No, far too strong a word. She had obviously tried to help and failed, and anyway, what could she have done in this militaristic milieu? She had her own life to lead and her own career to follow. Clearly she had attended the first morning of court to see if it was worth reporting and, realising that it was not, she had returned to more important matters, like following the progress of the war. Yet he would miss her - and Nandi . . .

The call for the resumption of the court came quickly - too quickly. The judges must have made their decision with almost indecent speed. Simon felt the certainty of disaster. As the tribunal members filed in, not one of them caught his eye and the two young captains looked positively sad. A low, tuneless humming came from the back of the room: Covington was singing to himself.

The Deputy Judge Advocate was the last to appear, and as he flared out his gown to sit, so the door to the courtroom opened and in bustled Alice. Without a glance at Simon, she hurried to the lawyer, gave him an envelope and then returned to the stool at the back of the room, followed by an astonished glare from Covington. Colonel Glyn rose and addressed Simon, who was already standing and desperately trying to stop his legs from shaking.

‘Lieutenant Simon Fonthill,' he began in low tones, ‘this court martial has . . .' The lawyer was also now standing and leaning towards the Colonel, whispering to him. The two men stood together for some thirty seconds like conspirators, before the Advocate handed Glyn the letter and sat down. ‘One moment, please,' said the Colonel, then he too sat, adjusted his spectacles and read the letter. After he had finished he leaned forward to the lawyer and began another whispered conversation with him. Simon strained hard but could pick up no discernible phrase. Eventually Glyn nodded and removed his spectacles.

‘Please sit down,' he said to Simon and turned to address his colleagues ranged along the table. ‘Gentlemen, although we have reached our verdict, there has been a development that I am advised we must take into account, and that, I fear, will mean a further adjournment after we have heard it.'

He held aloft the letter. ‘This has just been delivered to the court. It is from Colonel Lamb, Lord Chelmsford's Chief of Staff in Cape Town, who has already submitted an affidavit to the court. The Colonel urges us to hear evidence from one more witness before we come to a decision - evidence that, he claims, is of some importance. I am advised that, as this letter has reached us before we have delivered our verdict, then we are still in session and that we should hear and, if necessary, question this witness, who is waiting outside. Do you all agree?'

Four heads nodded in agreement, but then Covington stood. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I must protest. You have heard a great deal of evidence already and spent much time on this case. Isn't it time it was closed and justice done so that we can all return to the business of taking revenge for the awful reverse the army has sustained?'

Glyn looked enquiringly at the lawyer. The Advocate rose. ‘The court martial was not closed when this new witness was presented by a senior officer of the General Staff,' he intoned. ‘In my opinion, if you do not hear this evidence, then you give the accused clear grounds on which to enter an appeal against your verdict; an appeal which, in my opinion, would have every chance of being sustained.'

Simon looked at Alice with wide eyes. Covington, too, was now glaring at her. With a pretty gesture, she resumed fanning herself with her notebook and smiled sweetly at both of them in turn.

‘I accept that,' said Glyn. ‘Let us therefore hear the witness.' He held his spectacles to his nose and read, ‘Miss Nandi Dunn.'

As the words echoed round the room, Nandi was ushered in by the sergeant major.

‘My God!' exploded Covington. ‘She's half Zulu. How can we give credence to what she says? She's a damned half-breed!'

The damned half-breed flinched as she heard Covington's words but gave a small smile to Simon and then a larger one to Alice, who nodded back encouragingly. Nandi was wearing the simple cotton shift that Simon remembered so well, and her glistening hair was pulled back demurely and tied with a scrap of orange silk. She was wearing shoes for the occasion, Simon noted: well-cut leather pumps with a high heel. She was clearly nervous but she looked ravishing.

Her appearance was not lost on Colonel Glyn. ‘Please do sit down, young lady,' he said. ‘Now,' he looked again at Lamb's letter, ‘will you please tell us your full name, give us your address and tell us your occupation - if you have one, that is,' he added kindly.

‘My name is Nandi Elizabeth Dunn. I live with my mother and father in Natal, near the Lower Drift of the Tugela. I have no formal occupation, although I assist my father.'

‘And what does he do?'

‘He is chief of intelligence to General Chelmsford for the column that is now being prepared to cross the Tugela and relieve Eshowe.'

Glyn looked up at Covington, and beneath his beard, his lips curved in the faintest of smiles. ‘Is he now?' he murmured.

‘Yes, sir.' Nandi now spoke with a little more confidence. ‘He has just been appointed to this position by the Commander-in-Chief. My father is English, you know, or at least, Irish, although he has lived all of his life here.' She directed this last sentence, with a touch of hauteur, at Covington, who scowled at her. Simon was forced to put his hand to his face to hide a smile.

‘Very good, Miss Dunn. Now please tell us in your own words as much as you know of what has happened to Mr Fonthill over the last four months, or since you met him. However, you must only tell us what you yourself observed at first hand. No hearsay. Please proceed.'

Nandi stole a quick glance at Simon and then, in her low voice, began to tell the story of his and Jenkins's sojourn in Zululand, taking in the dispatch of Jenkins to Cape Town, Simon's journey to Ulundi, his imprisonment and his escape with Jenkins. As she related her own nocturnal visit to the prison hut in the Zulu capital, her words seemed to echo in the courtroom, so profound was the silence.

‘How do you know that they were able to make their escape?'asked the Deputy Judge Advocate in a rare intervention.

‘I know,' said Nandi, ‘because before I left Zululand, I talked to one of the Zulu warriors who had attacked Mr Fonthill and Mr Jenkins when they had gone about seven miles from Ulundi. He said that both men got away after fighting like wounded buffaloes - particularly the thin one.' She turned and nodded towards Simon.

‘Hearsay, I'm afraid, and not allowable,' murmured the lawyer, half to himself. ‘But interesting despite that.'

There was little more to be said. No further questions were directed at Nandi and the court was adjourned. Simon had no chance to exchange words with either Nandi or Alice before being escorted back to his quarters. There, he sat at his table staring unseeingly at the wall. His mind tried to grasp the significance of Nandi's evidence. Was it enough to show that he had not been lying about his imprisonment and escape, and more significantly, would the words of - what had Covington called her? Yes, a ‘damned half-breed' - would they have weight with this tribunal of men who clearly regarded non-whites as inferior beings? Of course they had made up their minds to find him guilty before Nandi's arrival. Would they swallow their pride and change this verdict? The more he considered the question, the more he found it unlikely. Covington was such a strong presence in that group and he was clearly determined to pin his man down, like a butterfly to a dissecting table, and so complete the ritual of humiliation begun so long ago - and the force of this persecution had been redoubled after Simon had struck him. For Covington, the blow had been more than physically painful; it had been an affront to his dignity and his superiority. It must be avenged. Simon put his head in his hands. It all seemed so inevitable and so damned unfair! But he must prepare for all eventualities. He sat up and pulled pen and paper towards him and began writing a letter. It did not take long, for it contained only three sentences. He addressed the envelope, sealed it and waited for the call back to court.

It came within ten minutes, another disconcertingly short time. Simon rose as the tribunal members filed into the room and once again felt his knees trembling, so that he had to brace them against the chair to hide his weakness. There was no trace of either satisfaction or beneficence in the gaze of Colonel Glyn as he looked up from his papers and rose to his feet. The room was completely silent once more as the Colonel cleared his throat. Simon closed his eyes.

‘Lieutenant Fonthill,' said the Colonel, ‘on the charge of desertion in the face of the enemy, this court martial . . .' he paused as though for cruel effect, and Simon kept his eyes firmly closed, ‘finds you not guilty.' Simon was conscious that the room behind him seemed to exhale in a gasp of both relief and surprise. He opened his eyes and realised that they were moist. His legs still trembled and he thrust them harder against the chair rim.

The Colonel continued: ‘On the other charge, that of assaulting a senior officer, the court finds you guilty. However, it accepts that exceptional circumstances forced you to act as you did and the punishment levied on you will be one year's loss of seniority. That will be all. You may now leave this room and rejoin your regiment.'

Simon nodded abstractedly, put on his cap, saluted, turned and marched quickly from the room, robot-like, as though in a dream. Once outside, in the sunshine - the shimmering, liberating sunshine - he clenched his fist and raised it for a moment to the sky in unreal relief. Then he realised that he had not noticed if Alice or Nandi had been in the courtroom, so tense was he in waiting for the verdict. He re-entered the room. Alice was engaged in close conversation with Covington in one corner; he coldly erect, she talking animatedly to him, one hand on his arm in friendly intimacy. For a brief moment Simon felt that sharp pain of jealousy again. What was she saying to the bastard? What
could
she be saying to him that demanded she be so close and talk to him so earnestly? And then he saw Nandi, standing alone and uncertainly at the back of the room.

He beckoned to her and together they walked out into the sunlight. ‘Nandi.' He took her hand and held it in both of his. ‘How can I thank you enough? I think - no, I am sure - you saved my life.'

She gave him that wistful half-smile and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. ‘Ah, Simon,' she said. ‘You must thank Miss Griffith, Alice. She saved you, not I. It was she who rode to Durban to telegraph the big Colonel at the Cape and she who found my father at the Tugela. He could not leave, so of course I was happy to come and give this evidence for you, but I would have known nothing of the trial had it not been for Alice.' She paused and looked down at the ground. ‘She must love you very much.'

They both turned and regarded Alice, who was now standing in the doorway, laughing at Covington, whose icy demeanour had visibly melted. ‘No, I am sure that is not so,' murmured Simon. ‘But come.'

They walked a few steps. ‘My dear Nandi,' he said. ‘I am a very lucky man indeed to have two such fine people to help me when I needed them most. But, oh, I am so sorry that this war began. You must believe me when I tell you that I could do little to stop it. It is an evil war, brought about by politicians. I learned during the trial that the decision to invade Zululand was taken before the information you gave me reached Cape Town.'

He took her hand again. ‘So, you see, you cannot be blamed for helping to bring the tragedy about. Nor can I - and I did try and persuade the King not to fight.'

Nandi nodded. ‘I know, Simon, and I thank you for that. All of the British are talking about Isandlwana as a great loss for them. But even though the Zulus won that day, they also lost. Do you know how many men were killed by your rifles?'

Simon shook his head.

‘More than two thousand. Some say it was nearer three thousand. Most of the inDunas hailed it as a great victory, but King Cetswayo says that Isandlwana was like a great assegai plunged into the bowels of the nation and there are not enough tears to mourn the dead.'

‘Nandi, I am sorry. I really am.'

‘Sorry. Sorry. What do you have to be sorry about? You have just won a great victory, so do cheer up.' It was Alice, fresh-faced and, of course, perfectly groomed, who had stolen up on them. She now looked with affection at Nandi and linked arms with her. Standing there smiling, they complemented each other perfectly: brown and white, black eyes and grey, the south and the north. Simon looked at them both with admiration and his old ambivalence returned. Was it possible - was it
honourable
- to love two women at once? They both smiled back at him.

‘Wasn't she marvellous in there?' asked Alice. ‘I think, Simon, that she saved the day, don't you?'

‘I think, actually, that you both did.' He smiled ruefully at Alice. ‘Do you know, I thought that you had deserted me. But all that time you were dashing around, working hard on my behalf. I don't know how you did it or how I shall ever repay you.'

‘Oh tosh! The trouble was that there was so little time. When I read Lamb's affidavit—'

‘What?' Simon interrupted her. ‘You
read
Lamb's affidavit? You were not even in court when it was presented.'

For the first time Alice looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Oh yes. I had to be well on the road by then. We journalists have our sources, you know, and they are not to be revealed. Anyway,' she hurried on, ‘when I read what the Colonel had said, I thought that he could do better than that, so I rode to the nearest telegraph - which, unfortunately, happens to be in Durban - and requested his help urgently. He came back like a shot with the information about Dunn, so I took the letter and rode over to the Lower Drift to find him, and produced Nandi instead, which was probably better because—'