The Shangani Patrol (26 page)

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Authors: John Wilcox

BOOK: The Shangani Patrol
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He strode across and interrupted the conversation. ‘Ah, Mr de Sousa,’ he said, ‘how good to see you again. I hope you are well.’ He extended his hand, but the Portuguese ignored it.
 
‘Perfectly well, thank you.’
 
‘Good. I had heard that you had suffered an injury while . . . ah . . . out hunting.’
 
‘It was nothing. Just a slight mishap. The beast I was hunting, however, was wounded.’ He gave a faint smile, revealing a gold tooth. ‘He will die the next time. I always get the animal I am pursuing. Always.’
 
‘Quite so. Sentiments I echo. I am the same.’ And with exaggerated jocularity, he slapped de Sousa on the shoulder - the injured shoulder, of course - causing the Portuguese to wince and turn away in half-disguised agony. ‘Oh goodness,’ exclaimed Fonthill. ‘Was that your bad shoulder? I am so sorry.’
 
Further exchanges, however, were prevented by the arrival of the king, who entered accompanied by his chief wife, a lady of proportions very similar to those of Nini but who carried herself with far less confidence than the princess. The king was dressed in his best European apparel, the billycock hat tilted at an audacious angle and his round face wreathed in a grin that indicated, perhaps, that Alice’s new pills and potions, together with the morphine, were promising a pain-free evening.
 
Lobengula raised his fly whisk, which for social events seemed to have replaced his short assegai, and acknowledged his guests by pointing it to them all as he turned. Then he shouted an order, and everyone scuttled to take their places on the benches as more beer on wooden trays was brought in by the young girls. Significant gaps were left on either side of Lobengula’s chair, and the
inDuna
who had greeted Fonthill on arrival now hurried over to indicate that Alice should sit on the king’s right, with Fairbairn, rather surprisingly, at her side, and Simon, flanked by Jenkins, next to the trader. Disconcertingly, de Sousa was placed on the king’s left, with the chief wife on his other side.
 
Alice leaned across to the Scotsman. ‘We seem to be honoured, Mr Fairbairn,’ she said.
 
The trader gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, you may be, ma’am, but I’m just here to interpret, y’see.’
 
Alice gave him her best smile. ‘Well I am jolly glad that you are here, whatever your role.’
 
The king clapped his hands, and immediately great wooden platters were borne in containing mounds of beef, which steamed as they were placed on rough stools in front of all the guests. Alice sighed, as she could see no sign of vegetables or bread, but could not resist a smile when piles of berries were placed ostentatiously in front of herself and the king. Lobengula caught her eye and winked. She was, it seemed, forgiven for her intrusion of a few hours ago - at least for the moment.
 
The monarch leaned forward and grabbed a choice piece of meat, and fastidiously picking off the gristle, which he threw over his shoulder, he handed it to Alice. She nodded her acceptance and took it. It was the signal for everyone on the benches to bend to the task of selecting beef from the platters and begin wolfing down the prime cuts. Immediately a hum of conversation rose, and Alice could not but smile at the resemblance to a sophisticated dinner party in London, where the guests would wait for the host to begin before raising knife and fork and embarking on the tedious business of engaging in conversation with the person to left or right. The setting, though, could not have been more different. She looked around her with interest. The fire in the middle of the hut had been built up again, alas, and the flames cast a flickering glow across the half-naked figures that constituted most of the ring, their black skin glistening and the firelight reflected in the copper accoutrements of the women. White teeth and protuberant eyeballs shone in the half-light, and the murmur of conversation was low and guttural. There was no glitter of silver, no sparkle of diamonds, and the hum of voices certainly did not tinkle.
 
She could not resist grinning at the king. He leaned forward and spoke, his black eyes gleaming. ‘The king says, eat your berries,’ translated Fairbairn. ‘Now what’s that about?’
 
Alice nodded. ‘A private joke,’ she said. ‘Tell me, Mr Fairbairn, why is that man,’ she gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, ‘sitting next to the king?’
 
‘Aye, the snake man. Well, Lobengula seems to like him, or to respect him at least. He knows that the Portuguese to the east have vast territories and wants to keep in with them. Gouela appears to have quite a personal bodyguard living here in the capital, and the king believes that the man is well regarded in Lisbon, which he ain’t, ma’am, he’s only an agent. But I shouldn’t worry too much about all that. Lobengula has sat him there just to balance things a bit with your husband - to let him know that even though he has brought a box or two of lollipops from Kimberley, it doesn’t mean that Rhodes can just walk into the place.’
 
‘Ah, so you know about the cargo we have brought.’
 
Fairbairn nodded his head as he munched. ‘Oh yes. Everybody does.’
 
Simon leaned across his wife to address the trader. ‘Would you ask the king if I can call and see him tomorrow, please? I have some keys I must hand over to him and other things to discuss.’
 
The king nodded equably. ‘Come before sun is highest.’
 
The evening meandered its way to a conclusion, with the pyramids of beef disappearing under the attacks from the ravenous guests. Nothing more was served - it seemed that the berries were only a gesture towards Alice - except flagon after flagon of beer. Fonthill was glad that Jenkins was sitting beside him, and the Welshman behaved impeccably, even talking endlessly to the friendly
inDuna
on his right, who had not the slightest idea what was being said, but kept nodding amiably.
 
‘Well,’ asked Alice, as the three wandered back to their hut, ‘what was all that about?’
 
‘Fairbairn seemed to think,’ said Fonthill, ‘that although the king pretends to be uninterested in the guns, ammunition and gold, he is pleased that Rhodes has kept his side of the bargain. He says that the Portuguese talk and promise a lot, but nothing happens. Now the British have shown that they keep their word . . .’
 
‘Even though we’ve only brought five hundred rifles?’
 
‘Well, he doesn’t know that yet, and, anyway, that’s still a hell of a lot of firearms. He could frighten even the Boers with them.’
 
‘And the British, eh?’ Jenkins chimed in.
 
‘No. We are not looking for confrontation.’
 
Alice gave a cynical smile. ‘We will just have to wait and see about that, my dear.’
 
The next morning Fonthill removed a parchment document from its oilskin covering and spread it out on his sleeping mat. He had had it prepared in Cape Town and it looked impressive enough, with Cecil John Rhodes’s signature at the bottom, beside the chartered company’s crest, and leaving space for Lobengula’s mark and his great elephant seal.
 
‘What’s it say?’ asked Jenkins.
 
‘Oh, the content is simple enough. It states that the king has given permission for surveyors and engineers from the company to enter the king’s domain and to build a road through Mashonaland to the north and prospect for minerals there.’
 
Alice sniffed. ‘Does it say anything about settling the land?’
 
‘No. That is not the purpose of the expedition.’
 
‘I don’t believe that. Anyway, I thought Lobengula had already signed a similar document.’
 
‘Yes, but the point of this is that now that the king has received his guns and cash, he will permit the column to enter his land
now
. There was only a rather vague reference to the future in the original treaty. Rhodes wants it all watertight before he invokes the great expense of getting his column together and moving north.’
 
‘Well, good luck.’
 
Fonthill took the precaution of asking Fairbairn to accompany him this time to act as interpreter, instead of Mzingeli. It would be sensible, he reasoned, to have another European present as witness.
 
The king welcomed them both with the inevitable beer, and accepted imperturbably the keys that Fonthill presented to him. He continued to give the impression that the cargo was of no importance to him. Then, with great care, Simon began the task of gaining the king’s acceptance of the need for a column to enter his country imminently to begin the road-building work.
 
‘Why we need this road?’ asked the king.
 
‘Because, your majesty, it is impossible to bring in the equipment needed to mine without having a road through to the north. There is a well-defined trail through Bechuanaland to your border, as you know, but not through Matabeleland.’
 
‘Humph. How many men come?’
 
‘I do not know, but it is likely to be several hundred.’
 
‘Sounds like an impi.’
 
‘No, sir. They will be pioneers, not soldiers.’
 
‘I give permission already for Rhodes to mine. Why I have to sign new paper?’
 
‘This will be more specific, giving him permission to enter your country very soon - as soon as he can form his column, that is.’
 
‘My
inDunas
don’t like me signing all this paper.’
 
‘It is merely confirming your word, your majesty. It is normal in dealings between European countries. There is nothing sinister in it.’
 
Lobengula looked around anxiously, as though looking for some escape. But there was no one else present. Eventually he clapped his hands to summon one of his wives and then gave orders to have his seal prepared. His face, however, remained heavy.
 
‘I sign,’ he said, ‘because I trust you. You are English gentleman and know the Queen of England. I take your word I am not giving away my country.’
 
Fonthill writhed internally. He could not take responsibility for something over which he had no control. Yet he could not be seen to dissemble. That would throw even more doubt into Lobengula’s mind. He cleared his throat. ‘Your majesty, there is nothing in this paper that gives away your country, I promise. You are only allowing these people in to build a road to the north and then start mining.’
 
The king grunted but still looked unhappy. A silence fell on the room, which was broken by an
inDuna
bringing in a blob of still smoking wax, together with the great seal, fashioned from ivory. A quill and a small pot of ink was also produced.
 
Lobengula ignored them for a moment, and then directed his gaze at Fonthill. He did not speak, but looking into the man’s black eyes, Simon could see a bewilderment, an uncertainty - even a touch of fear - that plucked at his own heart. It was like confronting a caged animal, a beast that had great power and was used to striking fear into everyone with whom it came into contact, but which realised that it was now confronted by something intangibly more powerful. Lobengula had the innate intelligence that sent warning signals to his brain, yet he did not know how to evade this all-pervading pressure. His look now to Fonthill was almost an appeal. Then he shook his head and very slowly reached for the pen.
 
‘Just there, sir,’ said Fonthill, pointing to the space left for the king’s mark. He felt like a crooked solicitor, forging a will.
 
Lobengula scratched his mark and then, sighing, reached for the wax. He scooped a little out with a broad finger, spread it on the paper alongside his cross, and then firmly impressed his seal on to the still warm wax, with a finality that seemed to express relief. The deed was done.
 
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Simon, sharing the relief. ‘I will see that this is taken directly to Cape Town. He looked up at the king. ‘As this is an important document and,’ he coughed, ‘I believe there are people near here who would wish to see that it is not delivered, may I ask your majesty if he would provide a guard to see that, at least, it gets to the border safely?’
 
The king waved a hand airily. ‘You shall have fifty warriors,’ he said. ‘They shall leave tomorrow.’
 
Fonthill inclined his head. ‘The king is most kind.’
 
Lobengula nodded. ‘I am told you want to go to the east. Why?’
 
‘Ah yes, sir. Mr Rhodes is anxious that once the road to the north is established, some way is found to make a passage to the Indian Ocean, so that a supply route is set up and it will be easier to trade with Matabeleland and Mashonaland by sea from the south. He has asked me to explore to examine the possibilities. I intend to begin this journey as soon as I am equipped, with, I hope, the help of Mr Fairbairn here.’

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