The Shangani Patrol (44 page)

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Authors: John Wilcox

BOOK: The Shangani Patrol
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‘Oh lord.’ Alice passed a weary hand across her brow. ‘What is it?’
 
‘You know that Mashonaland - or Rhodesia or whatever the damned place is called now - has got a new high commissioner, appointed by the government in London?’
 
‘Yes.’
 
‘Well, he wrote to Lobengula in one last plea for peace, inviting the king to send three of his most trusted
inDunas
to Cape Town to discuss peace terms down there. The old boy agreed, and dispatched one of his half-brothers and two
inDunas
immediately. James Dawson, one of the traders here - I don’t think you met him - went with them to interpret and make sure that they reached the Colony without trouble. I refused to go. Well,’ Fairbairn spat on the floor, ‘the idiot went off to have a drink when they reached Tuli, leaving the three black fellers in the care of a mine foreman.’
 
‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ said Alice.
 
‘Nor should you. It just happened that a feller called Gould-Adams had arrived in Tuli with a detachment of the Bechuanaland Police. Gould-Adams had heard that there had been trouble up north and shots had been exchanged, so on learning that Dawson had arrived in Tuli, he presumed that he had escaped from Bulawayo. I don’t know what he thought Dawson was doing with three Matabele
inDunas
, but he immediately treated ’em as prisoners of war. One thing led to another, with no one to interpret; the
inDunas
resisted, there was a scuffle and two of the chiefs were shot and killed. The king’s half-brother didn’t get involved, and when things were sorted out, he was allowed to return to Bulawayo with - you’ll never guess.’
 
‘What?’
 
‘A note of apology.’
 
‘Oh, how pathetic - and how typical!’
 
‘He has just returned and told his sad tale. This is the last straw for the king. He is convinced now that all white men are liars and cheats and has declared war. The impis are being called in from across the nation.’ He leaned forward. ‘Lass, it’s no time for you to be interfering, I assure you.’
 
Silence fell on the little room. Alice stole a glance at Mzingeli, but the tracker refused to catch her eye. He stared straight ahead, expressionless.
 
‘Not exactly propitious, I do agree,’ she said at last. Then she drew in a deep breath. ‘But I have ridden two hundred damned miles and I am not going back without seeing the king and making one last attempt to stop this killing.’
 
The trader shook his head sadly. ‘It’s taking a big risk, you know, for it’s not just the king you have to worry about. It’s all his
inDunas
, who have been spoiling for a fight for so long. You might not even get as far as his front door before they turn on you.’
 
‘I will just have to risk that I . . . er, I mean
we
will.’ She turned her head to the tracker, who was listening silently. ‘Will you come these last few yards with me, Mzingeli? You have heard it will be dangerous, but I shall need you to translate.’
 
The man’s face remained expressionless. ‘I come.’
 
Fairbairn nodded in approval. ‘Good for you,’ he said. ‘But, lassie, there’s one last thing you should know.’ He paused, as though for effect. ‘De Sousa is back.’
 
‘Oh no!’ Alice put her hand to her face and then withdrew it quickly, as though it was an admission of weakness. ‘How long has he been here?’
 
‘About two weeks. He’s been pouring poison into the king’s ear every day, trying to persuade him to attack and provoke the British. He wants Rhodes to invade, y’see, so that his government can protest to London, perhaps stop the invasion, and then he can take the credit with Lobengula and so take over the mining and other rights that Rhodes has negotiated. At the moment, he won’t know you’re here, but as he virtually lives at the king’s elbow, he will find out soon enough. And lassie, as soon as you leave the kraal, he’ll be after you, that’s for certain.’
 
Alice gulped. ‘Well, that’s one development I hadn’t foreseen, I must confess.’ Then she shrugged. ‘There’s not much I can do about it at the moment, so I will worry about him tomorrow.’
 
‘Where are you sleepin’ tonight? You won’t be gettin’ your little hut back, I’m thinking.’
 
‘No, nor will I ask for it. We will sleep as we have on the trek, out of doors - at least, I have a small bivouac tent.’
 
Fairbairn sucked in his breath. ‘No. That will never do. You will find a puff adder slipped under your tent flap just before dawn if you do. No. You must sleep here. I’m just at the back there,’ he indicated with his pipe stem, ‘and you two can bed down here, in the shop.’
 
Alice sniffed in a little of the tobacco smoke and coughed. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Fairbairn. Yes, perhaps it would be safer. Thank you very much.’
 
She slept little during the night and arose well before dawn to make notes about what she would say to the king. It was important, having risked so much to see him, that she should present her case as persuasively as possible. Then she remembered that de Sousa could well be there. Would he shout her down? And once she was out on the veldt, making her way back to Salisbury, having won or lost, would he pursue and kill them both? They would be virtually defenceless out there in the bush. She tried unsuccessfully to prevent a shiver. She would just have to deal with that if and when it occurred.
 
Alice waited until the sun was well up before setting off down the hill towards the king’s inner kraal. As she walked, medicine bag in hand, with Mzingeli at her side, she could not but help noticing an air of surprise and then hostility rising towards her on all sides. When she had made that same journey regularly only five months before, she had been greeted by smiles and waves from the Matabele. Now, the smiles were scowls and the waves were derisive gestures, with the sharp points of the assegais turned towards them.
 
‘Be careful what you say, Nkosana,’ growled Mzingeli. ‘Don’t be . . . ah . . . hard to king. He different man this time, I think.’
 
‘Thank you. I know what you mean. I will try and be careful.’
 
As they neared the inner kraal, a howl rose from within it. Their approach had been observed. Immediately, a crowd of natives - warriors in warpaint, women and small children - emerged from the entrance to the thorn fence and surrounded them, shouting and gesticulating. Alice continued to stride forward, however, her gaze fixed ahead, her head held up. She hated herself for feeling fear, yet she knew that the perspiration pouring down the small of her back and staining her shirt was not just caused by the heat of the sun. It was probably the presence of her medicine bag, which she carried like a symbol of authority, that prevented their progress being barred. Was she coming again, as once she had, to work her magic on the king’s foot, perhaps at his bidding? The crowd fell back and gave her passage.
 
Lobengula was holding court out of doors, under the shade of his indaba tree, and the usual smell of goat dung rose to Alice’s nostrils as she approached him. The king was sitting on his wooden chair, clutching his assegai. This time, however, there was no air of indolence about him. Stripped to his familiar midriff skirt of monkey tails, his glistening face and body were daubed in slashes of red and white paint and a tall ostrich feather had been thrust into the back of the
isiCoco
ring in his hair. By his side was a large white and black shield, almost as tall as himself. This was a king welcoming Armageddon, a monarch of war. Except that, endearingly, the sandal on his left foot was not matched by his right, which wore that familiar open-toed carpet slipper. This leader of great impis was still suffering from gout.
 
The king was surrounded by
inDunas
similarly painted for war. As she neared the great tree, Alice thought she glimpsed a face she knew among the rank and file of the natives watching her. But she could not bring his relevance to mind. Not so with the yellow-uniformed and red-braided man who squatted at the right hand of the king. Gouela was in town, and he was clearly in favour.
 
Lobengula’s jaw dropped when he saw the two approaching, then he scowled and, as they drew near, indicated sharply that they should sit. They squatted on the floor of beaten goat dung.
 
‘Why you come?’ asked the king, through Mzingeli. ‘You not welcome here.’
 
‘I come from the White Man’s Mountain,’ said Alice. It was the term the Matabele employed when speaking of Mount Hampden, now Fort Salisbury. ‘I come for two reasons. Firstly, I wish to speak to your majesty about this war, and secondly, I hope that perhaps I can be of help to you, briefly, in treating your bad foot.’
 
Before the king could reply, de Sousa spoke to him quickly in Matabele. The king grunted and turned back to Alice. ‘He say you work witchcraft with your box. That why pain returns when you go. And what can you say about war when British soldiers kill my warriors?’
 
‘I do not indulge in magic and I have always told you that my injections’ - Mzingeli paused at the difficulty of translating the word - ‘would only give you temporary relief. If you want to get rid of gout for good, you must stop drinking the white man’s brandy and champagne and eat less meat. Your majesty,’ Alice leaned forward to emphasise the force of her words, ‘you must not listen to that man. He is evil. He makes slaves of black people and he is a rapist.’
 
‘Humph. I have slaves. My
inDunas
have slaves. Some people not good for anything else. And women like to lie under men. Eh?’ He turned to the women among the crowd surrounding him and they all giggled. Some nodded and others, more forward, shouted in acclamation. The king grinned at Alice. ‘See?’
 
Alice realised that the debate was going against her. She swallowed and tried again. ‘Your majesty, I have always argued with others - including my husband - that it was not right for the white man’s column to invade your country. But you allowed it to do so. The white men are now well established in Mashonaland and I am afraid that you will never get rid of them. All over the world, my people have populated countries like yours and have stayed there—’
 
The king interrupted. ‘Why they want these lands? Why they don’t stay in their own country? Why they want my country as well?’
 
Alice thought quickly. Why indeed? She was uncomfortable in this role of devil’s advocate. Better to be honest. ‘I do not know the answer to that question. Perhaps it is because we are great traders and roam the world to find new goods, or because we are great farmers who like to bring our modern ways of agriculture to make better use of land everywhere. But that is not the point.’
 
‘What is point, then?’ The king’s posture had softened somewhat, and when, several times, de Sousa had tried to interrupt, he had gestured to him to be quiet. Lobengula was obviously beginning to enjoy the debate.
 
‘The point is that, in addition to being great traders and farmers, the British are great warriors. Your majesty, I am the daughter of a general, as you know, and I have seen fighting in many parts of the world. Always the British have won.’ She began counting on her fingers. ‘In Zululand, India, New Zealand, Egypt, Canada . . .’
 
‘I do not know these places.’
 
‘You know Zululand. You know that the Zulus won a victory at Isandlwana, but that the cost of that victory was so great that King Cetswayo said an assegai had been plunged into the bowels of his people. Then the British came again and the Zulus were scattered at Ulundi and the king was forced to flee. The Zulus are fine warriors but they were beaten. I was there. I saw it all. The British now rule Zululand.’
 
For the first time there was a pause in the confrontation and the onlookers, who had shouted in support of each of the king’s responses, fell silent. A look of sadness came into Lobengula’s eyes.
 
‘Yes, I know that place,’ he said. ‘Zulus my ancestors.’ He paused again, then leaned forward, and his voice was lower this time, as though begging Alice to understand. ‘I try everything with white man. I give English everything they ask for. I let them come into my country to dig holes for their gold and they come and spread everywhere and make homes, not dig. I punish Mashona people because they do not pay tribute, as is custom, so English kill my warriors. I agree one last time to talk peace and send
inDunas
to Cape country. They kill them at Tuli.’ He stood and his voice rose. ‘The chameleon has struck. It is too late to talk more. No time for talking now. I call in my impis. It is time for war.’
 
A great roar rose from the crowd as the king finished his peroration by raising his assegai high above his head.
 
Mzingeli spoke softly to Alice. ‘We go now, while we can. Eh?’
 
But Alice shook her head and looked up at Lobengula in supplication. ‘Your majesty, I beg you not to fight the British. I know your warriors are brave and strong, but the British have mighty weapons of war - the new machine guns, cannon and many rifles—’

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