When the Lion Feeds (18 page)

There were four of them, the last four: Waite Courtney, Tim Hope-Brown, Hans and Nile Erasmus. They lay close together. Waite was on his back with his arms spread open, the birds had taken his face away down to the bone, but they had left his beard and it stirred gently on his chest as the wind touched it. The flies, big metallic green flies, crawled thick as swarming bees in the open pit of his belly.

Sean sat down beside his father. He picked up a discarded felt hat that lay beside him and covered his terribly mutilated face. There was a green-and-yellow silk cockade on the hat, strangely gay in the presence of so much death. The flies buzzed sullenly and some came to settle on sean's face and lips. He brushed them away.

You know this man? asked Mbejane.

My father, said Sean, without looking up. You too. Compassion and understanding in his voice, Mbejane turned away and left them alone. I have nothing, Mbejane had said. Now Sean also had nothing. There was hollowness: no anger, no sorrow, no ache, no reality even. Staring down at this broken thing, Sean could not make himself believe that this was a man.

Meat only; the man had gone.

Later Mbejane came back. He had cut a sheet of canvas from one of the unburned wagons and they wrapped Waite in it. They dug his grave. It was hard work for the soil was thick with rock and shale. They laid waite in the grave, with his arms still widespread in rigor mortis beneath the canvas for Sean could not bring himself to break them. They covered him gently and piled rocks upon the place. They stood together at the head of the grave. Well, Pa - Sean's voice sounded unnatural.

He could not make himself believe he was talking to his father. Well, Pa - he started again, mumbling selfconsciously. I'd like to say thanks for everything you've done for me. He stopped and cleared his throat. I reckon you know I'll look after Ma and the farm as best I can, and Garry also. His voice trailed away once more and he turned to Mbejane.

there is nothing to say. Sean's voice was surprised, hurt almost. No, agreed Mbejane. There is nothing to say. For a few minutes long-a Sean stood snuggling to grapple with the enormity of death, trying to grasp the utter finality of it, then he turned away and started walking towards the Tugela. Mbejane walked a little to one side and a pace behind him. It will be dark bare we reach the river, thought Sean. He was very tired and he limped from his blistered heel.

Not much farther, said Dennis Petersen. No, Sean granted. He was irritated at the statement of the obvious; when you come out of Mahobals kloof and have the Baboon Stroom next to the road on your left hand, then it is five miles to Lady-burg. As Dennis had said: not much farther.

Dennis coughed in the dust. That first beer is going to turn to steam in my throat. I think we can ride ahead now. Sean wiped at his face, smearing the dust. Mbejane and the other servants can bring them in the rest of the way. I was going to suggest it. Dennis was obviously relieved. They had almost a thousand head of cattle crowding the road ahead of them and raising dust for them to breathe. it had been two days drive from Rorkes Drift where the Commando had disbanded. We'll hold them in the sale pens tonight and send them out tomorrow morning, I'll tell Mbejane Sean clapped his heels into his horse and swung across to where the big Zulu trotted at the heels of the herd. A few minutes, talk and then Sean signalled to Dennis.

They circled out on each side of the herd and met on the road ahead of it.

They've lost a bit of condition, grumbled Dennis looking back. Bound to, sad Sean. We've pushed them hard for two days. A thousand head of cattle, five men's share of Cetewayo Is herds, Dennis and his father, Waite, Sean and Garrick, for even dead men drew a full share. How far ahead of the others do you reckon we are?

asked Dennis. Dunno, said Sean. It wasn't important and any answer would be only a guess: pointless question is just as irritating as obvious statement. It suddenly occurred to Sean that but a few months previously a question like that would have started a discussion and argument that might have lasted half an hour. What did that mean? It meant that he had changed. Having answered his own question, Sean grinned sardonically.

What're you laughing at! asked Dennis. I was just thinking that a lot has changed in the last few months. Ja, said Dennis and then silence except for the broken beat of their hooves. It's going to seem funny without Pa, Dennis said wistfully. Mr Petersen had been at IsandhIwana.

It's going to seem funny being just Ma, the girls and me on the farm.

They didn't speak again for a while. They were thinking back across the brief months and the events that had changed their lives.

Neither of them yet twenty years of age, but already head of his family, a holder of land and cattle, initiated into grief and a killer of men.

Sean was older now with new lines in his face, and the beard he wore was square and spade-shaped. They had ridden with the Commandos who had burnd and plundered to avenge Isandhlwana.

At Ulundi they had sat their horses behind the ranks of Chelmsford's infantry in the hot sun, quietly waiting as Cetewayo massed his impis and sent them across open ground to overwhelm the frail square of men.

They had waited through the din of the regular, unhurried volleys and watched the great black bull of Zulu tearing itself to shreds against the square. Then at the end the ranks of infantry had opened and they had ridden out, two thousand horsemen strong, to smash for ever the power of the Zulu empire. They had chased and hunted until the darkness had stopped them and they had not kept score of the kill.

There's the church steeple, said Dennis.

Sean came back slowly out of the past. They were at Lady-burg. Is your stepmother out at Theunis Kraal? asked Dennis. No, she's moved into town, the cottage on Protea Street. I suppose she doesn't want to be in the way now that Anna and Garry are married, said Dennis.

Sean frowned quickly, How do you like old Garry getting Anna? Dennis chuckled and shook his head. I reckon you could have got twenty-to-one odds he didn't have a chance Sean's frown became a scowl. Garry had made him look such a dAmn fool, Sean hadn't finished with Anna. Have you heard from them yet? When are they coming home? The last time we heard was from Pietermaritzburg;

they sent a wire to Ma just to say they were married.

She got it a couple of days before I arrived home from Isandhlwana. That was two months ago; as far as I know we haven't heard since. I suppose garry's so firmly settled on the nest they'll have to prise him off with a crowbar. Dennis chuckled again, lewdly. Sean had a sudden and shockingly vivid mental picture of Garry on top of Anna; her knees were up high, her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed; she was making that little mewing sound.

Shut up, you dirty bastard, snarled Sean.

Dennis blinked. Sorry, I was only joking. Don't joke about my family, he's my brother And she was your girl, hey? murmured Dennis. Do you want a Punch? Cool down, man, I was joking. I don't like that kind of joke, see!

all right. All right. Cool down. It's dirty, that's dirty talk.

Sean was trying desperately to shut out the picture of Anna, she was in wild orgasm, her hands pleading at the small of Garrick's back.

Jesus, since when have you become a saint? asked Dennis and, urging his horse into a gallop, drew ahead of Sean; he kept going along the main street towards the hotel. Sean considered calling him back, but finally let him go.

Sean turned right into a shady side street. The cottage was the third house down, Waite had purchased it three years before as an investment.

It was a charming little place, set among trees in a small green garden with flowers: thatched, whitewashed and surrounded by a wooden picket fence. Sean hitched his horse at the gate and went up the path.

There were two women in the sitting-room when he pushed the door open.

They both stood up, surprise instantly becoming delight as they recognized him. It warmed him inside to see it, it's good to be welcome.

Oh Sean, we weren't expecting you. Ada came quickly to him. He kissed her and saw that sorrow had left its marks on her. He felt vaguely guilty that Waite's death had not wrought so obvious a change in him. He held her away at arm's length.

You're beautiful, he said. She was thin. Her eyes were too big for her face and the grief was in them like shadows in the forest, but she smiled and laughed at him.

We thought you'd be back on Friday. I'm so glad you've come earlier.

Sean looked past Ada.

Hello, Strawberry Pie. She was hovering impatiently for his attention.

Hello, Sean. She blushed a little with his eyes on her, but she did not drop hers.

You look older, she said, hardly noticing the dust that caked his skin, powdered his hair and eyelashes, and reddened his eyes.

You've just forgotten what I look like, he said, turning back to Ada.

No, I'd never do that, whispered Audrey so softly that neither of them heard her. She felt swollen up inside her chest.

Sit down, Sean. Ada led him to the big armchair across from the fireplace. There was a daguerreotype of Waite on the mantel. I'll get you a cup of tea. How about a beer, Ma? Sean sank into the chair. Of course, I'll get it. No. Audrey flew across the room towards the kitchen. I'll get it. They're in the pantry, Audrey, Ada called after her, and then to Sean, She's such a sweet child. Look again, Sean smiled.

She's no child! wish Garry - Ada cut herself short.

What do you wish? Sean prompted her. She was quiet for a moment, wishing that Garrick could have found a girl like Audrey instead of nothing, she said to Sean and came to sit near him. Have you heard from garry again? asked Sean. No. Not yet, but Mr Pye says he had a cheque come through the bank, cashed in Capetown Capetown? Sean raised a dusty eyebrow. Our boy's living life to the hilt. Yes, said Ada, remembering the size of that cheque. He is. Audrey came back into the room: she had a large bottle and a glass on a tray. She crossed to Sean's chair.

Sean touched the bottle; it was cold.

Quickly, wench, Sean encouraged her. I'm dying of thirst The first glass emptied in three swallows, Audrey poured again and, with the replenished glass in his fist, Sean settled back comfortably in the chair. Now, said Ada, tell us all about it. In the warmth of their welcome, his muscles aching pleasantly, the glass in his hand, it was good to talk. He had not realized that there was so much to tell. At the first hint of slackening in his flow of speech either Ada or Audrey was ready with a question to keep him going. Oh, my goodness, gasped audrey at last. It's nearly dark outside, I must go. Sean, Ada stood up. Will you see that she gets home safely? They walked side by side in the half darkness, under the flamboyants. They walked in silence until Audrey spoke. Sean, were you in love with Anna? She blurted out the question and Sean experienced his standard reaction: quick anger. He opened his mouth to blast her, then checked. It was a nice question.

Had he been in love with Anna? He thought about it now for the first time, phrasing the question with care that he might answer it with truth. He felt a sudden rush of relief and he was smiling when he told her. No, Strawberry Pie, no, I was never in love with Anna. The tone of Ins voice was right, he wasn't lying. She walked on happily beside him. Don't bother to come up to the house. She noticed for the first time his stained and dirty clothing that might embarrass him in front of her parents. She wanted it to be right from the start.

I'll watch you till you get to the door, said Sean.

I suppose you'll be going out to Theunis Kraal tomorrow? she asked.

First thing in the morning, Sean assured her. There's a hell of a lot of work to do. But you'll be coming to the store! Yes! said Sean and the way he looked at her made her blush and hate her redhead's skin which betrayed her so easily. She went quickly up the path and then stopped and looked back. Sean, please don't call me Strawberry Pie any more. Sean chuckled. All right, Audrey, I'll try to remember. Six weeks had gone since his return from the Zulu Campaign, Sean reflected, six weeks that had passed in a blur of speed. He sipped coffee from a mug the size of a German beer stein, sitting in the centre of his bed with his nightshirt hitched up to his waist and his legs crossed in comfortable Buddha fashion. The coffee was hot; he sipped noisily and then exhaled steam from his mouth.

The last six weeks had been full, too full for brooding grief or regret, although in the evenings, when he sat in the study with Waite's memory all about him, the ache was still there.

The days seemed to pass before they had fairly begun.

There were three farms now: Theunis Kraal and the other two rented from old min Pye. He had stocked them with the looted cattle and the purchases he had made since his return. The price of prime beef had dropped to a new low, with nearly a hundred thousand cattle brought back from Zululand and Sean could afford to be selective in His buying. He could also afford to wait while the price climbed up again.

Sean swung his legs off the bed and walked across the room to the washstand. He poured water from the jug into the basin and tested it tentatively with one finger. It was so cold it stung. He stood hesitating in his ridiculously feminine nightshirt, with dark chest hairs curling out above the elaborately embroidered front. Then be mustered his courage and plunged his face into the basin; he scooped water with both hands and poured it over the back of his neck, massaged it into his hair with hooked fingers and emerged at last blowing heavily with water dripping down onto his nightshirt. He towelled, stripped off the damp garment and stood naked peering out of the window. It had lightened enough for him to make out the smoky swirl of drizzle and mist beyond the pane. A hell of a day, he grumbled aloud, but his tone was deceptive. He felt excitement for this day; he was fresh and sharp-edged, hungry for breakfast, ready to go for there was work to do.