The Regiment

by Christopher Nicole

  The guard gave a shout, and then another. Murdoch pointed the Mauser into the air and fired. The shot sent the horses rushing to and fro and started the cattle lowing anxiously, and for a moment there was total pandemonium as women and children shouted and screamed, dogs barked, several other people fired their rifles, and the men on watch in the hills also started calling. Margriet looked back at her father’s wagon, where her mother and aunt stood together, obviously recognising her. For a moment she hesitated, then Murdoch slapped the rump of her horse and sent it down the defile that led to the open veldt, following on his own mount.

  A bearded man on a horse appeared in front of them, calling on them to stop. Murdoch released the mane to unsling his rifle, and the man’s gun came up. But he hesitated to shoot because of Margriet, and Murdoch fired past her and sent him tumbling back out of the saddle.

  ‘My God, but you have killed him,’ Margriet cried.

  ‘Or he would have killed us.’ Murdoch leaned across to seize the horse’s bridle and lead it behind them, controlling his own mount only by his knees. They were going to need all the transport they could find. He would have liked the dead man’s rifle and bandolier, but there was no time to stop and pick them up. So they continued on their way down the defile and found themselves on the open veldt.

  ‘East,’ he shouted. He had only the vaguest of ideas of their whereabouts, but he knew the laager had travelled west two days previously, and that the railway line was to the east; there and he would be able to reach a blockhouse.

  They galloped across the undulating ground, very aware of the sun beating down on them. Soon the horses were blown and they had to slow. Murdoch looked back and saw four men behind them, perhaps a mile away, showing for the moment on the top of each rise, and then disappearing into the dips.

  ‘We must stop them coming,’ he said.

  ‘I cannot kill my own people,’ Margriet protested.

  ‘You have already killed one of your people, Margriet, in their eyes. If we do not stop them, they will kill us. I am your people now, Margriet. You have no one else.’

  She bit her lip, as if she hadn’t entirely weighed the consequences of her action. Murdoch looked left and right, and found a gully a few hundred yards away. He rode towards it and was delighted to find that it contained a pool of what appeared to be good water; they could stand something of a siege here. He rode on down and slipped from the saddle. The third horse was still with them, and in the saddlebags he found some dried meat, biscuit and, best of all, a water bottle. Margriet dismounted beside him and he gave her a drink and something to eat, then refilled the bottle.

  ‘They will know we have gone to ground,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘But not where, exactly. We have the advantage.’

  He lay down on the upper slope, only his head showing, and even that he reckoned would be invisible at any distance. He was fighting like a Boer now; it would be interesting to see if they had any instant answer to their own tactics.

  After a moment, Margriet lay beside him. ‘I have never killed a man,’ she said. ‘Not even an Englander.’

  ‘You won’t have to, unless they get close enough to rush us, and I don’t mean to allow that,’ he said.

  She gazed across the veldt for a moment and saw the four men appear then disappear again. In a few minutes they would be within accurate range. ‘Are you afraid?’ she asked.

  He turned his head to look at her. ‘I have not thought about that. It is better not to.’

  ‘Because you are a soldier. Killing people is your business. I am afraid.’

  He supposed she was right—about him, at least. He had never considered being afraid, only doing his duty and not letting down the regiment, or the troop, or himself. And now, not letting down Margriet. He doubted she was as frightened as she thought. She lay on her stomach beside him, rifle thrust forward, hair falling falling to either side of her head, body nestling on the warm earth, legs spread as wide as her skirt would permit. He kept thinking of those legs as he had seen them while she was riding—suspended, exposed, on either side of her mount, muscles ridged as she had clasped the animal’s sides.

  He leaned towards her and kissed her mouth. Her eyes widened, but she made no effort to withdraw, even when his tongue parted her lips to seek hers.

  ‘Have you never been kissed before?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No.’

  ‘I am sorry about the beard.’

  She smiled. ‘I like you better with a beard.’ She had only ever known men with beards.

  There was so much more he wanted to do to her. But there were more important matters to be attended to first. He looked back and saw the Boers appearing over the next rise, only a few hundred yards distant now. They were trotting, confident of finding the fugitives, following the tracks rather than worrying about an ambush. Perhaps they did not realise he was armed, Murdoch thought. But he had to destroy them without hesitation.

  ‘It would help if you were to fire too,’ he said. ‘Not necessarily at them. Just to make them know we are both armed and determined.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘So do it now,’ he said. When the men reappeared, only three hundred yards away, he took careful aim and fired. The leading Boer threw up his arms and fell backward from the saddle. Beside Murdoch, Margriet also fired, deliberately high, but Murdoch had already swung his rifle to bring down the second man. The other two promptly dropped from their saddles and disappeared from sight, but he could still see their horses. He didn’t want to kill the animals; he wanted to make the men abandon their pursuit. He sighted again and fired, aiming just to miss the horses. Once again he squeezed the trigger, then held his fire and waited. Only a few minutes later the horses slowly retreated; obviously they were being led to a more sheltered position by the men crawling or bending very low. Then the other two were also led back. He stared at the vague, shimmering figures, watched the two bodies being placed across the horses’ backs. The two unwounded men were easy targets, and his finger caressed the trigger. But he was not in the business of murder. They were doing what he wanted of them. The wounded men secure, the other two mounted up and rode back towards the laager; they knew there was nothing they could do against two concealed and accurate rifles.

  ‘They will return with Father and Captain Reger and every man they can find,’ Margriet said. ‘They will surround the gully and force us to surrender. Then they will hang us both.’

  ‘If we are still here. They have to find the others first, and then find us.’ Murdoch watched the horses out of sight and then rose to his knees. ‘We have time.’ He gave her the water bottle again, then went down to the spring and refilled it. ‘Would you object if I had that bath I wanted? I want it even more now.’

  ‘You said I should not object, if you were my lover.’

  They gazed at each other. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It will give the horses a chance to rest.’ He led them to the water and let them drink, then stripped and splashed water over himself. He did not know if she was watching him or not; if she was, then she would know how affected he was by her presence.

  ‘What are those scars?’ she asked. She had risen and was standing only a few feet away.

  ‘Bullet wounds. From Boer rifles.’

  ‘Were you very badly hurt?’

  ‘Not very badly, no.’ He turned to face her and discovered that she had also undressed. He had never seen a naked woman before—and perhaps she had never seen a naked man. From her expression, she might be finding him as beautiful as he found her. Crisp, short black hair; or long golden tresses shrouding the strong face. Gleaming white shoulders; and powerful muscles. Thin blue veins coursing across surprisingly small, upturned breasts with pink nipples: against more muscle, covered in the thick mat of black hair. Both possessed slender bellies, but she had the wider hips; and her pubic hair was almost as pale as the rest of her, where his was dark. There her beauty, and her desire, remained for the moment concealed; his was obvio
us and impatient, but not, it seemed, frightening. Perhaps she had, after all, seen enough of men—at least her father—in the crowded intimacy of a Boer wagon.

  The legs which had so filled his mind were long and straight and strong. Again he matched her, save for the added muscle. He did not know if she was a virgin, although he presumed so, but he was glad that he had waited for someone so lovely.

  But he would wait no more, nor did she want him to. She came into the water beside him and said, ‘I am your woman now, Murdoch Mackinder.’

  ‘I know that,’ he acknowledged, and took her into his arms. It was his first kiss, first embrace, since that night in Cape Town—and the first time he had ever held a naked woman in his arms.

  ‘I do not want to wait,’ she said. ‘If I am yours, make me yours, now and forever.’

  They lay on the ground, their bodies still wet. Their mutual eagerness led them through the barrier of their ignorance. By doing what seemed most natural and most appealing he was inside her in seconds, and she was ready for him, her passion heightened by the enormity of what she had just done and the promise of what lay ahead.

  *

  The sun burned their flesh as they lay together and he kissed her hair. ‘I shall love you, and honour you, and protect you forever,’ he said. ‘Forever.’

  ‘As I shall love you,’ she promised in turn. ‘I pray that I may one day be forgiven by my mother and father.’

  ‘I will pray for that too,’ he told her. ‘And work to make it happen. Now we must get on, before those men come back with support.’

  They dressed themselves, and he set her on the saddled horse, while he took one of the others. It was a strange journey because they could go at no more than a walk owing to the exhaustion of the animals, and because for all their real peril, their minds were filled only with thoughts of each other. When at about five in the afternoon the two ponies could clearly go no further, they put the saddle on the third, which had faithfully followed them, and then abandoned the others, hoping they would be found by the commando coming behind them. Then they rode together, Margriet sitting behind him with her arms round his waist, her body moving against his as they proceeded on their way.

  By nightfall this horse too could carry them no longer, but by then they were in sight of the railway track.

  *

  ‘Murdoch,’ Colonel Edmonds said, shaking his hand. ‘My God, Murdoch! It is so good to see you. We had supposed you lost, especially when we received that Boer ultimatum. You understand that we could not possibly agree to any exchange, or every British officer would have been at risk.’

  ‘Of course I understand that, sir,’ Murdoch said. ‘Which was why I determined to escape.’

  ‘And escape you did, by God,’ Major Craufurd said, also shaking his hand.

  ‘With the aid of a young lady, sir,’ Murdoch reminded him.

  ‘Quite a looker, too, if I may say so,’ said Johnnie Morton, taking over the handshaking from Craufurd.

  ‘Where is she?’ Edmonds asked.

  ‘Waiting in my office, sir,’ Hobbs told him, having also hurried in to join the welcoming party.

  ‘I would very much like you to meet her, sir,’ Murdoch said. ‘She and I...’

  Edmonds held up his hand and winked. ‘I don’t think I had better know about that, Murdoch. Captain Hobbs, will you attend to the young lady?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘She, I...’ Murdoch was not sure how to continue without involving her reputation.

  ‘Of course, my dear boy, of course,’ Edmonds said. ‘I know exactly how you feel. But Hobbs will look after it.’

  Hobbs was already at the door. Murdoch hurried behind him. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Lieutenant Mackinder,’ Craufurd said. ‘You have not yet been dismissed.’

  ‘Leave it with me, old man,’ Hobbs said. ‘No need for you to be involved. Better not to be, in fact.’

  Morton punched Murdoch on the arm. ‘You are a sly old devil, after all, eh?’

  The door opened and Murdoch gazed at Margriet, seated in the straight chair in front of Hobbs’ desk, obviously anxious. ‘Murdoch,’ she said, getting up. ‘Is it all right?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course. I...’ He glanced at Edmonds and Craufurd, who were obviously waiting to continue the discussion. ‘I’ll be with you in a little while. But right now, this gentleman will take you somewhere to have a bath and something to eat, and perhaps a change of clothing?’ He glanced at Hobbs.

  ‘Oh, I am sure that can be arranged,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘I do not wish to be separated from you,’ she protested.

  ‘Lieutenant Mackinder,’ Craufurd said again.

  ‘It will only be for a little while,’ Murdoch repeated. ‘Do take good care of her, Captain Hobbs.’

  ‘Oh, I shall,’ Hobbs promised, and closed the door.

  Murdoch turned back to the room. ‘I am sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘But I do owe her my life, and we...

  ‘Murdoch,’ Colonel Edmonds interrupted. ‘I have the most marvellous news for you.’

  ‘Have you, sir?’ Murdoch had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Indeed. The powers that be have at last decided to recognise your gallantry in saving my life before Klip Drift last year.’

  Murdoch had almost forgotten the incident. ‘Why, sir,’ he said, ‘any member of the regiment would have acted as I did. I merely happened to be the closest.’

  ‘I would like to think that you are right. But as it happened, you were the man who did it. My report and recommendation were supported by those of Captain Morton and the American journalist Casper, both of whom were present, you may remember. Well, the upshot of it is that His Majesty has graciously consented to award you the Victoria Cross.’

  ‘The…’ Murdoch was struck dumb. Britain’s highest award for valour? Not one of his famous forebears had achieved that.

  ‘My most hearty congratulations,’ Edmonds said, coming round his desk to shake his hand again.

  ‘And mine,’ Craufurd agreed. ‘It is too long since the regiment had a VC.’

  ‘It’s an honour for the entire squadron,’ Morton put in.

  Murdoch still didn’t know what to say. But it seemed that everything was falling into his lap; as a VC his determination to marry Margriet Voorlandt would surely be the easier to achieve.

  ‘Now, my dear boy,’ Edmonds said, ‘I know you will wish to have a bath and get rid of that ghastly stubble on your chin, and then General Kitchener himself wishes to see you, both to pick your brains and to congratulate you himself, I should think.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. May I ask what accommodation is being made available for Miss Voorlandt?’

  Edmonds frowned at him. ‘Accommodation? Why, she will be accommodated in the camp, of course.’

  ‘The camp? You mean...?’ Murdoch half turned to look at the closed door. ‘You have sent Margriet to a concentration camp?’

  ‘My dear boy, she is a Boer.’

  ‘Who helped me to escape,’ Murdoch almost shouted. ‘To whom I am betrothed. To...’

  ‘Betrothed?’ Edmonds demanded. ‘You cannot be serious.’

  ‘I am, sir, We...’ he bit his lip.

  ‘Ah,’ Edmonds said. ‘Of course I understand. You found it necessary to seduce the young lady in order to escape.’

  ‘No, I...’ Murdoch checked himself, because wasn’t that exactly what he had done?

  ‘Well,’ Edmonds remarked, ‘they say that all is fair in love and war. Eh, Harry?’ He glanced at Craufurd and Morton.

  ‘And this seems to be a case of both combined,’ Morton grinned. ‘You are quite a rascal, Mackinder, behind that dedicated exterior. But then, ruthlessness is a very desirable quality in a soldier.’

  ‘Ruthlessness? You don’t understand,’ Murdoch said. ‘When I asked Miss Voorlandt to marry me, I was serious. I love her. I...’

  Edmonds glanced at the other two officers. ‘I think perhaps I shou
ld see Mackinder alone,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ Craufurd agreed, and left the office, followed by Morton.

  ‘Sit down, Murdoch,’ the colonel invited.

  Murdoch hesitated, then obeyed. The colonel returned behind his desk and also sat down. ‘I hate to sound like a father,’ he said, ‘but I am very conscious of the fact that you do not have a father. How old are you?’

  ‘I will be twenty-one next year, sir.’

  ‘Twenty-one. You are of course aware that no officer in the British Army can marry under the age of thirty without the permission of his commanding officer?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But I would have hoped that in all the circumstances...’ He didn’t really know how to go on, so finished lamely, ‘Miss Voorlandt undoubtedly saved my life.’

  ‘Perhaps she did. And very honourably you wish to do the right thing by her. But has it occurred to you that she was more concerned with leaving her own people, and the living death to which she was condemned, and saw in you a possible passport to safety?’

  ‘Can you honestly say that incarceration in a concentration camp is not a living death, sir? And if the people in there discovered she helped a British officer...my God, sir, you cannot do it.’

  ‘I did not make the rules, Murdoch. And neither did you. As soldiers, we obey orders. This young woman is an enemy.’

  ‘Who has served our cause. Who has surrendered.’

  ‘We do not know her motives. She may even be a spy. She is an enemy. That is unquestionable. And until the Boer commandos cease their depredations, General Kitchener’s orders are inflexible and must be obeyed: any member of the family of any of these marauders must be placed in a camp until the entire commando surrenders.’

  ‘You are condemning her to life imprisonment.’

  ‘I doubt that. I think her people will give in, soon enough.’