Blue Horizon

by Wilbur Smith

  “Then what is it they want?”

  “They want to speak with the wizard who struck down their queen with his lightning.”

  “A parley,” Jim explained to Louisa. “It seems that these are some of the survivors of the battle.”

  “Talk to them, Jim,” she urged. “Perhaps you can prevent any more bloodshed. Anything is better than that.”

  Jim turned back to Tegwane. “Tell their induna, their leader, that he must come into the laager alone and unarmed. I will not harm him.”

  He came dressed in a simple kilt of leather strips, without headdress or weapons. He was a fine-looking man in his middle years, with the body and limbs of a warrior and a handsome moon face the chocolate colour of freshly hewn mabanga wood. As soon as he entered the laager he recognized Jim. He must have seen him upon the battlefield. He went down on one knee, an attitude of respect, clapping his hands and chanting praises: “Mightiest of warriors! Invincible wizard who comes out of the great waters! Devourer of impis! Slayer of Manatasee! Greater than all of her fathers!”

  “Tell him that I see him, and that he may approach me,” Jim ordered. He realized the significance and importance of this delegation, and assumed a dignified manner and haughty expression. The induna went down on all fours and crawled towards him. He took Jim’s right foot and placed it on his own bowed head. Jim was taken by surprise and almost lost his balance, but he recovered swiftly.

  “Great white bull elephant,” the induna chanted, “young in years but mighty in power and wisdom, grant me mercy.”

  From his father and his uncle Jim had learned enough of African protocol to know how to conduct himself. “Your worthless life is mine,” he said. “Mine to take or spare. Why should I not send you on the same road through the sky as the one on which I sent Manatasee?”

  “I am a child without a father or mother. I am an orphan. You have taken my children from me.”

  “What is he talking about?” Jim demanded angrily of Tegwane. “We killed no children.”

  The induna heard his tone and realized he had given offence. He pressed his face into the dirt. When he answered Tegwane’s questions his voice was hoarse with dust. Jim used the opportunity to remove his foot from the induna’s head: standing on one leg was uncomfortable and undignified.

  At last Tegwane turned back to Jim. “He was Manatasee’s keeper of the royal herds. He calls the cattle his children. He begs you either to kill him, or to allow him the honour of becoming your keeper of the herds.”

  Jim stared at the man in astonishment. “He wants to work for me as my chief herdsman?”

  “He says he has lived with the herds since he was a child. He knows each animal by name, which bull covered their dams. He knows each one’s age and temper. He knows the remedy and the treatment for every disease to which the herds are prone. With his own assegai he has killed five lions who were attacking the animals. What is more…” Tegwane paused to draw breath.

  “Enough.” Jim stopped him hastily. “I believe what he says, but what of these others?” He pointed at the other files of squatting figures outside the laager. “Who are they?”

  “They are his herders. Like him they have been dedicated to the care of the royal cattle since childhood. Without the herds their lives are without purpose.”

  “They, too, are offering themselves?” Jim was having difficulty grasping the extent of his good fortune.

  “Every one of them wishes to become your man.”

  “What do they expect from me?”

  “They expect you to kill them if they err or fail in their duties,” Tegwane assured him. “Manatasee would have done so.”

  “That is not exactly what I meant,” Jim said in English, and Tegwane looked baffled. He went on quickly: “What do they expect in return for their work?”

  “The sunshine of your pleasure,” said Tegwane. “As I do.”

  Jim pulled his ear thoughtfully, and the induna rolled his head to watch his face, worried that their request would be denied and that the white wizard would strike him down as he had the queen. Jim was considering the expense of adding the induna and fifty or sixty of his comrades to the strength of his already numerous crew. However, there seemed to be no additional cost that he could fathom. From what Tegwane had told him he knew these herders would live on the blood and milk of the herds, and the venison that fell to his gun. He was sure he could expect a most extraordinary level of loyalty and dedication in return. These were skilled cattlemen and fearless spearmen. He would find himself at the head of his own tribe of warriors. With the Hottentot musketeers and the Nguni spearmen he need fear nothing in this wild and savage land. He would be a king. “What is this man’s name?” he asked Tegwane.

  “He is called Inkunzi, for he is the bull of all the royal herds.”

  “Tell Inkunzi that I look with favour on his request. He and his men are now my men. Their lives are in my hands.”

  “Bayete!” Inkunzi shouted with joy when he heard this. “You are my master and my sun.” Once again he placed Jim’s right foot upon his head, and his men seeing this, knew they had been accepted.

  They rose to their feet, drummed on their shields with their assegais, and shouted together, “Bayete! We are your men! You are our sun!”

  “Tell them that the sun can warm a man, but it can also burn him to death,” Jim warned them solemnly. Then he turned to Louisa and explained to her what had just taken place.

  Louisa looked upon this fearsome band of warriors, and remembered how, only days before, they had come singing to the laager. “Can you trust them, Jim? Should you not disarm them?”

  “I know the traditions of these people. Once they have sworn their allegiance I will trust them with my life.”

  “And mine,” she pointed out softly.

  The next day Jim made an observation of the noon passage of the sun, and plotted their position on his father’s chart. “According to my reckoning we are only a few degrees south of the latitude of the Courtney trading post at Nativity Bay. By my calculations, it should be less than a thousand leagues to the east, three months’ travel. It is possible that we might encounter one of our ships there, or at least find a message from my family under the mail stones.”

  “Is that where we are going next, Jim?” Louisa asked. He looked up from the parchment of the chart and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have a better suggestion?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That will suit me as well as any other.”

  The following morning they broke camp. Inkunzi and his herders brought in the captured royal herds, and Jim watched with interest as they loaded the ivory. The rawhide harness they used was simple, but had obviously been perfected by the Nguni to fit over the heavy hump and be secured behind the front legs. The loads of ivory were counter-balanced to hang comfortably but securely on each side of the beast’s back, allowing it freedom of movement. Inkunzi and his men matched the weight of each load to the size and strength of the animal that would carry it. The cattle seemed unaware of their burden as they moved along at the leisurely pace set by the herders, grazing contentedly as they spread out like a river in flood across the veld. By the time the entire herd was on the move they covered several leagues.

  Jim took a compass bearing along the line of march, and pointed out to Inkunzi a landmark on the horizon to head for. Inkunzi himself stalked along at the head of his herds, wrapped in his leather cloak with his assegai and his black war shield slung on his back. He played on a reed flute as he went, a sweet but monotonous tune, and the cattle followed him like faithful hounds. The wagon train brought up the rearguard.

  Each morning Jim and Louisa rode out with Bakkat to break trail and search ahead for any lurking danger or for fresh sign of the elephant herds. They scouted far ahead of the slowly moving caravan, picking out the passes through the hills, the fords and drifts across the rivers. The herds of wild game astonished them, but they found that the Nguni had swept the land bare of human presence. Villages had be
en burnt to the ground, only the smoke-blackened patterns of the foundation stones still standing, and the veld around was strewn with the white fields of human bones. There was no living soul.

  “The mefecane,” Tegwane called this great slaughter. “The pounding of the tribes, like corn between the grinding stones of the impis.”

  Once Inkunzi had proved his worth and established his place high in the hierarchy of the band, he joined quite naturally in the indabas around the campfire. He was able from his own life to paint for them a picture of these terrible events. He told them how his people had their origins far to the north, along some mythical valley, a place he called the Beginning of All Things.

  Generations before, his tribe had been overtaken by some cataclysmic event, another mefecane, and the famine that naturally followed. They and their herds had begun the long migration southwards plundering and killing all the other tribes that stood in their path. As pastoralists and nomads they always moved on, seeking grazing for their herds, more plunder and women. It was a tragic saga.

  “We will never know how many human souls have perished on these lovely wild fields,” Louisa said softly.

  Even Jim was subdued by the extent of the tragedy that had swept like the black plague across the continent. “This is a savage land. To flourish it needs to be watered by the blood of man and beast,” he agreed with her.

  When they scouted ahead of the wagons Jim was always on the lookout for signs of the rest of the Nguni, and drilled his small band in the defensive tactics they would adopt if they were attacked.

  He was searching also for the elusive elephant herds, but as the weeks passed, and mile after mile of this grand and tractless land fell behind the turning wagon wheels, they discovered neither Nguni nor elephant.

  Almost three months after they had turned east, they came abruptly upon a steep, broken escarpment where the land fell away before them into a sheer abyss.

  “This seems to be the end of the world,” Louisa breathed. They stood together and stared in wonder. In the clear air and bright sunshine it seemed they could indeed see to the ends of the earth. Staring through the lens of his telescope Jim saw that as it blended with the distant horizon the sky shaded to an unearthly blue, bright and translucent as polished lapis-lazuli.

  It took him some time to realize what he was looking at. Then the angle of the sunlight changed subtly and he exclaimed, “In the name of all that is holy and beautiful, Hedgehog, ’tis the ocean at last.” He handed her the telescope. “You shall now see what a famous navigator I am, for I shall lead you unerringly to the beach at Nativity Bay in the land of the elephants.”

  Tom and Dorian Courtney rode up to the main gates of the castle. They were expected and the sergeant of the guard saluted and waved them through into the courtyard. Grooms came running to take their horses as they dismounted.

  The Courtney brothers were accustomed to such respect. As two of the leading burghers of the colony and its most prosperous merchants, they were often guests of Governor van de Witten. The governor’s secretary, himself an important VOC official, came scurrying out of his office to greet them and usher them through into the governor’s private quarters.

  They were not kept waiting in the anteroom, but taken immediately into the spacious council chamber. The long central table and all the twenty chairs around it were of stinkwood, one of the most beautifully grained timbers of Africa, lovingly carved by the skilled Malay slave cabinet-makers. The floors were of lustrous yellow-wood planks polished with beeswax until they shone like glass. The panes of the bay windows at the far end of the room were of jewel-like stained glass shipped down the length of the Atlantic from Holland. They looked out over the vista of Table Bay, with the monumental bulk of Lion’s Head mountain beyond. The bay was cluttered with shipping, and whipped by the south-easter into a froth of prancing white horses.

  The panelled walls were hung with the seventeen portraits of the council members of the VOC in Amsterdam: serious bulldog-faced men in black hats with lace collars, paper white on their high-buttoned black coats.

  Two men rose from their seats at the council table to greet the brothers. Colonel Keyser was in the dress uniform he had designed for himself. It was of scarlet brocade, with sashes over both shoulders, one blue, the other gold. His ample girth was encircled by a sword belt embossed with gold medallions, and the hilt of his rapier was inlaid with semi-precious stones. There were three large enamelled diamanté stars pinned on his chest. The largest of these was the Order of St. Nicholas. The tops of his glossy boots reached above his knees. His hat was wide-brimmed, crowned with a large bunch of ostrich feathers.

  In contrast, Governor van de Witten wore the sombre dress that was almost the uniform of the most senior officials of the VOC: a black velvet skull-cap, a Flemish lace collar, and a black high-buttoned jacket. His thin legs were clad in black silk hose, and his square-toed shoes were buckled with solid silver.

  “Mijnheeren, you do us honour by your presence,” he said, his face pale and lugubrious.

  “The honour is ours alone. We came as soon as we received your invitation,” Tom said, and the brothers bowed together. Tom was dressed in dark broadcloth, but of first quality and London cut. Dorian wore a green silk jacket and voluminous breeches. His sandals were camel-skin, and his turban matched his jacket and was secured with an emerald pin. His short red beard was neatly trimmed and curled. It was in sharp contrast to Tom’s more luxuriant, silver-shot growth. Looking at them together nobody would have guessed they were brothers. Colonel Keyser came forward to greet them, and they bowed again.

  “Your servant, Colonel, as ever,” Tom said.

  “Salaam aleikum, Colonel,” Dorian murmured. Although when he was at High Weald and in the bosom of his own family he often forgot it, when he went abroad, and especially in these formal surroundings, he liked to remind the world that he was the adopted son of Sultan Abd Muhammad al-Malik, the Caliph of Muscat. “Peace be unto you, Colonel.” Then he added in Arabic, making it sound like part of the greeting, “I like not the fat one’s expression. The tiger shark smiles in the same way.” This was entirely for Tom’s benefit: he knew that the others in the room understood not a word of what he had said.

  Governor van de Witten indicated the chairs facing his own across the glistening expanse of the table. “Gentlemen, please be seated.” He clapped his hands, and immediately a small procession of Malay slaves appeared carrying silver salvers of choice morsels of food, and decanters of wine and spirits.

  While they were being served the governor and his guests continued the customary exchange of compliments and small talk. Both Tom and Dorian refrained from more than a single glance at the mysterious object that lay in the centre of the stinkwood table between them. It was covered with a velvet cloth, beaded around the edges. Tom pressed his knee lightly against Dorian’s. Dorian did not look at him, but touched the side of his nose, a signal that he had also noticed the object. Over the years they had grown so close that they could read each other’s minds with accuracy.

  The slaves at last backed out of the council chamber, and the governor turned to Tom. “Mijnheer Courtney, you have already discussed with Colonel Keyser the distressing and reprehensible behaviour of your son, James Archibald Courtney.”

  Tom stiffened. Although he had been expecting this, he braced himself for what would follow. What new trick has Keyser come up with now? he wondered. As Dorian had pointed out, Keyser’s expression was smug and gloating. Aloud he said, “Indeed, Governor, I well recall our conversation.”

  “You assured me that you disapproved of your son’s behaviour, his interference with the course of justice, the abduction of a female prisoner, the theft of VOC property.”

  “I remember it well,” Tom assured him hastily, anxious to cut short the list of Jim’s transgressions.

  However, van de Witten went on remorselessly: “You gave me your assurance that you would keep me informed of your son’s whereabouts as soon as you obtained
knowledge of his movements. You promised that you would do all in your power to see to it that he and this female criminal, Louisa Leuven, were brought to the castle at the first opportunity to answer to me personally for their crimes. Did we not agree on this?”

  “Yes, we did, Your Excellency. I also recall that, as an earnest of my good faith and intentions and to compensate the VOC for its losses, I made a payment to you of twenty thousand guilders in gold.”

  Van de Witten ignored this solecism. He had never issued an official receipt for that payment, ten per cent of which had gone to Colonel Keyser and the balance into his own purse. As he went on speaking his expression became increasingly sorrowful: “I have reason to believe, Mijnheer Courtney, that you have not kept your side of our bargain.”

  Tom threw up his hands, and made theatrical sounds of amazement and denial, but did not go so far as to deny the charge outright.

  “You would like me to substantiate what I have just said?” van de Witten asked, and Tom nodded warily. “As Colonel Keyser is the officer responsible to me for the conduct of this case, I will ask him to explain what he has discovered.” He looked at the colonel. “Would you please be kind enough to enlighten these gentlemen?”

  “Certainly, Your Excellency, it will be my duty and privilege.” Keyser leaned across the table and touched the mysterious object under the beaded velvet cloth. All their eyes went to it. Teasingly, Keyser removed his hand and leaned back in his chair again.

  “Let me first ask you, Mijnheer Courtney, if at any time during the last three months any of the wagons belonging to you and your brother,” he nodded at Dorian, “left the colony.”

  Tom pondered a moment, then turned to his brother. “I don’t remember that happening, do you, Dorry?”

  “None of our vehicles received VOC permission to leave the colony.” Dorian begged the question neatly.

  Once again Keyser leaned forward, but this time he whipped away the velvet cloth and they all stared at the broken stub of the wheel spoke. “Is that your company cypher branded into the wood?”