by Wilbur Smith
Nazeen’s dark eyes glowed with pleasure. “Tell my mother that I pray for her every day.” Nazeen’s mother was blind: the flies had laid their eggs under her eyelids, and the maggots had burrowed into her eyeballs. Without Nazeen she would long ago have been abandoned, for the desert life is pitiless. Now, however, she lived under the personal protection of Sheikh bin-Shibam.
Bin-Shibam watched the girl go back down the hill and mount behind the camel rider. They set off again in the direction of the city. He felt no guilt or remorse for what he had required Nazeen to do. When it was over, when al-Salil sat once more upon the Elephant Throne, he would find her a good husband. If that was what she wanted.
Bin-Shibam smiled and shook his head. He sensed that she was one of those born with a natural talent and appetite for her vocation. Deep down, he knew that she would never give up the excitement of the city for the austere, ascetic life of the tribe. She was not a woman who would place herself willingly under the domination of a husband.
“That little one could take care of a hundred men. Perhaps I could do better for her simply by taking care of her blind mother, and leaving her to work out her own destiny. Go in peace, little Nazeen, and be happy,” he whispered after the distant shape of the camel, as it disappeared in the purple haze of fading day. Then he whistled and after a while the true goatherd came out of his hiding-place among the rocks. He knelt before bin-Shibam and kissed his sandalled feet. Bin-Shibam shrugged off the faded robe, and handed it back to him.
“You heard nothing. You saw nothing,” he said.
“I am deaf, blind and dumb,” the goatherd agreed. Bin-Shibam gave him a coin, and the man wept with gratitude.
Bin-Shibam crossed the ridge and went down to where he had left his own camel knee-haltered. He mounted, turned her head southwards, and rode through the night and the following day without pause. He ate a handful of dates and drank thick curds of camel’s milk from the skin bladder that hung behind his saddle. He even prayed on the march.
In the evening he smelt the sea salt. Still without check he rode on through the night. In the dawn the ocean lay spread before him like an infinite shield of silver. From the hills he saw the fast felucca anchored just off the beach. The captain, Tasuz, was a man who had proven himself many times over. He sent a small boat to the beach to fetch bin-Shibam aboard.
Bin-Shibam had brought with him writing materials. He sat cross-legged on the deck with the scroll before him and wrote down all that Nazeen had been able to tell him. He ended with the words, “Majesty, may God grant you victory and glory. I shall wait with all the tribes to welcome you when you return to us.” By the time he had finished, the day was far spent. He gave the scroll to Tasuz. “Surrender this only into the hands of Caliph al-Salil. Give your own life rather than this scroll to another,” he ordered. Tasuz could neither read nor write, so the report was safe with him. He already had detailed sailing directions for Nativity Bay. Like many illiterate people, he had an infallible memory. He would not forget a single detail.
“Go with God, and may He fill your sail with His sacred breath.” Bin-Shibam dismissed him.
“Stay with God, and may angels spread their wings over you, great sheikh,” Tasuz replied.
It was one hundred and three days later that Tasuz picked out the towering whale-backed bluff that his sailing orders had described, and as he steered into the lagoon he recognized the three tall ships that he had last seen anchored in Muscat harbour.
The entire Courtney family were gathered in the refectory, the central room in the main block of Fort Auspice where they spent much of their leisure time. It had taken Sarah four years to furnish it to its present state of homely comfort. The floor and all the furniture had been lovingly made by the carpenters from indigenous timber, stinkwood, tambootie and blackwood, magnificently grained and polished with beeswax to a warm lustre. The women had embroidered the cushions and stuffed them with wild kapok. The floors were covered with tanned animal skins. The walls were decorated with framed paintings, most of which had been executed by Sarah and Louisa, although Verity, during her short stay at the fort, had made a substantial contribution to the gallery. Sarah’s harpsichord had pride of place against the main wall, and now that Dorian and Mansur were back the family choir was at full strength once again.
This evening there was no singing. They were concerned with far more dire affairs. They sat in intent silence and listened to Verity translate into English the long, detailed report that Tasuz had brought them from bin-Shibam in the north. Only one member of the family was less than enthralled by this recital.
George Courtney was now almost three, highly mobile and articulate, harbouring no doubts about his needs and desires and unafraid to make them known. He circled the table with his chubby buttocks showing under the vest that was his only garment. In front his uncircumcised penis waggled like a small white worm. George was accustomed to having the full attention of all, from the lowliest black servant to that godlike being, Grandpa Tom.
“Wepity!” He tugged imperiously at Verity’s skirts. He was still having difficulty with the pronunciation of her name. “Talk to me too!”
Verity faltered. George was not easily appeased. She broke off the recital of lists of men, ships and cannon, and looked down at him. He had his mother’s golden hair, and his father’s green eyes. He looked so angelic that he squeezed her heart and awakened in her instincts so deep-seated that she had only recently become aware of them. “I will tell you a story after,” she offered.
“No! Now!” said George.
“Don’t be a pest,” said Jim.
“Georgie baby, come to Mama,” said Louisa.
George ignored both his parents. “Now, Wepity, now!” he said again, his voice rising. Sarah reached into the pocket of her apron and brought out a piece of shortbread. She showed it to him under the table. For the moment George lost all interest in Verity, dropped on to all fours, and shot among their feet to snatch the bribe out of his grandmother’s hand.
“You have a wonderful way with children, Sarah Courtney.” Tom grinned at her. “Just spoil ’em rotten, an’t that so?”
“I learned the art from dealing with you,” she answered tartly. “For you are the greatest baby of all.”
“Will you two stop squabbling for a moment? You’re worse than Georgie by far,” Dorian told them. “There’s an empire at stake and all our lives at risk, while you are playing at being doting grandparents.”
Verity raised her voice and took up from where she had been interrupted, and they all became serious again. At last she read out bin-Shibam’s final salutation to his Caliph. “‘Majesty, may God grant you victory and glory. I shall wait with all the tribes to welcome you when you return to us.’”
Tom broke the silence at last. “Can we trust this fellow? How did he find out so much?”
“Yes, brother, we can trust him,” Dorian replied. “I do not know how he has come by this news, I only know that if bin-Shibam says it is so, then it must be true.”
“In that case we cannot remain here to be attacked by an overwhelming fleet of war-dhows crammed with battle-hardened Omani troops. We will have to move on.”
“Do not even think it, Tom Courtney,” said Sarah. “I have spent my whole married life on the move. This is my home, and this creature Zayn al-Din will not drive me out of it. I am staying here.”
“Woman, will you not listen to reason for once in your life?”
“I hate to take sides in such a domestic furore,” Dorian took his pipe out of his mouth and smiled at them fondly, “but Sarah is right. We will never be able to run far enough to escape the wrath of Zayn and the men with him. Their enmity will encompass oceans and continents.”
Tom frowned darkly and tugged at one large ear. Then he sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Dorry. The hatred they bear this family goes back too far. Sooner or later we must stand and face them.”
“We will never have such an opportunity presented to us again,” Dori
an went on. “Bin-Shibam has given us Zayn al-Din’s complete battle plan. Zayn will come to fight us on our own ground. When he disembarks his army it will be at the end of a voyage of two thousand leagues. He will have only those of his horses that have survived the rigours of the journey. We, on the other hand, will be prepared, our men rested, armed and well mounted.” Dorian laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Believe me, Tom, this is our best chance and probably the only one we will get.”
“You think like a warrior,” Tom conceded, “while I think like a merchant. I relinquish command to you. The rest of us, Jim and Louisa, Mansur and Verity, will follow your orders. I would like to say the same for my dear wife, but following orders has never been one of her strengths.”
“Very well, Tom, I accept the task. We have but a little time to lay our plans,” Dorian said, “and will need to take advantage of every minute of it. My first concern will be to survey the field, to pick out those areas where we are strongest and avoid those where we are weakest.”
Tom nodded approval. He liked the way Dorian had so swiftly taken the reins. “Go on, brother. We are all listening.”
Dorian spoke through puffs of tobacco smoke. “We know from bin-Shibam that when Zayn brings his ships into the lagoon and bombards the fort, it will be a diversion. The main force under Koots’s command will land on the coast and march overland to surround us and prevent us breaking out to retreat inland. What we have to do first is find the most likely spot for Koots to land, then survey the route he will be forced to take to reach the fort.”
The next day Dorian and Tom went on board the Revenge and sailed in a northerly direction along the coast. They stood together at the chart table, studying the coastline as it passed, refreshing their memories as to all the salient features.
“Koots must try to land as close to the fort as possible. Every mile he is forced to march will compound his difficulties ten times over,” Dorian muttered.
This was a dangerous, treacherous coast: the steeply shelving beaches and rocky headlands were exposed to a high surf and open to sudden gales. Nativity Bay was almost the only secure harbour within a hundred miles. The one other possible landing was at the mouth of a large river, which ran into the sea only a few miles north of the entrance to Nativity Bay. The local tribes called this river Umgeni. Large war-dhows would not be able to negotiate the shallow bar at the entrance, but smaller boats could do so with ease.
“That is where Koots will land,” Dorian told Tom with finality. “In his longboats, he could send five hundred men up the river in a few hours.”
Tom nodded. “However, once he got them ashore, they would still face a march of many miles through rugged country to reach the fort.”
“We had best find out just how rugged it really is,” Dorian said, and he put the Revenge about and they sailed back southwards, keeping as close inshore as the wind and tide would allow. They stood at the starboard rail and studied the shore through their telescopes.
There was a continuous sweep of beach all the way, sugary brown sands pounded by an unremitting surf. “If they stuck to the beach, carrying their own armour, weapons and supplies, they would make heavy weather of marching through that deep sand,” Tom opined. “What is more they would be vulnerable for the whole march to the cannonade of our ships.”
“Added to which is that, if he is trying to surprise us, Koots would never send them along the open beach. He knows we would spot such a large force at once. He must detour inland,” Dorian decided. “Tell me, brother, the bush above the beach seems impenetrable. Is it really so?”
“It is very thick, but not impenetrable,” Tom told him. “Also there are marshy and swampy areas. The bush is infested with buffalo and rhino, and the swamps are filled with crocodile. However, there are game paths along a ridge of slightly higher ground that runs parallel to the shore, about two cables’ length inland from the beach. It remains dry and firm at all seasons and states of the tide.”
“Then we must go over the ground carefully and mark that path,” Dorian said, and they sailed back into the bay. The following morning, accompanied by Jim and Mansur, they rode along the beach until they reached the mouth of the Umgeni river.
“That was easy going.” Mansur checked his pocket watch. “We covered the ground in less than three hours.”
“That may be so. But the enemy will be marching on foot, not mounted,” Jim pointed out, “and we will have them in easy grape-shot range from the ships.”
“Yes,” Dorian acknowledged. “Tom and I have already agreed that they must move inland. We want to scout that route now.”
They followed the south bank of the Umgeni river upstream for a mile or so until it entered the hills and the banks became steep and high, making the going difficult even for their small party.
“No, they will not come this far inland. They will be trying to invest the fort with all the speed they can. They must cut through the littoral swamps,” Dorian decided.
They returned downstream, and Jim pointed out the beginning of the low causeway through the swamps. The trees along it were taller than the surrounding forest. They left the river, and headed towards it. Almost immediately the horses plunged into the black mud of the mangrove swamps. They were forced to dismount and lead them through until they reached the ridge of firmer ground. Even here there were potholes of treacherous mud hidden under an innocuous-seeming scum of green slime. The bush grew so densely that the horses were unable to force their way through. The twisted stems of ancient milkwood trees formed serried ranks like armoured warriors and their branches hung down and entwined with the amatimgoola shrub, whose long, sturdy thorns could pierce the leather of their boots and inflict deep, painful wounds.
They were forced to move along the game paths that criss-crossed this jungle, which were nothing more than narrow tunnels of vegetation forged by buffalo and rhinoceros. The thorny roofs were so low that again they were forced to dismount and lead the horses. Even then they had to stoop and the thorns rasped on their empty saddles, scoring the leather. The mosquitoes and biting midges rose in black clouds from the mudholes and swarmed around their sweating faces, crawling into their ears and nostrils.
“When Kadem and Koots drew up their battle plan, neither of them had tried to march through this.” Tom lifted his hat and mopped his face and shiny pate.
“We can make him pay for every yard in heavy coin,” Jim said. Until now, he had been silent since they left the beach. “In here it will all be close work, hand to hand. Bows and spears will have the advantage over muskets and cannon.”
“Bows and spears?” Dorian demanded, with sudden interest. “Who will wield them?”
“My good friend and brother in blood and war, King Beshwayo and his bloodthirsty savages,” said Jim proudly.
“Tell me about him,” Dorian ordered.
“It’s a long story, Uncle. It will have to wait until we get back to the fort. That is, if we can ever find our way home through this hellish tangle.”
That evening, after dinner, all the family remained in the refectory. Sarah stood behind Tom’s chair with one arm draped over his shoulder. At intervals she rubbed the mosquito bites on his bald pate. When she did that, he closed his eyes in quiet enjoyment. At the other end of the table Dorian sat with Mansur on one side of him and his hookah on the other.
Verity had never looked upon herself as a domesticated creature, but since her arrival at Fort Auspice she had found a deep satisfaction in homemaking and caring for Mansur. She and Louisa, who were so different in nearly every way, had taken to each other from their first meeting. Now they moved quietly around the big room, clearing away the dinner dishes, serving endless cups of coffee to their menfolk, or coming to sit close to them and listen to their talk, from time to time adding their own opinions to the conversation. Louisa was well occupied with Master George. This was the time of the day that they all enjoyed most.
“Tell me about Beshwayo,” Dorian ordered Jim, and he laughed.
“Ah! You have not forgotten.” He picked up his son from the floor and placed him comfortably in his lap. “You have raised enough hell for one day, my boy. Now I am going to tell a story,” he said.
“Story!” said George, and subsided at once. He laid his golden curls against Jim’s shoulder, and thrust his thumb into his mouth.
“After you and Mansur sailed away in the Revenge and the Sprite, Louisa and I loaded up our wagons and set off into the wilderness to look for elephant and try to make contact with the tribes so that we could open trade with them.”
“Jim makes it sound as though I went willingly,” Louisa protested.
“Come now, Hedgehog, be honest. You have been bitten by the wander bug as deeply as I have.” Jim smiled. “But let me go on. I knew that there were many large war parties of Nguni coming down with their herds from the north.”
“How did you discover that?” Dorian demanded.
“Inkunzi told me, and I sent Bakkat out far northwards to read the sign.”
“Bakkat I know well, of course. But Inkunzi? I only vaguely remember the name.”
“Then let me remind you, Uncle. Inkunzi was Queen Manatasee’s chief herdsman. When I captured her cattle, he came with me rather than be parted from his beloved animals.”
“Of course! How could I ever forget it, Jim boy? Wonderful story.”
“Inkunzi and Bakkat guided us into the hinterland to find the other rampaging tribes of Nguni. Some were hostile and dangerous as nests of poisonous cobras or man-eating lions. We had a few scrapes with them, I can tell you. Then we came across Beshwayo.”
“Where did you find him?”
“About two hundred leagues north-west of here,” Jim explained. “He was bringing his tribe and all their cattle down the escarpment. Our meeting was most propitious. I had just come upon three big elephant bulls. I did not know that Beshwayo was spying upon us from a nearby hilltop. He had never seen mounted men or a musket before. For me it was a most fortunate hunt. I was able to drive the elephant out of the thick forest into the open grassland. There, I rode them down one after the other, with Bakkat loading and passing me the guns. I managed to kill all three within a two-mile gallop on Drumfire. From his lookout Beshwayo watched it all. Afterwards he told me that it had been his intention to attack the wagons and massacre us all, but having seen the way I shot and rode he decided against it. He’s a forthright rascal, is King Beshwayo.”