This morning, as the first rain has started to fall, he had ordered the placement of a great deal of large tubs, barrels, and other containers, all of them gathering the falling liquid. And he had just heard from a runner that they were now full to the level he had requested.
As he strode along, he gestured to the young man who was a pace behind. “Do be so kind as to let the men know they need to round up the Uhlobo.”
“At once, sir.”
Jacob arrived to find a rather unusual scene laid out before him, no matter that he had ordered it. The Uhlobo were in a tight clump, clearly unsure of what was happening, while the Lifeguards surrounded them, some with rifles and bayonets, others stripped down to the waist. And in the centre of this mass was the profusion of buckets, barrels, and tubs, all filled to the brim with water.
Joyce, as per his normal predilections, was standing next to Umholi, translating for him. Although there was certainly little enough need for that these days. It was a week since their prior meeting, and Joyce's reports in the interim indicated that Umholi was rapidly approaching a basic fluency with the language. And that more than a few others were close behind him. Remarkable, truly remarkable.
Although apparently what they showed fluency in most of all was curse words, picked up from the soldiers during their time building the fortress. He really must have a word with his men about that. The language that he had heard repeated by Umkhovu who did not understand the foulness of it...
Jacob let his thoughts trail off, and squared himself away, watching as the men visibly stiffened in reaction. “Today is a great day. Today is a day that we shall expunge an evil that has lingered over the camp, fouling our air and upsetting our stomachs. Before you, you see the cause of that evil, and the instruments of its destruction. I expect that every man shall do his duty today, and rid us forever more of an evil we cannot abide. Stand you ready?”
A hearty cheer rolled forth from the men, while the Umkhovu looked ill at ease and worried. Although Umholi himself looked more resigned than anything else. Perhaps he had an inkling of what was to come.
“You may begin! And remember, a quarter bell at the least.”
That last was drowned by a great charge from the shirtless Lifeguards, each one scooping up an Umkhovu and dunking them into a barrel, splashing water hither and yon. A few tried to resist, but most were so shocked by the action they did little more than stare in puzzlement, even as brushes began to run over their skin and their filthy clothes were tossed away. With the weather as it was, the clothes would have to be burned on the morrow, or some other day when the land had dried. That, too, would be a cause for celebration.
Judging by the vigour with which the men went about their task, Jacob was quite sure his order of a quarter bell was unnecessary. Indeed, some of the Umkhovu might be lacking a skin by that point, such was the energetic application of the brushes.
Shouts and banter flew back and forth between the men, smiles wide on their faces as they enjoyed a moment's relaxation in a long campaign. A few of them recoiled with shock when they realized they were washing women, but under their officers' watchful eyes they continued to do their duty. Given the weasel like proportions of these creatures, Jacob had doubted they would do anything but. He most certainly did not find any of them attractive, and would be rather unpleasantly surprised if any of his men did so.
After the initial shock had passed, some of the Umkhovu began to enjoy the treatment, grabbing brushes to scrub themselves and splashing water at the men surrounding them. Others began to wail, adding to the cacophony that already surrounded this endeavour. Those splashing found themselves splashed back, or dunked fully underwater. After two of these playful struggles tipped over the containers and spilled the water, Jacob put a stop to them, at least until the quarter bell had passed.
Those of the Umkhovu who wailed and shouted and complained were more difficult to deal with. He hardly wanted the annoying creatures drowned, but some adventurous soldiers did attempt to silence their wards by pressing their heads under the water for occasional silence. It worked partially, but only in so much as it took the affected creatures extra effort to clear their lungs and gather enough air for further caterwauling.
Finally, a gesture called Joyce to his side. “Tell those shouting harridans that their continued good health is contingent upon their silence.”
Joyce nodded, looking unhappy.
“Joyce, if you continue to be soft on them, I shall have to reassign you to other duties. You are a soldier in the Queen's Lifeguards, not a nursemaid to squalling, illiterate, children. The sooner you remember that, the better this will go. Now off with you.”
Still with a displeased look on his face, the enlisted man went about his duties. As he passed through the ranks, the howling shrank and then disappeared. So Joyce could still perform his duty as a soldier of the army. But this going unnecessarily soft business was entirely uncalled for. The Umkhovu were lower class subjects who might at best be useful as menials. They should by no means have the same standing as a member of the aristocracy, no matter their parentage.
As the quarter bell passed and the first of the Umkhovu began to emerge from their watery homes, Jacob and his men were able to get their first proper examination of the creatures. Long-armed as before, they were covered across much of their body with a thin brown fur that retreated entirely from the chest and stomach. Pointed noises that could almost be described as snouts were set atop sharp teeth, while their legs were foreshortened, and certainly not overly adept at running. Still, they were capable enough at digging and hauling, and the prior week's worth of experience had shown they were approximately as strong as humans when it came to manual labour.
Then the first women began to appear from the baths, with the visible addition of accoutrements that were shaped and sized as were a human's.
“Take them away, to the surgeon's tent. He wants to examine them for lice and other such conditions. Use the one next to it for a holding facility, if necessary.”
Nodding, soldiers rushed to comply with his orders, eyes averted where possible.
***
As it turned out, the creatures were quite uninfected with anything noticeable. Remarkable for such filthy living habits. The tailors had cut them new garments, although given the cloth used was from grain sacks that were no longer needed, it was hardly flattering. Or comfortable, most likely. Still, it did its duty as clothing should do, and finally allowed the humans to distinguish male Umkhovu from females. Which made the Lifeguards and the other soldiers in the fortress altogether more comfortable with the situation.
Jacob was once more on his morning stroll about the camp when he heard a loud commotion coming from the direction of the gates. Wondering what could possibly have disturbed the calm of the day, he let his legs follow the noise, although at an unhurried pace. Officers were never rushed. Indeed, Colonel Sherman was likely still abed, and relying upon his regimental commanders to see to the matter if it was of importance.
The other commanders, those who had heard anyway, had the same idea, and soon Matthias, Thomason, and Willaby made their presences known. As a group, they mounted the steps to the wall of the fortress and looked out onto the edge of the plains, facing the forest. What they saw there was a surprise, and thus, an unpleasant occurrence.
In this case, the surprise happened to be a small cluster of arboreal natives standing clear in the open, facing the gates. Clothed in extremely tight-fitting animal hides, they looked little different from the dead creature that had been their first encounter with the natives. Except, of course, they were alive.
Turning to one of the sentries on duty, Jacob gestured him over. “Find the Lifeguard Joyce. And tell him to bring Umholi.”
“A good thought.” Matthias gave similar instructions, supplying names that were his equivalent of the Lifeguard pair.
“What the devil do they want?” Willaby gestured at the creatures.
“I presume they want to parley. Pos
sibly about us cutting down the trees for the fortress. I must admit to being rather surprised they had no encounters with us over that. Perhaps they decided to stay away.” Matthias offered his thoughts.
“Well, they've stopped staying away, and landed us in a right pickle. Do we have anyone who can speak the language?” Thomason looked glum already.
“Matthias and I have sent for our best linguists and their native companions, so we can hope one of them can manage a passable conversation with those creatures out there. If not, one of us will have to forgo our dignity and resort to handwaving, as one would with a particularly dense child.”
“I suppose that's all they really are, isn't it? Dense children.”
“They're dense children with six foot longbows and clothyard shafts.” Jacob pointed at the creatures, now approaching the gates at a slow walk. One that involved swinging the legs out quite widely to accommodate the spikes on the inside of each ankle.
“What do you suggest to a withdrawal down to the gates, to await their arrival?”
“Thomason, it would hardly do for us to walk away from a few barbarians with bows. What would the men think of us?”
“I hardly think preparing a formal reception could be considered cowardice.”
“Do we want to give them a formal reception, however? After all, what have they done to earn such a distinction?”
“True. Still, one of us should have men waiting in the yard should they try anything.”
“Now that is a much more sensible suggestion. A company, do you think?”
“Sounds quite right.” The orders were given post-haste.
“I believe all we can do is wait.”
“Well, I suppose we could alert the Colonel.”
“And distract him from his morning feast? I hardly think giving him indigestion would be looked upon kindly. No, no, we resolve this situation and then present it to him. I believe that's the safer course.”
General agreement followed, as the small pack of natives approached closely enough to be seen in strong detail. There were eight of them, presumably a lucky number in their culture, and the fur that covered their bodies tufted out from under the animal hides, while their heads swivelled about, listening with those great long ears. As of yet, none of them had bows in hand, which Jacob considered a good sign. He would rather not have to shoot them out of hand if it could be avoided. Still and all, he gave a sign that muskets should be charged. Surreptitiously if possible.
The oldest of them, presumably their leader, stood forth and declaimed. “Vã întâmpinãm cu numele de tatii nostri, tatal nostru tatal lui, si capacele ventilatoarelor de mare pãdure ca noi toþi.”
“What the devil is that rubbish he's spouting?”
“His language, whatever it is. Where the hell are Joyce and Umholi? We look like fools up here.”
The named parties appeared within moments, both puffing from a long run across camp. Making excuses for their tardiness, Joyce explained they had breakfasted on that little knoll they liked, and had been somewhat difficult to find.
“Well, Joyce, I suggest you begin to make amends immediately. We have some guests who don't speak a civilized tongue.”
“I'm sorry sir, I can't help. Perhaps Umholi?”
The Umkhovu chieftain glanced over the parapets, muttered to himself, and looked again. “Go poorly, this will.”
“Thank you for your confidence in the matter, but please restrict yourself to translating.”
What followed was a burst of gibbering in that nonsense the locals called a language. Followed by an immediate, and rather unkind sounding, reply from the natives outside the fortress. This went on for a few moments, during which Matthias' translation pair arrived.
“Very well, what are they saying?”
“They ask why you come to these lands to destroy their shelter. What have they done to offend you? They also believe we Umkhovu brought you here. Which is unkind.”
Jacob glared at Umholi, strongly enough that Joyce showed some shame on his face. Umholi, on the other hand, was completely unphased. Either he couldn't read Jacob's expression, or, more likely, was ignoring it.
Thankfully, it was Matthias who took the lead in answering the natives, as Jacob did feel it was somewhat difficult to justify a need for living space to those who were already on the land. Also, how does one explain civilization and the benefits it creates to a creature who has never seen it?
“We come only to build homes for ourselves. Once we have enough timber for our buildings, we will stop harvesting the forest.”
Umholi translated this into whatever language the arboreals spoke, with the translator from Matthias' clan of Umkhovu looking on closely. It was apparent he desired to correct Umholi if the latter made even the slightest mistake. There was, however, nothing that he could say in the matter.
A gesture from Willaby sent everyone but the regimental commanders away.
“Matthias, are we going to justify ourselves to these cretins? They've evidenced no knowledge of civilization. They barely even appear to know who their own parents are.”
Matthias rounded on Willaby. “Do you think I care to justify my actions? I am a noble in Queen Cyninge's service and in no way accountable to those barbarians at the gates. But if a few simple words will foist them off for days or weeks at a time, then I shall speak those words and be done with it. When this fortress is complete, and the docks are safe, and we control this land, I'll do whatever I damn well please to uppity natives that find their outdated, archaic, ways superior. But until I'm sure we can kill every last one of those foul beings, I will delay the moment of conflict. Do you understand me, or perhaps you wish to discuss this further?”
Willaby had gone white by the end Matthias' speech, although whether it was from rage or shock, Jacob was not sure. Certainly, being spoken to in that manner was grounds for a settling of accounts. It was likely only the knowledge that the Colonel had banned any such action that stopped Willaby from demanding satisfaction.
“When it is an appropriate time, you and I will have more than words on this matter.”
“Reaching above your station again... You are such a young pup, Willaby. Go back to the kennel.”
The only thing faster than Willaby's hand going to the hilt of his sword was Jacob's, pinning Willaby's arm before it could make a truly rash move.
“Both of you will settle down, now. Or are you to forget all the manners of a gentleman? We are standing in front of commoners and barbarians, and we will show them why we possess an inherently nobility that they lack. Unless either of you would like to forfeit your titles?”
Both Matthias and Willaby stared daggers at Jacob, but comported themselves as gentlemen and officers should, and let no more words pass their lips.
Satisfied that the matter was at an end, at least for the moment, Jacob gestured for the translators to return. They had been communicating with the arboreals while the officers had engaged in their little discussion.
“And their response?”
“They wish a gesture, an exchange of tokens, to signify the land belongs to no one.”
“Tell them that we accept, and that we will procure an appropriate item.”
This time, it was Matthias' Umkhovu who took up the translating duties, with an expression on his face that could only be glee. Whatever relations his tribe had had with the arboreal natives in the past, they had not been good ones.
“They wish to have the ceremony at sundown.”
“Damned inconvenient of them, that's in the middle of dinner time. Still, for the sake of all this land, I do suppose we can delay the meal by a bell.”
“For the sake of all this land, I'll skip it entirely.”
“I wouldn't tell Cook that if I were you. He'll be most upset.”
“What he doesn't know will not hurt him.”
“Most true, most true. Shall we, gentlemen?”
Feelings forgotten, the regimental commanders went down to the gates to ensure their leg
acy.
CONSOLIDATION
A year had passed since that meeting with the arboreal natives, a year in which the act of colonization had moved on apace. Now all five of the fortresses were in order, and where there had been only docks there was a thriving port town, each day growing larger as more immigrants made their way to the new lands.
Farms spread out from the port and fortresses, farms that had cleared land in the forest by slashing and burning, turning tree ash into fertilizer. There had been incidents, at first, of the arboreal natives attacking outlying homesteads, but despite the inability of the Royal Army to catch more than few of the perpetrators, the matter had been mostly settled, with the natives fleeing ever deeper into their forests, and the human occupants enjoying a good life of clean air and labour.
The military presence had been increased too, with six further regiments arriving. As had been promised, each of the senior commanders had been given oversight over their junior regiments.
The greatest difference of all was the Umkhovu - the natives had been civilized entirely, or as much as it was possible to do with creatures such as these. Now, where they had once served as day labourers and menials, they acted as manservants, and such were their numbers that each tent of enlisted men had one or two to act upon their needs and desires.
Jacob had taken several for himself, one of whom was Umholi. It had seemed rather appropriate that the regimental commander have the Uhlobo chieftain as a manservant, although Umholi had made it quite clear from the start that he was Joyce's manservant as well, and would remain so whatever objections Jacob had to the contrary. Rather than be miffed, Jacob had taken matters in stride, and simply allocated himself another assistant.
Or three, as the final tally had come to be. In addition to Umholi, there was Inceku, who acted as butler when Umholi was about on his other duties, and Insikazi and Isingane, two female servants whom Jacob employed primarily for their cleaning, cooking, and darning abilities.
Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1) Page 6