Assegai

by Wilbur Smith

As von Lettow Vorbeck had promised, Reitz knocked on the door of the guest suite at precisely four o’clock.

  Graf Otto checked his watch. ‘He is punctual. Are you ready, Eva?’ Punctuality was something he expected of everybody around him, including her. He looked her over, from the top of her shining head to her small neat feet. She had taken care with her appearance and knew how lovely she was.

  ‘Yes, Otto. I am ready.’

  ‘That is the Fortuny dress. It suits you admirably.’ He called Captain Reitz, who entered and saluted respectfully. Behind him, Hennie du Rand stood in the open doorway. He wore a fresh shirt, had shaved and slicked down his hair with pomade.

  ‘You look very smart, Hennie,’ Eva told him. He had sufficient rudimentary German to understand her and blushed with pleasure under his tan.

  ‘If you are ready, will you please follow me, sir?’ Reitz invited Graf Otto, and they followed him along the stone-flagged passageway to the circular staircase that led up to the battlements. There, on the terrace, Colonel von Lettow Vorbeck waited for them under a canvas awning. He was sitting at a heavy teak table on which was set out a selection of drinks and refreshments.

  At the far end of the battlements stood another tall figure in a black frock coat. His back was turned to them and his hands were clasped behind it. He was staring out across the river at the bulk of Mount Meru, which hovered in the distant mist.

  Von Lettow Vorbeck stood to welcome them, and once he had enquired politely as to the comfort of their quarters, he eyed Hennie with interest.

  ‘This is du Rand, the man I told you about.’ Graf Otto introduced them. ‘He rode commando with de la Rey.’ At the mention of his name, the black-clad figure standing at the far end of the battlements turned towards them. He was in his sixties, and his silver-shot hair had receded to leave his forehead high and domed; the skin was white and smooth where it had been protected by his hat from the sun. His remaining locks hung to his shoulders, speckling the dark cloth of his coat with flakes of dandruff. His beard was dense, profuse and untamed. His nose was large, the line of his mouth grim and unyielding. His deep-set eyes were as piercing and fanatical as those of a Biblical prophet. Indeed, he carried a small Bible in his right hand, which he stuffed into the pocket of his frock coat as he strode towards Graf Otto.

  ‘This is General Jacobus Herculaas de la Rey,’ von Lettow Vorbeck introduced him, but before he reached them Hennie ran forward to intercept him and went down on one knee in front of him.

  ‘General Koos! I beg you to give me your blessing.’

  De la Rey stopped and looked down at him. ‘Don’t kneel for me. I am not a priest, and I am no longer a general. I am a farmer. Get up, man!’ Then he peered more closely at Hennie. ‘I know your face, but I have forgotten your name.’

  ‘Du Rand, General. Hennie du Rand.’ Hennie beamed with pleasure to be remembered. ‘I was with you at Nooitgedacht and Ysterspruit.’ Those were two of the notable victories the Boers had won during the war. At Ysterspruit de la Rey’s flying commando had captured such huge quantities of British stores that the little Boer Army had been rejuvenated, given the will and means to fight on for another year.

  ‘Ja, I remember you. You were the one who guided us to the river crossing after the fight at Langlaagte when the khaki had us surrounded. You saved the commando that night. What are you doing here, man?’

  ‘I came to shake your hand, General.’

  ‘That will be my pleasure!’ de la Rey replied, as he seized Hennie’s hand in a powerful grip. It was plain to see why his men held him in such awe and reverence. ‘Why did you leave the Orange Free State Republic, Hennie?’

  ‘Because it was no longer a republic and it was no longer free. They have made it part of a foreign land that they call the British Empire,’ Hennie replied.

  ‘It will be a republic again. Then will you come back with me? I need good fighting men like you.’

  Before Hennie could reply Graf Otto stepped forward. ‘Please tell the general that I am deeply honoured to meet such a brave soldier and patriot.’ Hennie fell quickly and readily into the role of translator, first making the introductions, and then taking his place at de la Rey’s side under the sun awning.

  At first both von Lettow Vorbeck and the general were stiff and awkward with Eva at the conference table, and Graf Otto apologized to them: ‘I hope you do not mind Fräulein von Wellberg being present at our deliberations. I vouch for her. Nothing that is said here today will go with her when she leaves. The Fräulein is an artist of repute. With your permission, gentlemen, and as a memento of such a historic conclave I have asked her, while we talk, to make portraits of you.’ Von Lettow and de la Rey nodded. Eva thanked them with a smile, then laid her sketchpad and pencil on the table and began to work.

  Graf Otto turned back to de la Rey. ‘You have Hennie du Rand to translate for you, General. Colonel von Lettow Vorbeck and I are fully conversant with English so that is the language we will use. I hope that is agreeable to you?’ When Hennie translated this, de la Rey inclined his head, and Graf Otto continued, ‘First I want to present a letter of introduction and authority from the minister of Foreign Affairs in Berlin.’ He handed it across the table.

  Hennie read it aloud while de la Rey listened carefully, then said, ‘I would not have come such a terrible journey under the sea if I had not known who you are, Graf Otto. Germany was a staunch ally and a good friend of my people during the war with the British. That I will never forget. I look upon you as a friend and an ally still.’

  ‘Thank you, General. You do me and my country great honour.’

  ‘I am a simple man, Graf. I like straight and honest talk. Tell me why you have invited me here.’

  ‘Despite the great courage and determination with which they fought, the Afrikaner people have suffered terrible defeat and humiliation.’ De la Rey said nothing but his eyes were dark and tragic. Graf Otto was silent with him for a moment, then went on, ‘The British are a warlike and rapacious nation. They have seized and dominated most of the world, and still their appetite for conquest is unassuaged. Although we Germans are a peaceable people, we are also proud and prepared to defend ourselves against aggression.’

  De la Rey listened to the translation. ‘We have much in common,’ he agreed. ‘We were willing to make a stand against tyranny. It cost us dearly, but I and many like me do not regret it.’

  ‘The time is coming on apace when you may be forced to make the decision again. Fight with honour or capitulate with shame and disgrace. Germany will face the same dreadful choice.’

  ‘It seems that the fates of our two peoples are linked. But Britain is a terrible enemy. Her navy is the most powerful in all the oceans. If Germany were forced to oppose it what would be your battle plan? Would the Kaiser send an army to defend your colonies in Africa?’ de la Rey asked.

  ‘There are differing opinions on that. The prevailing view in Germany is that our colonies must be defended in the North Sea, not on their own ground.’

  ‘Do you subscribe to that view, Graf? Would you abandon your African colonies, and your old allies?’

  ‘Before I answer that question, let us review the facts. Germany has two colonies in sub-Saharan Africa south of the equator, one on the south-west coast, the other here on the east coast. Both are thousands of miles from Germany, and widely separated from each other. At present the forces defending them are tiny. In German South-west Africa there are approximately three thousand regular Schutztruppe, and seven thousand settlers, most of whom are on the army reserve list or have received military training. Here, in German East Africa, the numbers are comparable.’ Graf Otto looked at von Lettow Vorbeck. ‘Am I correct, Colonel?’

  ‘Yes, they are very similar. I have two hundred and sixty white officers and two and a half thousand askari under my command. In addition there is a police gendarmerie of forty-five white officers and a few more than two thousand police askaris, who will help to defend the colony if it comes to war.’

/>   ‘It is a pitifully small force with which to defend such a vast territory,’ the Graf pointed out. ‘With the British Royal Navy in command of the oceans around the continent, the chance of reinforcing and supplying these two tiny armies would be negligible.’

  ‘It is a daunting prospect,’ von Lettow Vorbeck agreed. ‘We would be forced to adopt the same guerrilla tactics that you Boers employed so successfully in South Africa against them.’

  ‘All that would change most dramatically if South Africa entered the war on the side of Germany,’ Graf Otto said softly. Both he and von Lettow Vorbeck looked hard at de la Rey.

  ‘None of this is completely new to me. I also have given much thought to these matters, and consulted many of my old companions in arms.’ De la Rey stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘However, Smuts and Botha have gone over heart and soul to the British. They have a grip on the reins of power. A firm but not unshakeable grip. A large part of the South African population is of British descent and their hearts and loyalties lie with Britain.’

  ‘What is the state of the South African Army?’ Graf Otto asked. ‘What are the numbers and who is in command?’

  ‘Without exception, all the senior officers are Afrikaner and fought against the British,’ de la Rey replied. ‘That includes Smuts and Botha, who have gone over to them. However, there are many who have not followed their lead.’

  ‘The war ended almost twelve years ago,’ von Lettow Vorbeck pointed out. ‘Much has changed since then. All four of the old South African republics have been amalgamated into the Union of South Africa. The Boers have twice the power and influence they had before. Will they be satisfied with this, or will they risk it all by siding with Germany? Are the Boers not tired of war? They are now part of the British Empire. Would Smuts and Botha succeed in turning their old comrades away from Germany?’ Von Lettow and Graf Otto waited for the old Boer to respond.

  ‘You may be right,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps time has healed some of the wounds of the Afrikaner Volk, but the scars are still there. However, I run ahead of myself. Let us consider the existing army of South Africa, the Union Defence Force, as it is now known. It is formidable, perhaps sixty thousand strong and well equipped. It is quite capable of controlling all of southern Africa from Nairobi and Windhoek down to the Cape of Good Hope. Whichever government commands it will have control of the sea routes and the harbours around the continent. It will have under its control the monumental resources of the Witwatersrand gold fields, the Kimberley diamond mines and the new steel and armament works in the Transvaal. If South Africa threw in its lot with Germany, Britain would come under enormous strain. She would have to divert a large army from Europe to try to recapture the country, and the Royal Navy would be stretched to its limit to defend and supply it. South Africa might well be the pivot on which the outcome of such a war would turn.’

  ‘If you decided to ride against the British again, which way would your old comrades go? We know Botha and Smuts would support Britain, but what of the other old commando leaders? Which way would de Wet, Maritz, Kemp, Beyers and the others go? Would they be with you or with Botha?’

  ‘I know these men,’ de la Rey said softly. ‘I have fought with them and seen into their hearts. It was a long time ago, but they have not forgotten the terrible things that the British did to them, their women and children, and to the land we love. In my heart I know they would ride out on commando with me against the enemy, and for me the enemy is still Britain.’

  ‘That is what I hoped to hear you say, General. I have been given total authority by the Kaiser and by my government to promise you whatever you require in the way of supplies, arms and money.’

  ‘We will need all of those things,’ de la Rey agreed, ‘especially in the beginning, before we have been able to wrest control from Botha and before we have seized the army arsenals and the vaults of the Reserve Bank in Pretoria where the money is.’

  ‘Tell me what you will need, General. I will get it for you from Berlin.’

  ‘We will not need food or uniforms. We are the farmers who grow the crops so we will feed ourselves. We will fight, as we did before, in our workaday clothes. We will not need small arms. Every man of us still has his Mauser.’

  ‘What will you need, then?’ Graf Otto persisted.

  ‘For a start, I will need one hundred and fifty heavy machine-guns and twenty trench mortars, with the ammunition and bombs for them. Say, one million rounds of ammunition and five hundred mortar bombs. Then we will need medical supplies...’ Graf Otto made shorthand notes on his pad, as de la Rey enumerated his requirements.

  ‘Heavy cannon?’ von Lettow Vorbeck suggested.

  ‘No. Our first attacks will rely on speed and surprise. If they succeed we will capture the government arsenals and the heavy artillery will fall into our hands.’

  ‘What else do you need?’

  ‘Money,’ de la Rey replied simply.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Two million pounds in gold sovereigns.’

  For a minute they were all silenced by the enormity of the request. Then Graf Otto said, ‘That is a great deal of money.’

  ‘That is the price of the richest land in the southern hemisphere. It is the price of an army of sixty thousand trained and battle-hardened men. It is the price of victory over the British. Do you really believe it to be too high, Graf?’

  ‘No!’ Graf Otto shook his head emphatically. ‘When you put it like that, it’s a fair price. You shall have the full two million. I will see to it.’

  ‘All of this, all the money and arms, will be to no avail until it is delivered to our bases in South Africa.’

  ‘Tell me how we should get it to you.’

  ‘You could not smuggle it in through one of the main harbours, not through Cape Town or Durban. Customs surveillance is too strict. However, South Africa has a common border with your colony in the south-west. They are joined by a good railway line. The management and employees of South African Railways are almost exclusively Afrikaners. We can rely on them to sympathize with our cause. An alternative route might be from here in German East Africa across Lake Tanganyika by boat to the copperbelt in Rhodesia and from there south, once again by the railway line.’

  Von Lettow Vorbeck looked grave. ‘It would take weeks or even months to get the supplies to you by those routes. At every turn there would be danger of the shipment’s discovery and interception by the enemy. It would be too risky.’ Both men looked to Graf Otto for an alternative plan.

  ‘How could you deliver the goods to us?’ de la Rey demanded. They all waited expectantly for his reply.

  Eva went on sketching imperturbably. Obviously she had not followed a single word of the discussion, but Graf Otto glanced at her, then at Hennie, and frowned slightly. For a little longer he remained silent, drumming his fingers on the table, thinking deeply. Then he seemed to reach a decision. ‘It can be done. It will be done. I give you my word, General. I will deliver everything that you need to wherever you need it. But from now on our watchword must be secrecy. I shall inform only you and Colonel von Lettow much nearer the time of the method of delivery that we will employ. At this stage I must ask you to trust me.’

  De la Rey stared at him with those smouldering fanatical eyes, and Graf Otto returned his gaze calmly. At last de la Rey picked up the sheet of paper with the eagle letterhead that still lay on the table in front of him. ‘This is the guarantee of your Kaiser and your government. It is not sufficient incentive to persuade me to lead my Volk into the holocaust once again.’

  Graf Otto and von Lettow Vorbeck continued staring at him wordlessly. The whole design seemed on the point of collapse.

  Then de la Rey went on, ‘You have given me another guarantee, Graf. You have given me your word. I know you are a man who has moved great mountains. Your accomplishments are the stuff of legend. I know you are a man who does not even admit the possibility of failure.’ He paused again, perhaps to gather his thoughts. ‘I am a humble m
an, but in one respect alone I am proud. I am proud of my ability to judge horses and men. You have given me your word, and now I give you mine. On the day that the scourge of war sweeps across Africa once again, I will be ready for you with an army of sixty thousand fighting men at my back. Give me your hand, Graf. From this day on I am your ally to the death.’

  From dawn to dusk over the past four days Leon Courtney had flown the Bumble Bee at treetop height over the wide savannah. Manyoro and Loikot were perched in the front of the cockpit, vigilant as cruising vultures, watching and searching. They had found many lions, probably more than two hundred, females and cubs, young males and toothless old solitaries. But Kichwa Muzuru had told them, ‘He must be big and his mane must be as black as the hell hound.’ So far, they had found no animal that came close to that description.

  On the fourth day Manyoro had wanted to give up the search in Masailand and fly up to the Northern Frontier District, to the wild land between Lake Turkana and Marsabit. ‘There we will find lions under every acacia tree. Lions big enough and fierce enough to make even Kichwa Muzuru happy.’

  Loikot had strenuously opposed the move. He had told Leon of a pair of legendary lions that held a huge territory between Lake Natron and the west wall of the Rift Valley. ‘I know those lions well. Many times I have seen them over the years that I herded my father’s cattle. They are twins, brothers born from the same lioness on the same day. That was in the season of the locust plagues, eleven years ago, when I was just a child. Year after year I have watched them grow in size, strength and daring. By now they are in their prime. There is not another lion to compare with them in all the land. They have killed a hundred head of cattle, maybe more,’ Loikot had said. ‘They have killed eighteen of the morani who set out to hunt them down. No man has been able to stand against them for they are too fierce and cunning. Some of the morani believe they are ghost lions that can change themselves into gazelle or birds when they hear the hunters coming after them.’

  Manyoro had scoffed, rolled his eyes and touched his temple with a forefinger to indicate the depth of Loikot’s dementia. But Leon had backed him, so for the last few days they had scoured the wide brown grassland. They had seen huge herds of buffalo, and countless thousands of smaller plains game, but the lions were either very young or very old and not worthy of the spear.