by Wilbur Smith
Garrick was in the dining-room, eating alone. Sean walked into the room and Garrick looked up nervously. Hello, Garry. Sean smiled at him and Garrick was momentarily dazzled by it. Sean sat down in the chair beside him and punched him lightly on the arm.
Have you left any for me? His hatred was gone. There’s plenty, Garrick nodded eagerly. Try some of the potatoes, they’re jolly good. They say the Governor sent for your Pa while he was in Pietermaritzburg. Had him alone for nearly two hours. Stephen Erasmus took the pipe out of his mouth and spat down onto the railway lines. In his brown homespun and veldschoen he did not look like a rich cattleman. Well, we don’t need a prophet to tell us what it was about, do we? No, sir, Sean agreed vaguely. The train was late and Sean wasn’t listening. He had an entry in the stock register to explain to his father and he was mentally rehearsing his speech. Ja, we know what it’s about all right. Old Erasmus put the pipe back between his teeth and spoke around it. It’s been two weeks now since the British Agent was recalled from Cetewayo’s kraal at Gingindhlovu. Liewe Here! in the old days we’d have called out the Commando long ago. He packed his pipe, pushing down onto the glowing tobacco with a calloused forefinger. Sean noticed that the finger was twisted and scarred by the trigger-guards of a hundred heavy rifles. You’ve never been on commando have you, Jong? No, sir. About time you did then, said Erasmus, about bledy time.
Up on the escarpment the train whistled and Sean started guiltily.
There she is. Erasmus stood up from the bench on which they were sitting and the station master came out from his office with a rolled red flag in his hand. Sean felt his stomach sink slowly until it stopped somewhere just above his knees.
The train ran in past them, whooshing steam and brakewhining. The single passenger coach stopped precisely opposite the wooden platform.
Erasmus came forward and took Waite’s hand. Goeie More, Steff. More, Waite. They tell me you’re the new chairman now. Well done, man.
Thanks. Did you get my telegram? Waite spoke in Afrikaans. Ja. I got it. I told the others, we’ll all be out at Theunis Kraal tomorrow.
Good, Waite nodded. You’ll stay for lunch, of course.
We’ve got a lot to talk about. Is it what I think it is? Erasmus grinned wickedly. The tobacco had stained his beard yellow around his mouth and his face was brown and wrinkled. I tell you all about it tomorrow, Steff . Waite winked at him, but in the meantime you’d better get that old muzzle-loader of yours out of moth-balls. They laughed, one deep down and the other a rusty old laugh. Grab the bags, Sean.
Let’s get home. Waite took Ada’s Arm and they walked with Erasmus to the buggy. Ada had on a new dress, blue with leg o’mutton sleeves and a picture hat. she looked lovely but a little worried as she listened to them talking. It’s strange how women can never face the prospect of war with the same boyish enthusiasm as their men. Sean! Waite Courtney’s roar carried clearly from his study along the corridor and through the closed door of the sitting-room. Ada dropped her knitting into her lap and her features set into an expression of unnatural calm.
Sean stood up from his chair. You should have told him earlier, Garrick said in a small voice. You should have told him during lunchI didn’t get a chance. Sean! Another blast from the study.
What’s happened now? asked Ada quietly. It’s nothing, Ma. Don’t worry about it Sean crossed to the door. Sean, Garrick’s stricken voice, Sean, you won’t, I mean you don’t have to tell - He stopped and sat hunched in his chair, his eyes full of desperate appeal. It’s all right, Garry, I’ll fix it. Waite Courtney stood over the desk. Between his clenched fists the stock register lay open. He looked up as Sean came in and closed the door. What’s this? He prodded the page with a huge squaretipped finger.
Sean opened his mouth and then closed it again. Come on. I’m listening. Well, Pa, Well, Pa., he buggered. just tell me how you’ve managed to massacre half the cattle on this farm in a little over a week? It’s not half the cattle, it’s only thirteen. Sean was stung by the exaggeration. Only thirteen, bellowed Waite, only thirteen. God Almighty, shall I tell you how much that is in cash? Shall I tell you how much that is in hard work and time and worry? I know, Pa. You know, Waite was panting. Yes, you know everything. There’s nothing anyone can tell you, is there? Not even how to kill thirteen ead o prime oxen. Pa -’Don’t Pa me, by Jesus. Waite slammed the heavy book closed. Just explain to me how you managed it. What’s “dip poisoning”? What the bloody hell is “dip poisoning”? Did you give it to them to drink? Did you stick it up their arses? The dip was too strong, said Sean. And why was the dip too strong? How much did you put in? Sean took a deep breath, I put in four drums.
There was silence and then Waite asked softly, How muchPFour drums. Are you mad? Are you raving bloody madVI didn’t think it would harm them.
His carefully rehearsed speech forgotten, Sean unconsciously repeated the words he had heard from Garrick. It. was getting late and my leg was -- Sean bit the sentence off and Waite stared at him, then the confusion cleared from Ins face.
Garry! he said. No, shouted Sean. It wasn’t him, I did it You’re lying to me. Waite came round from behind the desk. There was a note of disbelief in his voice. To his knowledge it was the first time it had ever happened.
He stared at Sean and then his anger was back more violently than before. He had forgotten the oxen, it was the lie that concerned him now. By Christ, I’ll teach you to tell the truth. He snatched up his sjambok from the desk.
Don’t hit me, Pa, Sean warned him, backing away.
Waite threw up the’sjambok and swung it down overarm.
It hissed softly and Sean twisted away from it, but the tip of the lash caught his shoulder. Sean gasped at the pain and lifted his hand to it.
You lying little bastard! shouted Waite and swung the whip sideways as though he were scything wheat, and this time it curled around Sean’s chest under his uplifted arm. it split his shirt like a razor cut and the cloth fell away to expose the red ridged welt across His ribs and around his backHere’s some m’ore! Waite lifted the siambok again and as he stood with his arm thrown back and his body turned off balance he knew he had made a mistake. Sean was no longer clutching the whip marks; his hands were held low and his fists were bunched. At the corners his eyebrows were lifted, giving an expression of satanical fury to his face. He was pale and his lips were drawn back tight, showing his teeth. His eyes, no longer blue but burning black, were on a level with Waite’s. He’s coming for me. Waite’s surprise slowed his reflexes, he couldn’t bring his whip-arm down before Sean was on him-.
Sean hit him, standing solidly on both feet, bringing the full weight of his body into the punch, hurling it into the middle of Waite’s exposed chest.
Heart punched, strength oozing out of him, Waite staggered back against the desk. The siambok fell out of his hand and Sean went after him.
Waite had the sensation of being a beetle in a saucer of treacle: he could see and think but he could barely move. He saw Sean take three quick paces forward, saw his right hand cocked like a loaded rifle, saw it aimed at his defenceless face.
In that instant, while his body moved in slow motion but his mind raced, the scales of paternal blindness dropped from Waite Courtney’s eyes and he realized that he was fighting a man who matched him in strength and height, and who was Ins superior in speed. His only advantage lay in the experience he had gathered in forty years of brawling.
Sean threw his punch: it had all the power of the first one and Waite knew that he could not survive that in his face, and yet he could not move to avoid it. He dropped his chin onto -his chest and took Sean’s fist on the top of his head. The force of it flung him backwards over the desk, but as it hit he heard the brittle crackle of Sean’s fingers breaking.
Waite dragged himself to his knees, using the corner of the desk as a support, and looked at his son. Sean was doubled up with pain, holding his broken hand against his stomach. Waite pulled himself to his feet and sucked in big breaths of ai
r, he felt his strength coming back.
All right, he said, if you want to fight, then we fight.
He came round the desk, moving slowly, his hands ready, no longer underestimating his man. I am going to knock the daylights out of you, Announced Waite. Sean straightened up and looked at him. There was agony in his face now, but the anger was there also. Something surged up inside Waite when he saw it.
He can fight and he’s game. Now we’ll see if he can take a beating.
Rejoicing silently Waite moved in on him, watching Sean’s left hand, disregarding the broken right for he knew what pain was in it. He knew that no man could use a hand in that condition.
He shot out his own left hand, measuring with it, trying to draw Sean.
Sean side-stepped, moving in past it. Waite was wide open for Sean’s right, his broken right, the hand he could not possibly use, and Sean used it with all his strength into Waite’s face.
Waite’s brain burst into bright colours and darkness, he spun sideways, falling hitting the leopard-skin rug with his shoulder and sliding with it across the floor into the fireplace. Then in the darkness he felt Sean’s hands on him and heard Sean’s voice. Pa, oh, my God, Pa. Are you all right? The darkness cleared a little and he saw Sean’s face, the anger gone from it and in its place worry that was almost panic. Pa, oh, my God! Please, Pa. Waite tried to sit up, but he could not make it. Sean had to help him. He knelt next to Waite holding him, fumbling helplessly with his face, trying to brush the hair back off his forehead, stroking the rumpled beard into place. I’m sorry, Pa, truly I’m sorry. Let me help you to the chair.
Waite sat in the chair and massaged the side of his jaw.
Sean hovered over him, his own hand forgotten.
what you want to do, kill me? asked Waite ruefully. I didn’t mean it.
I just lost my temper. I noticed, said Waite, I just happened to notice that. To, about Garry. You don’t have to say anything to him, do you? Waite dropped his hand from his face and looked at Sean steadily. I’ll make a bargain with you, he said, I’ll leave Garry out of it if you’ll promise me two things. One: You never lie to me again.
Sean nodded quickly. Two: if anybody ever takes a whip to you again you swear to me you’ll give him the same as you just gave me. Sean started to smile and Waite went on gruffly. Now let’s have a look at your hand.
Sean held it out and Waite examined it, moving each finger in turn.
Sean winced. Sore? asked Waite. He hit me with that. Sweet Jesus, I’ve bred me a wild one.
A little. Sean was white-faced again. It’s a mess, said Waite. You’d better get into town right away and let Doctor Van have a go at it.
Sean moved towards the door. Hold on Sean stopped and Waite pulled himself out of his chair. I’ll come with you. I’ll be all right, Pa, you stay and rest.
Waite ignored this and walked towards him. Really, Pa, I’ll be all right on my own. I’m coming with you, Waite said harshly; and then softly, almost inaudibly, I want to, dammit. He lifted his arm as though to put it around Sean’s shoulders, but before it touched him he let it drop back to his side and together they went out into the corridor.
With two fingers in splints Sean handled his knife awkwardly at lunch the next day, but his appetite was unimpaired. As was only right and fitting he took no part in the conversation except on the rare occasions that a remark was addressed directly to him. But he listened, his jaws chewing steadily and his eyes moving from speaker to speaker. He and Garry sat side by side in a backwater of the luncheon board while the guests were grouped in order of seniority around Waite.
Stephen Erasmus by age and wealth was in the right hand seat; opposite him Tim Hope-Brown, just as wealthy but ten years younger; below him Gunther Niewenhuizen, Sam Tingle and Simon Rousseau. If you added it all together you could say that Waite Courtney had about a hundred thousand acres of land and half a million sterling sitting around his table. They were brown men, brown clothing, brown boots and big brown, calloused, hands.
Their faces were brown and battered-looking and now that the meal was-in its closing stages their usual reserve was gone and there was a tendency among them to talk all. at the same time and to perspire profusely.
This was not entirely a consequence of the dozen bottles of good Cape Mossel that Waite had provided nor of the piles of food they had eaten, it was more than that. There was a sense of expectancy among them, an eagerness they were finding it difficult to suppress. Can I tell the servants to clear away, Waite? Ada asked from the end of the table.
Yes, thank you, my dear. We’ll have coffee in here, please. He stood up and fetched a box of cigars from the sideboard and carried it to each of his guests in turn. When the ends were cut and the tips were glowing, every man leaning back in his chair with a recharged glass and a cup of coffee in front of him, Ada slipped out of the room and Waite cleared his throat for silence. Gentlemen. They were all watching him.
Last Tuesday I spent two hours with the Governor. We discussed the recent developments across the Tugela Waite lifted his glass and sipped at it, then held it by the stem and rolled it between his fingers as he went on. Two weeks ago the British Agent at the Zulu king’s kraal was recalled. Recalled is perhaps the wrong word the king offered to smear him with honey, and tie him over an ant-hill, an offer that Her Britannic Majesty’s Agent declined with thanks. Shortly thereafter he packed his bags and made for the border.
There was a small ruffle of laughter. Since then Cetewayo has collected all his herds which were grazing near the Tugela and driven them into the north; he has commanded a buffalo hunt for which he has decided he will need all his impis, twenty thousand spears. This hunt is to be held along the banks of the Tugela, where the last buffalo was seen ten years ago. Waite sipped at his glass, watching their faces. And he has ordered that all wounded game is to be followed across the border. There was a sigh then, a murmur from them. They all knew that this was the traditional Zulu declaration of war. So, man, what are we going to do about it. Must we sit here and wait for them to come and burn us out? Erasmus leaned forward watching Waite.
Sir battle Frere met Cetewayo’s Indunas a week ago.
He has given them an ultimatum. They have until January the eleventh to disband the impis and take the Queen s Agent back into Zululand. In the event that Cetewayo disregards the ultimatum, Lord Chelmsford is a punitive column of regulars and militia.
to command The force is being assembled now and will leave Pietermaritzburg within the next ten days. He is to cross the Tugela at Rorke’s Drift and engage the impis before they break out. It is intended to end this constant threat to our border and break the Zulu nation for ever as a military power.
It’s about bledy time, said Erasmus. His Excellency has gazetted me full colonel and ordered me to raise a commando from the Lady-burg district. I have promised him at least forty men fully armed, mounted and provisioned who will be ready to join Chelmsford at the Tugela.
Unless any of you object I am appointing you gentlemen as my captains and I know I can rely upon you to help me make good my promise to His Excellency. Suddenly Waite dropped his stilted manner and grinned at them. You will collect your own pay. It will be in cattle, as usual.
How far north has Cetewayo driven his herds? asked Tim Hope-Brown.
Not far enough, I’ll warrant, cackled Stephen Erasmus. A toast, said Simon Rousseau jumping to his feet and holding up his glass. “I give you a toast: the Queen, Lord Chelmsford and the Royal Herds of Zululand.
They all stood and drank it, and then suddenly embarrassed by their display they sat down again, coughing awkwardly and shuffling their feet, All right, said Waite, let’s get down to details. Steff, you’ll be coming and your two eldest boys? Ja, three of us and my brother and his son. Put down five, Erasmus. Good. What about you Gunther? They began the planning. Men, horses and wagons were marshalled on paper; each of the captains was allotted a series of tasks. There was question, answer and argument that filled the hours before the
guests left Theunis Kraal.
They rode in a bunch, trippling their horses, sitting slack and long-legged in the saddles, moving up the far slope along the road to Lady-burg. Waite and his sons stood on the front step and watched them go.
Garry tried tentatively for Waite’s attention. Yes, boy? Waite kept his eyes on the group. Steff Erasmus turned in the saddle and waved his hat above his head, Waite waved back. Why do we have to fight them, Pa? If the Governor just sent somebody to talk to them, then we wouldn’t have to fight.
Waite glanced at him, frowning slightly.
Anything worth having is worth fighting for, Garry.
Cetewayo has raised twenty thousand spears to take this from us - Waite swept his arm in a circle that took in the whole of Theunis Kraal. I think it’s worth fighting for, don’t you, Sean? You bet, Sean nodded eagerly. But couldn’t we just make a treaty with them Gaarry persisted.
Another cross on a piece of paper. Waite spoke with fierce disdain.
They found one like that on Piet Retrieps body, hell of a lot of good it did him Waite walked back into the house with his sons following him.
He lowered himself into his armchair, stretched his legs out in front of him and smiled at Ada. Damn good lunch, dear. He clasped his hands over his stomach, belched MY involuntarily and was immediately contrite.
I beg your pardon, it just slipped out.
Ada bent her head over her sewing to hide her smile. We’ve got a lot to do in the next few days He turned his attention back to his sons. We’ll take one mule wagon and a pair of horses each. Now about ammunition....
But, Pa, couldn’t we just… Garry started.
Shut up, said Waite, and Garry subsided miserably into one of the other chairs.