by Wilbur Smith
The grassy plain undulated like the swells of the ocean, and when they reached the next crest of higher ground and could see ahead, they reined in spontaneously and stared in silence at the strange sight that was revealed to them.
Tiny with distance a column of forlorn human figures toiled across the plain, moving so painfully slowly that they raised almost no dust. They had no domestic animals with them, and as they drew closer Jim could see through the telescope that they were carrying their meagre possessions on their heads: clay pots and calabashes, or bundles wrapped in animal skins. There was nothing hostile in their appearance, and Jim rode to meet them. As the distance narrowed more details became apparent.
The straggling file was made up almost entirely of women and their children. The infants were being carried in leather pouches slung on the backs or across the hips of their mothers. They were all wasted and thin, with legs like dried sticks. They walked with the slack, dragging gait of exhaustion. As Jim and Louisa watched, one of the skeletal women sagged to the ground. The bundle and the two small children she carried on her back were too great a burden. Her companions stopped to help her back to her feet. One held a water gourd to her mouth to allow her to drink.
It was a touching gesture. "These people are dying on their feet," Louisa said softly. As they rode closer she counted their heads: There are sixty-eight of them, but I may have missed some of the children."
When they were within hail of the head of this sorry file, they stopped the horses and Jim rose in the stirrups. "Who are you, and where do you come from?"
It seemed that they were so far gone they had not seen the party until then, for Jim's voice caused confusion and despair among them. Many of the women threw down their bundles and seized their children. They scattered back the way they had come, but their efforts at escape were Pathetic, and one after another they staggered to a halt and collapsed in
the grass, unable to run further. They tried to escape attention by lying flat and pulling their leather capes over their heads.
Only one had not run, an old man. He, too, was stick-thin and frail, but he straightened and stood with dignity. He let the shawl drop from his shoulders, let out a shrill, quavering war-cry and charged straight at Jim, brandishing a throwing spear. From fifty paces, out of range of his old arm, he hurled the spear, which pegged into the earth halfway between him and Jim. Then he sagged to his knees. Jim rode warily closer, alert for another warlike attack from the silver-headed ancient.
"Who are you, old father?" he repeated. He had to ask the same question in three different dialects before the man started with recognition, and answered: "I know who you are, you who ride upon the back of wild animals and speak in tongues. I know you are one of the white crocodile wizards that come out of the great waters to devour men. How else would you know the language of my people? Yet I fear you not, foul demon, for I am old and ready to die. But I will die fighting against you who would devour my daughters and my grandchildren." He staggered to his feet and drew the axe from his belt. "Come, and we will see if you have blood in your veins like other men."
The dialect he spoke was of the northern Lozi, which old Aboli had taught Jim. "You terrify me, bold warrior," he told the old man gravely, 'but let us put aside our weapons and talk for a while before we do battle."
"He looks confused and terrified," Louisa said. "The poor old man."
"It may be that he is not accustomed to discourse with wizards and demons," Bakkat remarked drily, 'but one thing I know, if he is not fed soon the wind will blow him away."
The old man was swaying on his bony legs. "When did you last eat, great chieftain?" Jim asked.
"I do not parley with wizards or crocodile spirits," announced the old man, with disdain.
"If you are not hungry, then tell me, chieftain, when did your daughters and your grandchildren last eat?"
The old man's defiance wavered. He looked back at his people, and his voice was low as he replied with simple dignity, "They are starving."
"I can see that," Jim said grimly.
"Jim, we must fetch food for them from the wagons," Louisa burst out.
"It will need more than our few fish and loaves to feed this multitude. Then, when they have eaten our pantry bare, we will starve with them," Jim answered, and turned in the saddle to survey the herds of game that were scattered across the plains in every direction. "They are starving in
the midst of plenty. Their hunting skills and crude weapons will not bring down a single head of game from all this multitude," he said, then looked back at the old man. "I will use my witchcraft not to destroy your people but to feed them."
They left him standing and rode out across the plain. Jim picked out a herd of cow-like wildebeest, strange-looking creatures with fringes of dark mane and lunate horns, their legs too thin for their robust bodies. These were the fools of the veld, and they gambolled ahead of Bakkat and Zama as they rode in a wide circle to surround them and drive them back towards Jim and Louisa. When the herd leaders were almost within gunshot, they sensed the danger and put down their ugly heads. Snorting and kicking up their heels they ran in earnest. Drumfire and Trueheart came up on them easily. Riding in close and shooting from the saddle Jim dropped a beast with a shot from each of his guns, and Louisa brought down another with the little French rifle. They roped the carcasses by the heels and dragged them behind the horses to where the old man was squatting in the grass.
He rose to his feet. When he realized what they had brought him, he cried out to his followers, in a quavering voice, "Meat! The devils have brought us meat! Come quickly, and bring the children."
Timidly one old woman crept forward, while the others hung back. The two old people started work on the carcasses, using the blade of the throwing spear as a butcher's knife. When the rest of the band saw that they were not being molested by the white devils they came swarming forward to the feast.
Louisa laughed aloud to see mothers hacking off lumps of raw meat, and chewing it to a pulp before spitting it into the mouths of their children, like mother birds feeding their chicks. When their first hunger was appeased, they built fires to roast and smoke the rest of the kill. Jim and Louisa hunted again, bringing in more prime game to provide enough smoked meat to feed even this number of mouths for some months.
Very soon the little tribe lost all fear and became so trusting that they no longer skittered away when Louisa walked among them. They even allowed her to pick up and dandle the little ones. Then the women clustered around her, touched her hair and stroked her pale skin with awe.
Jim and Bakkat sat with the old man and questioned him. "What People are you?"
"We are of the Lozi, but our totem is the Bakwato."
"How are you called, great chieftain of the Bakwato?" Jim asked.
"Tegwane, and in truth I am but a very small chief," he replied. The
tegwane was the little fish-eating brown stork with a feathered topknot that frequented every stream and river pool.
"Where do you come from?" The old man pointed to the north. "Where are the young warriors of your tribe?"
"Slain by the Nguni," Tegwane said, 'fighting to save their families. Now I am trying to find a place where the women and children will be safe, but I fear the killers are not far behind us."
"Tell me about these Nguni," Jim invited. "I have heard the name spoken with fear and awe, but I have never seen them, nor met any man who has."
"They are killer devils," Tegwane replied. "They come swiftly as cloud shadows the plain, and they slaughter every living soul in their path."
Tell me all you know of them. What do they look like?"
"The warriors are big men built like ironwood trees. They wear black vulture feathers in their headdress. They have rattles on their wrists and ankles so their legions make the sound of the wind when they come."
"What of their weapons?"
They carry black shields of dried ox-hide, and they scorn the throwing spear. They like to come close w
ith the short stabbing assegai. The wound from that blade is so wide and deep that it sucks the blood from the victim like a river as they pluck out the steel."
"Where do they come from?"
"No man knows, but some say from a land far to the north. They travel with great herds of plundered cattle, and they send their cohorts ahead to slaughter all in their path."
"Who is their king?"
"They have no king, but a queen. Her name is Manatasee. I have never seen her, but they say she is crueller and more warlike than any of her warriors." He looked fearfully to the horizon. "I must take my people on to escape her. Her warriors cannot be far behind us now. Perhaps if we cross the river they may not follow us."
They left Tegwane and his women working over the fires to smoke the rest of the meat, and rode back to the wagons. That night, as they ate their dinner by the glow of the campfire under a canopy of glittering stars, they discussed the predicament of the little tribe of refugees. Louisa proposed to return next morning with their meagre chest of medicines, and bags of flour and salt.
"If you give them all we have, what will happen to us?" Jim asked reasonably.
"Just for the children?" she tried again, although she knew he was right and it was a forlorn hope that he might agree.
"Child or grown, we cannot take an entire tribe under our wing. We have provided them with food sufficient to see them to the river and beyond. This is a cruel land. Like us, they have to fend for themselves or perish."
She did not come to his wagon that night, and he missed her. Although they were still as chaste as brother and sister, he had become accustomed to her presence in the night. When he woke she was already working at the campfire. During this hiatus on the river bank, their hens had been allowed out of their coop on the back of the wagon to forage. In gratitude they had produced half a dozen eggs. Louisa made an omelette for his breakfast, and served it without a smile, making her disapproval obvious.
"I had a dream last night," she told him.
He suppressed a sigh. He was learning to make room in his life for her dreams. Tell me."
"I dreamed that something terrible happened to our friends, the Bakwato."
"You do not yield without a fight, do you?" he asked. She only smiled at him once they were riding back towards where they had left the small group of fugitives. During the ride he tried to think of other good reasons to dissuade her from taking on the role of benefactor and protector of the seventy starvelings, but he bided his time before he returned to the contest of wills.
The drifting smoke from the fires on which the meat was curing guided them the last league. As they crested the rise they reined in with surprise. Tegwane's encampment was not as they had last seen it. Dust mingled with the smoke of the fires to veil the scene, but many tiny figures were scurrying in and out of the low cloud. Jim pulled his telescope out of its case. After one glance through the lens he exclaimed, "Sweet Jesus, the Nguni have found them already!"
"I knew it!" Louisa cried. "I told you something terrible had happened, didn't I?"
She spurred forward and he had to ride hard to catch her. He grabbed Trueheart's rein and brought them to a halt. "Wait! We must have a care. We don't know what we are riding into."
"They are killing our friends!"
"The old man and his tribe are probably dead already and we do not want to join them." Quickly he explained to Bakkat and Zama what he planned.
Fortunately the wagons were not far behind them. He gave orders to Zama to ride back and warn Smallboy and his men to stand on guard,
and to bring all the oxen, spare horses and other animals into the centre of the laager.
"When they have secured the camp bring Smallboy and two of the other drivers back here, fast as you like! Bring two muskets for each man. Fill the bullet bags with goose-shot, and bring extra powder flasks."
The smooth bores were quicker to reload than the rifles. A handful of goose-shot fired at close range would spread widely and might bring down more than one enemy with each discharge.
Although Louisa fretted and argued to go immediately to the rescue of the little band of refugees, he made her wait until Zama brought up the reinforcements of men and weapons. "They will be here within the hour," he assured her.
"By then the Bakwato will all be wiped out."
She wanted to take the telescope from his hand, but he would not give it to her. "It's better that you do not watch this."
Through the lens he could see the sparkle of steel blades in the sunlight, waving war-shields and dancing feathered headdresses. Even his flesh crawled with horror as he saw a naked Bakwato woman run out of the dust clouds clutching an infant to her breast. She was pursued by a tall plumed warrior. He came up behind her and stabbed her in the back. The point of the assegai came out between her breasts. Jim saw the steel flash pink with her blood, like the shine of a salmon's flank turning below the surface. She fell forward into the grass. The warrior stooped over her, then straightened up with her infant dangling from one hand. He threw the child high into the air, and as it fell he caught it, neatly skewered on the point of the assegai. Then, brandishing the little corpse like a standard, he rushed back into the dust and smoke.
At last, but not too soon for Louisa, Zama galloped back with Smallboy, Klaas and Muntu, the other drivers. Swiftly Jim checked to see that their muskets were primed and loaded. They were all well versed in the use of the guns, but Jim had never seen their temper tested in a hard fight. He formed them into an extended line, and then, keeping the horses to a walk to save their strength, they rode towards the embattled encampment. Jim kept Louisa close to him. He would have preferred to send her back to the safety of the wagons, but he knew better than to suggest it.
As they closed in they could hear the outcry coming from the encampment, the screams and the wailing, the wild, triumphant ululations of the Nguni as they plied the assegai and the kerrie. Under the cloud of dust and smoke the grassland was littered with the broken bodies of the dead women and children, like flotsam thrown on a storm swept beach.
They are all killed, Jim thought, and his anger became murderous. He glanced across at Louisa. Her face was blanched with horror as she looked upon the carnage. Then, incredibly, he saw that one, at least, of the Bakwato was still alive.
In the centre of the encampment there was a low outcrop of granite. It formed a natural strongpoint, a zareeba walled with rock. Here stood the gaunt figure of Tegwane, a club in one hand and a spear in the other. His body was painted with his own blood and that of his enemies. He was surrounded by Nguni warriors. They seemed to be toying with the old man, amused by his courage. Cats with a doomed mouse, they danced about him, mocking him and laughing at his warlike antics. Tegwane had regained a little of the strength and ferocity of his lost youth. His shrill war-cry and his shouts of defiance rang out, and Jim saw one of his attackers stagger back from a spear thrust into his face. He clutched the wound and blood spurted out between his fingers. This success sealed Tegwane's fate, and the Nguni moved in with purpose.
By now the thin line of horsemen was within a hundred paces of the periphery of the camp. So immersed were the Nguni in the joy of killing that none was aware as yet of their approach.
"How many of them are there?" Jim called to Louisa.
"I see not more than twenty or so," she answered.
"A small scouting party," Jim guessed. Then he shouted to his men, "Have at them! Take them! Shoot them down like rabid jackals."
They pushed the horses into a canter and charged down on the camp. Just ahead of the line a Nguni was prodding one of the younger women with his assegai, goading her into position for a thrust to her belly, but she was rolling and writhing on the ground like an eel, avoiding the bright steel point. He was so preoccupied with his cruel game that Louisa was almost on him before he looked up. Jim was not sure what she intended, but it took him by surprise when she raised the musket and fired. The charge of goose-shot slammed into the Nguni's sweat glazed che
st, and he was flung backwards by the force of it.