by John Wilcox
‘Swines,’ said Jenkins. ‘Bastards. Look, let’s go back and—’
Simon laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘It’s important we hear everything, 352,’ he said. ‘Go on, Nandi.’ But his face, too, had gone white under its tan.
‘Well,’ she continued in a low voice, ‘it seems so long - a lifetime, perhaps - and yet little happened, in fact. For a long time I had no idea what they were doing, what sort of business they were in, because, although I did all the cooking, I was not allowed to eat with them. But I started to listen at doors. Sometimes they spoke in Portuguese, but often they spoke in Afrikaans, and I realised that they were buying diamonds from the native workers and selling them on at big profits. They do not sell them in Kimberley, oh no. The prices there would be too low because of the competition. So they take them over the mountains to Mozambique, where they have connections with Lisbon.’ She looked at them both with that wide-eyed wonder that Simon remembered so well. ‘They make a lot of money, you see.’
‘What about your father?’ Simon asked.
She put her hand to her eyes. ‘I think he must be dead. He did not come back from his business trip and it must have been a long while ago when he set off. Whenever I asked about him, the big man, Mendoza, said that he would be back but they did not know when. He said - with a nasty smile - that they would be waiting for him when he did.’
Simon frowned. ‘Yes, but Nandi, why do you think they kept you there?’
‘Oh, I wish I knew.’ Tears came into her eyes again and she lowered her gaze. ‘I suppose I was useful because I worked for them there for no pay and because, because of the other thing . . .’
Jenkins seized her hand. ‘Now, dear Nandi, don’t you get thinkin’ about that, look you. That’s all in the past an’ it’s all over. Nothin’ like that is goin’ to ’appen to you again. You can take my word for that, see. We’re lookin’ after you now. An’ they’re goin’ to suffer for it, you see if they don’t.’ Simon felt that he had never heard the little Welshman speak with such intensity.
They fell silent for a moment, then Simon said, ‘I don’t believe your father is dead, Nandi. I think these thieves know that he is alive and they desperately want him for something, though I don’t know what. I feel that they were holding you as some sort of bargaining counter to get him to come back. And perhaps he knew this and was trying to find a way to get you out of there without harm.’
Nandi’s eyes widened and she looked at them both with new hope. ‘Oh, do you think so? Yes, perhaps that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Otherwise why should they bring me all these miles out here to the farmhouse. I had never been there before.’
‘Yes.’ Simon nodded. ‘Tell us about that.’
‘Well, I was feeling very miserable before you came to Kimberley. In fact, I was thinking that I must . . . you know . . . kill myself, because I had no hope.’
‘Aach!’ Jenkins turned his head away.
‘And then, that wonderful day . . .’ Nandi’s eyes regained their brilliance at the thought. ‘I was upstairs when I thought I heard your voice, Simon, at the front door, though you spoke strangely. They always had the shutters down on my window and the others, but by peeping through a crack at the corner, I was just in time to see you walk away. Then, later on, I caught a brief glimpse of dear Mr Jenkins, and I knew that you had not gone away for ever. Oh, Simon, I was full of hope again.’
Jenkins gripped her hand tighter. ‘Now, Nandi, you must call me 352, like the others do.’
‘Oh!’ She smiled, showing small white teeth. ‘I couldn’t do that. It’s so very . . . very . . . army, that’s what it is. And I don’t like your army. Tell me then, what is your first name?’
Jenkins coloured immediately. ‘Oh no, 352 will do.’
‘No, go on.’ Simon’s face was perfectly straight. ‘Tell Nandi your first name, 352. She would like to know.’
‘No. I’ve . . . er . . . forgotten it. 352 will do nicely, thank you. If you don’t mind.’
Simon cupped his hand to Nandi’s ear and whispered loudly, ‘Actually, it’s Cyril, but don’t tell anybody. He doesn’t like it.’ They both grinned, and Jenkins, his mouth completely disappeared into his moustache, looked away. ‘Now,’ continued Simon, his face serious again, ‘to go back, they left immediately because we had called?’
‘I think so. I was just told to put things together and we departed the evening after you had knocked on the door. I was just able to tie a scarf round Daddy’s hat and put my message in it for you. I did not know where we were going, but I heard Steelport mentioned. Oh, Simon, I was so glad, so very, very glad when you walked into the kitchen and then I saw dear 352 again.’ The tears came back into her eyes and both men stirred uncomfortably.
‘Tell me, Nandi,’ said Simon eventually. ‘Where is Mendoza, and when did he leave?’
‘Ah, that terrible man. I am very, very frightened of him, Simon, and so must you both be.’
‘No, no,’ said Jenkins, and he patted her knee gently as he would a child. ‘That gentleman does not frighten us. I shall personally present both his . . . er . . . kneecaps to you, when I have finished with him.’
‘No, but he is big and cruel and very—’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ interrupted Simon. ‘He was not at the farm. Do you know where he is now?’
‘Yes, he left almost as soon as we arrived and I heard them saying that he would go to see King Sekukuni to warn him that the British were going to attack him. He seems to be close to the bePedi.’
‘Ah. I wonder, then, why the bePedi attacked the farm.’
‘Oh, they were not bePedi. I caught a glimpse of them. They were Swazis. They were quite a long way from their homeland but they were obviously desperate for cattle. The bePedis are their enemy so they were wearing the Pedi . . . what do you say . . . regalia, yes, so that the blame for the attack would go to them.’ She sniffed. ‘It is not something that the Zulus would do.’
Simon exchanged a grin with Jenkins. ‘Of course not. Well, that explains that.’
Nandi gave them both a rather knowing smile in return. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘it is a pity that we had to leave the farm so quickly. We could have taken the diamonds.’
‘What? There were diamonds in the house?’
‘Oh yes. Those thieves thought I did not know, but I did. They had a hiding place for them under the floorboards in the kitchen. I suppose they put them there before going on to sell them at Lorenzo Marques.’
‘Well I’ll be blowed,’ said Jenkins. ‘We could ’ave been millionaires.’
Simon shrugged. ‘Not our property. Anyway, too late now—’
He was interrupted by a call from de Witt on top of the kopje. ‘Hey, I see something. Can you come here?’
Simon and Jenkins scrambled to their feet and joined the Boer. The big man pointed to the south-east. ‘There, can you see?’
Simon focused his binoculars. The veldt stretched away from him in a sombre brown vista, broken by low hills and, here and there, a few conical kopjes, like their present vantage point. Then a flash came, just below the horizon, followed by another, then a third where the sun illuminated the distant plain. What - a spear point, harness, the steel of a bayonet?
‘Your eyes are better than mine.’ Simon handed de Witt the glasses. ‘What do you make of it?’
The Boer grunted. ‘These reflections go all along. It’s a column, I think.’ He handed back the binoculars. ‘Your people. The roijneks. The bloody army, man.’
‘Are you sure it’s not the bePedi army?’
‘No. They wouldn’t be out here in force on the veldt marching to meet the British. That’s not their style. They will wait back in their country in that stronghold of theirs and challenge your General to get them out. That’s what they’ve always done in the past - and they’re damned good at it.’ It was quite a long statement for de Witt, and, as though tired, he turned and ambled down the kopje, leaving Simon and Jenkins alone on the top.
&n
bsp; ‘What do you think?’ Simon passed the glasses to Jenkins.
‘Can’t see much,’ murmured the Welshman. ‘He’s probably right, you know, bach sir. He knows this country well, an’ these Bopiddlers an’ all.’ He lowered the glasses. ‘Is this the way our blokes would be comin’, then?’
‘I think so. We have been heading south-east towards Lydenburg, although I told those damned dagos that we would be heading east straight to the border, to put them off the scent if they tried to follow us. These troops look further to the east, so perhaps they have left Lydenburg. Without a good map I can’t be sure. But if we can meet up with this British column, so much the better. At least we can deliver Nandi into safe hands.’
‘And get landed with a bit of scoutin’, an’ all?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Well, if we have to, then we must. We owe Wolseley something for helping us in the first place. But our priority is to make Nandi safe. Then,’ and his face hardened, ‘we have some unfinished business with Mr Mendoza. Come on, let’s move on towards the army, although,’ he squinted up at the sun, ‘we won’t be able to reach them by nightfall. We will make as much ground as we can, camp, and then catch up with them early tomorrow. A column like that can’t move fast.’
They scrambled down the kopje and the little party mounted and set off to the east-south-east, with the sun on their backs. It was warm enough, despite their height above sea level, but Simon noticed that Nandi was showing signs of discomfort. She remained silent but he realised that she had begun to shiver and that two spots of colour had appeared high on her cheekbones, one shining through that horrible bruise. He took off his coat and slipped it over her shoulders, and she smiled but did not protest. By the time the sun had begun to dip, it was clear that the girl had developed some kind of fever.
They found a camping site of sorts in a dried-up watercourse and Simon decided that they must risk lighting a fire, for Nandi was now shaking and hunched under his coat, her eyes unnaturally bright. They boiled water and brewed tea, holding the mug from which she sipped. She refused food but nodded gratefully as they wrapped her in two blankets, and within a second she was asleep.
As she lay, Jenkins gently bathed her forehead with a handkerchief he had soaked from his water bottle. He looked up at Simon with anxious eyes, his moustache sucked under his lower lip. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, but it looks to me as though she will not be able to ride tomorrow. We must keep her warm and make sure that she does not develop pneumonia. She can have my other blanket.’
‘No. She can have another of mine.’
‘All right. Can you take the first watch? I want a word with Faan.’
‘O’ course.’
Simon walked to where the Boer, sitting separately as usual, was munching a hard biscuit. He sat beside him. ‘Faan, how much riding would you say we have to do tomorrow before we catch the column?’
‘Don’t know. Did you set a course to cut them off?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know how fast they were travelling or how far they were from us. The problem is, I don’t think Nandi will be fit to ride tomorrow, and if we stay here we may lose the column completely.’
‘Ja. Then keep the girl here and you two go to find the army and bring back a doctor.’
‘I don’t like leaving her here with just one of us.’
‘Better that way. We are hidden here and should be all right. But just one man riding on this open veldt is not good. In this country you have to watch your back. The Pedi army will not be out, but they could have patrols watching the British. Two would stand a better chance of fighting them off. I will stay with the girl. You two go. You know your own people. She will be safe with me.’
‘I am sure she will. But I hate to leave just one man guarding her. Do you think there is any chance of those people in the farmhouse picking up our tracks and following them to us here?’
De Witt shook his head. ‘No. It’s difficult to track on the veldt when it is dry like this, and anyway, only Kaffirs can do it, and not many of them. I would say we were safe enough here.’
‘Good.’ Simon sighed. ‘We’ll just have to see how Nandi is in the morning. She may be able to ride.’
Daybreak brought some relief in Nandi’s condition, but it was only a marginal improvement. She drank a little warm coffee and then insisted on standing, but her legs collapsed under her and it was clear that the fever had not run its course and that she would not be able to ride until it had done so.
Simon scrambled to the top of the donga and scanned the southern horizon with his binoculars, but there was no sign of the British column. In fact the veldt seemed empty at all points of the compass. He called the other two men to join him.
‘Nandi can’t travel,’ he said, ‘but if we all stay here we might lose the column completely. Faan will stay with Nandi and you and I, 352, will ride as hard as we can to catch up with the column and bring a doctor back here.’
‘Oh no, bach sir.’ Jenkins’s face was set. ‘I’ll stay here with Nandi. I’ll look after her. You two go.’
Simon sighed. ‘No, that will not do. If something happens to us out there then I believe that de Witt, with his knowledge of this country, is the best man to get Nandi back into care. You can’t do it because you can’t handle a compass, and I must go to explain things to the column commander. Faan believes - and I agree - that it would be too dangerous for just one man to go. So that’s that. Now let’s mount up.’
Jenkins sought for words to argue but realised that he could not change Simon’s opinion. Nandi had once again lapsed into sleep, so he knelt by her side for a moment, bent as though to kiss her, thought better of it and lightly brushed the back of her hand with his palm. Then he stood and bundled up his bedroll, but it was clear that he remained unhappy. The two gave a share of their food rations and ammunition to de Witt and then, with a backward glance at Nandi, they rode off, on a course which Simon set, hopefully to catch up with the British column.
Their journey was uneventful, for the veldt seemed empty and endless, with no trails or signs of wildlife or habitation to break up the khaki expanse of dried grass and rock. The further they rode, in fact, the more desert-like the conditions became, and Simon wondered if they were now well and truly into bePedi country, for they had passed no farms of cultivated land since they had left the farmhouse the previous morning.
Eventually, however, they hit a well-worn trail which Simon presumed was the main route between Lydenburg and the mountain passes which travellers would have to traverse to reach Mozambique. It was clear that the army column had passed that way, for there were signs of beaten grass and fresh waggon ruts. They turned left and urged their horses on. Almost immediately, the column had departed from the trail and forked sharply north. Ahead now was a low mountain range that rose sharply from the surrounding plain like a row of giant ant heaps, blue in the rays of the setting sun.
‘Must be the Lulus,’ said Simon, breaking a long silence between them. ‘The column must have formed an advanced camp somewhere up ahead because the map shows nothing at all in this area - not that it’s been much good anyway.’ He folded it and thrust it into his saddle bag. ‘Come on, we must find them before dark.’
They did so, just before the troops had bivouacked for the night. They were challenged by a weary picket of colonial cavalry, sombre in their slouched hats and brown bandoliers, who had formed the rearguard on the march. To Simon’s surprise, for the column was quite small and numbered only perhaps eight hundred men, he was informed that General Wolseley himself was commanding the force, and he was taken to him.
Sir Garnet’s tent was being erected and the little man was sitting at a folding table nearby, busily writing and seemingly impervious to the cold. He looked up with surprise.
‘Good lord, Fonthill.’ He rose and offered his hand. ‘Well done. Come to keep your promise and to help me, eh? Splendid. You are just what I need now.’
‘Good ev
ening, sir.’ This was not the welcome he wanted. ‘This is my colleague, Jenkins.’ Wolseley gave the Welshman a nod. Jenkins managed a tired grin in return. ‘General, I am sorry but we cannot join you just at the moment, although we will as soon as possible. But I need your help.’
Wolseley frowned. ‘Damn it all - I need your help. I am desperate for a couple of good scouts to reconnoitre the ground ahead. Surely you can do that for me? I can give you some locals to help you - they’re Ndebeles and know the territory - but I need someone to interpret it militarily on the spot, so to speak.’
‘Sorry, General. We will happily help you, but first I need a doctor and two days of his time.’
‘What? You’d better tell me your story. You look all in, anyway.’ Wolseley turned and lifted his voice. ‘Orderly!’ A blue-coated servant came running. ‘We need a fire lit right away and two other camp chairs. Oh, and bring some tea and brandy and get someone to look after these horses.’ He turned back to them. ‘We’ve got a base camp up ahead about ten miles or so, called Fort Weeber. Can’t reach it tonight, of course, but I can’t advance further than that until I know the lie of the land.’ He gestured to the lowering sky. ‘This weather is going to get worse, they tell me, so I can’t go much further anyway. Now, sit down and tell me what the hell this is all about.’
Gratefully accepting the tea, while Jenkins even more gratefully drank a brandy, Simon told Wolseley their story, omitting nothing. The General listened without interrupting. Eventually he spoke.
‘I know something about this already,’ he said. And he relayed his encounter with Alice and John Dunn.
Simon’s eyes widened. So Dunn was alive! And Alice . . . ‘Is . . . is . . . Miss Griffith here with you in the column?’ he asked.
‘No. The press johnnies are still back at Lydenburg, itching to get up here, of course, but I don’t want ’em yet. Look, yours is a strange story, and if I didn’t have the other elements to fit in, frankly, I would doubt it. But the activities of these men are disgusting and must be stopped. I can’t spare anybody long enough to go down and sort out this damned farmhouse and arrest this Mendoza man, not while this campaign is on at least.’ He held up his hand as Simon began to protest. ‘But in the morning I will give you a sergeant and ten men and a doctor to go and fetch this young lady of yours. We will send a Scotch cart, too, so that she should be able to travel. But, mind you, I want ’em all back quickly. And you most of all - to start work for me.’ The one bulbous eye stared directly at Simon. ‘Agreed?’