Yesterday's Promise

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  There was another man present, sitting comfortably in his camp chair, holding a glass of wine, legs crossed at the knees. He spoke for the first time, as though only roused from his evening leisure when there seemed a need to rally defenses in support of Cecil Rhodes.

  “Not for hire?” came the quick demand from Dr. Leander Starr Jameson, the personal physician and right-hand ally of Rhodes. “Mr. Rhodes hires whomever he needs,” Dr. Jameson stated. He appeared younger than Rhodes and was a pleasantly featured man with a dark mustache.

  Jameson’s autocratic manner rankled Rogan. “Mornay has agreed to lead my expedition to Mashonaland, but why it should concern anyone other than myself is curious.”

  Jameson lifted his head, as though Rogan were an impudent young chap, but Cecil Rhodes waved his hand as if to stop the matter from being chased by Jameson.

  “On the contrary, Chantry. Your bold but unacceptable expedition interests me and the Company very much, and also worries us.”

  “How so?” Rogan knew why but was delaying. He could see he was squarely up against some very strong and high-handed men who could not see themselves as ruthless or unfair. They pompously viewed themselves as the self-appointed custodians of an empire they wished to procure for the good of all, especially themselves.

  “Sir Julien has explained about Henry Chantry’s map—of what could be a large gold find in Mashonaland, or the Zambezi region, as it is sometimes referred to. We think it’s well worth the Company’s sponsorship. The gold must be in responsible care.”

  Responsible care. For one brief moment a dark thought came: How he could tighten his hands around Cecil Rhodes’s throat.

  “The British South Africa Company,” Rhodes said reasonably. He lifted his crystal glass and drank.

  “Naturally, you will reap a bounty. Members of the Company are prepared to offer you handsome shares in the BSA, which can certainly be appreciated by a young man with your ambition and talent. Personally, I could use someone like yourself in a key position once we settle matters between us and the Charter Company. You can discuss that with Sir Julien or Dr. Jameson. Your future can be as bright as your ambition and loyalty shine. I understand you’ll need funding for the expedition. There’s really no reason for that. You can simply merge with our expedition, which will leave as soon as matters with Lobengula are settled.”

  Rogan looked back into his level gaze. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised by this autocratic move, but he was, even though he’d expected them to oppose him in some way. That Cecil Rhodes would do it in so reasonable a manner angered him more than if the man had pounded the table with his big fists and threatened him. The reasonable threats crawling just beneath the surface of his cool manner seemed more dangerous than even Julien’s rage with the sjambok.

  Rogan looked over at Sir Julien. Wisely, Julien was not looking at him, but studying his wine glass with deep interest. Darinda was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, and she watched him as pertly as a cat. Her eyes were bright, as though excited by the tension that filled the tent.

  “Mornay won’t cooperate. Even Grandfather couldn’t buy him back from Rogan,” Darinda spoke into the silence.

  Parnell stood in the background without moving. Rogan knew that his brother wanted—no expected—his simple capitulation, to which they all felt entitled.

  Dr. Jameson broke the silence. “Forget Mornay, Cecil. I always did say he never measured up to his father. Giles is an arrogant devil. A friend of the Boers. That accounts for his stolid, unimaginative ways. Frederick Selous is the guide we want. A far better man.”

  Captain Retford turned toward Mr. Rhodes. “If I could speak, sir. I was talking to Mr. Peter Bartley just a few days ago. There may be good reasons for delaying the expedition. Any foray into Matabeleland could risk a bloody attack from Lobengula. Our spies there report he is upset over what he believes was our betrayal.”

  Rhodes looked undisturbed as he exchanged glances with Dr. Jameson.

  “That’s why we must have Lobengula’s permission before we leave,” Mr. Rhodes said. “And we will. We already have it, don’t we, Jim?”

  Dr. Jameson nodded. “We have his concessions on paper. He signed it with his elephant seal.”

  “I’m sending an official entourage to meet with him at Bulawayo,” Rhodes stated. “Dr. Jameson here, for one. You too, Captain Retford.” He turned his steely blue gaze on Rogan. “We’d like to have you with us, Rogan.”

  Rogan had been silent, not trusting himself to speak. He fought down his growing anger at these men who had calmly moved against him and claimed what was his.

  “You see, there is only one expedition going from Lobengula’s kraal into Mashonaland, an expedition with a Royal Charter, the British South Africa Company. We will begin a colony near Mount Hampden in the north and plant the British flag. Your expedition must merge with ours under the charter.”

  “And if I refuse to join?”

  “I hope you are wiser than that. I believe you are.” Mr. Rhodes’s voice was reasonable and placatory, but those eyes revealed an iron core to the man. “Sir Julien tells me you have what it takes to excel.”

  Rogan did not look at his uncle. He sat face to face with Rhodes, hands folded firmly on the table.

  “Did my uncle also tell you I refused this same offer back in Capetown?”

  “There can be no refusal,” Rhodes said coldly.

  Rogan stood. “Henry Chantry planned this expedition years ago, long before you received your Royal Charter. When he came asking for financial backing from Sir Julien, he was turned down. I’m going to carry on his work, and that means sponsoring my own expedition.”

  Darinda walked over to Parnell and looked at him, taking hold of his arm.

  Parnell’s face had turned a sickly color beneath his tanned skin. “Listen to common sense, Rogan. We’re not at war with you. Can’t you see the Company is inviting you in? Think of the power and prestige this can bring you!”

  Darinda dropped Parnell’s arm and walked up to Rogan. “They are right, Cousin. Mr. Rhodes is offering you substantial compensation. Land, gold claims, anything you want.” Her eyes held his.

  For the first time Rogan noticed the glow in her eyes, and he wasn’t conceited enough to think he himself was the cause. Darinda, too, wanted the map as much as her grandfather and, now, Rhodes.

  Rhodes leaned back in his chair. “I want you with the entourage we’re sending to Lobengula’s kraal, Rogan. We’re going to sign a treaty with the Ndebele king for mineral rights. He has already agreed on an expedition through Matabeleland, but we need that agreement to be legal. As soon as we have it, we’re heading toward Mashonaland. I’m willing to make you an official in the British South Africa Company for your willingness to join hands with us.”

  “I can’t accept your offer, Mr. Rhodes. I enjoy my freedom too much.”

  Rogan nodded in their direction and stood. He turned to leave, when Rhodes said without emotion, “Very well, then.” He looked across the table at Julien, who until now had been mostly silent. He said to Julien coolly, “Then there’s no way around this. I had hoped for willing cooperation. You were right. I see he’s going to be difficult.” He placed his heavy hands on the table and pushed himself up. “You’d better have a private talk with him, Julien. Explain clearly how things are.”

  Cecil Rhodes gestured to Dr. Jameson and then left the tent in a bearlike gait, the doctor following.

  Rogan did not wait to talk to Julien as Mr. Rhodes had stated. He too turned and left the tent. He’d not gone far toward his camp when Parnell caught up with him.

  “Wait.”

  Rogan stopped and turned, knowing his anger showed.

  Parnell looked pale and tense beneath the moonlight. For one moment Rogan felt pity for his brother.

  “I’m sorry it turned out this way, but I tried to tell you back in Kimberly that you couldn’t win. Might as well face the mighty Victoria Falls as think you can stop Mr. Rhodes. That goes for Uncle
Julien, too. They are all one and the same.”

  Rogan glared at him. “It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve become a pawn to them. Father should see you.”

  “Father!” hissed Parnell in unexpected openness. “What did he ever care? We were all property for Julien to divvy up and use the way he thought best for the family dynasty.”

  Rogan caught his breath, surprised by Parnell. But his brother quickly withdrew again behind his old facade. He hurled his frustration at Rogan as though he were the one really to blame.

  “Why couldn’t you have just cooperated? It would have been for the best.”

  When Rogan found his voice, it was rough with emotion. “Cooperate. It’s always that with you, isn’t it, Parnell? Even when a sjambok is used on a near helpless man like Sheehan and the coal deposit he pegged is stolen by ruthless men. They’ll get by with it, Julien and the Company, but that doesn’t bother you enough to force you to break away from them, does it? Nothing will force you to choose between right and your own desires.”

  “Right? And what is right?” Parnell fumed.

  “If you don’t know,” Rogan said sharply, “it won’t help for me to spell it out.” He turned and walked to the campfire. Derwent and Mornay waited there, as though they knew nothing of the meeting in Rhodes’s tent.

  Darinda had followed Parnell when he’d left and called out to his brother to wait. She’d not been able to pick up the brief but heated exchange, but she could tell by Parnell’s unhappy face when he walked back toward her that what was said had not gone as he’d hoped.

  Darinda drew Parnell aside near the mule coach. In the moonlight and warm wind, she listened to the canvas flapping and heard a far-off animal cry that stabbed the night.

  “Could you make him see some sense?” she whispered.

  “I’ve told you he doesn’t think the way we do.”

  “Then get the map, Parnell. You should know where he keeps it. You’d have more excuse than the rest of us to be around his bedroll, or that black gelding of his. Or have one of the Bantu search his things when he’s occupied elsewhere. I could have done it myself while everyone was at Rhodes’s meeting.”

  “What you ask is crazy.”

  “You’ve as much right to the map as he does. Henry was your blood uncle as well. The map belongs to all of us, to the family. Why settle for less? You saw the way Rogan stood up to them. There’s a chance he won’t cooperate. Then what?”

  “He’ll cooperate.” Parnell’s voice was bitter. “When your grandfather’s through talking to him, Rogan will have no choice but to join the Company.”

  “I don’t believe it. I saw what kind of man Rogan was tonight. But even if he does agree, so what? Why allow old Rhodes to get his hands on the map? If we found it and brought it to Grandfather first, he’d finally recognize how he doesn’t need a male heir to run the family diamond mine after his death. I have more right to be in control than Anthony Brewster. I’m a full-blooded Bley!” Darinda smiled to soften her words, for she could see Parnell’s emotions beginning to recoil. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm and smiled up at him.

  “You want to know how you can please me, Parnell? How you can make me happy…so that you and I can marry at last?”

  She heard his breath catch and saw the kindled warmth in his hazel-green eyes. His hand hesitated and then found hers. She nearly winced at the strength of his fingers. But a wince would spoil her gentleness.

  “If you get the map,” she whispered, “and we bring it to Grand father, then I’ll tell him I want to marry you at the end of the expedition.”

  “Darinda…”

  She allowed his arms to enfold her, allowed his lips to press against hers, then she pulled quickly away and hurried toward her wagon.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rogan straightened from the campfire and lifted his tin coffee mug to his lips as he surveyed the encampment, now quiet under the vast African sky. Not all were asleep, however. Derwent and Mornay had been sharing this evening watch with him, joining in a thoughtful discussion of the day’s events. And on the far side of the laager, the sides of Rhodes’s big tent still glowed with lantern light.

  Just as Rogan started to return to his seat, he saw Sir Julien push the big tent’s entrance flap aside and step out into the night. Then Rogan turned quickly at a rustle behind him to see Captain Retford walk into the firelight from another direction and speak to Mornay.

  “Mr. Rhodes wants to talk to you.”

  Mornay glanced at Rogan, then rose and accompanied the young captain across the laager.

  Derwent’s worried gaze shot to Rogan. “Looks as though our plans may come tumbling down like the walls of Jericho, Mr. Rogan. Pardon my saying so, because he is family, but I don’t put much past Sir Julien Bley. Not after what was done to John Sheehan. I’m glad John wasn’t married yet, with a baby or two to feed.”

  Rogan remained silent. He stared at the dark dregs in the bottom of his tin cup.

  “Strange,” Derwent mused, “how far some folks will go to get what they think they have a right to, isn’t it?”

  Pricked, Rogan snapped, “Nothing strange about it.”

  “Seems to me there is. Now, Sheehan was a little different. He could accept the loss after a while. I saw him a month ago, and he and Mr. Gerald were doing a whit better then they were at first. If a man like John could go on being happy after losing all that coal, and not let bitterness and hate eat him up, he’s discovered some of the best of all God’s treasures.”

  “He had no choice but to accept the outcome,” Rogan argued. “He came up against a brick wall, and only a fool keeps throwing himself against it.”

  “Aye, that’s true enough, but a man could accept the reality of that brick wall and still be bitter as hemlock. But peace in the heart and contentment come when a man can leave vengeance to the great Judge of all, knowing even gold rands and diamond moguls will give an account to God. Well, a man who’s been cheated can sleep better knowing he doesn’t have to be the one to bring in justice. What do you think, Mr. Rogan?”

  Rogan gave him a narrow look. “I think you’ve already made it clear.”

  Derwent smiled, then took his small, black Bible from his pocket and opened it. “I was reading this awhile ago when you all were in the tent with Mr. Rhodes and Sir Julien. ‘Woe to him who builds a town with bloodshed, who establishes a city by iniquity!’”

  Rogan looked at him. “All right, Vicar, you can go to bed now.”

  Derwent grinned and put his worn Bible away.

  Rogan smiled faintly.

  Derwent stood from the fire and glanced in the direction of Rhodes’s tent. “Oh, here comes Sir Julien.”

  “Better leave me so I can handle him. Peaceful like.”

  “Sure, I was just going to turn in. G’night, Mr. Rogan.”

  When Derwent had left, Julien walked up to the fire. He accepted a tin mug from the washerboy, stooped, and poured his own coffee.

  “Looks like poison.”

  In the tense silence that followed, Julien added quietly, “You were unwise to contest Rhodes the way you did earlier. Angering him will only add to your problems. The BSA is law in this section of Africa, and remember, it was Cecil Rhodes who started the Company.”

  Rogan shrugged off the accusation. “When is it ever safe to question a tyrant’s wisdom?”

  “Come, come, Rogan. You’re exaggerating. Cecil Rhodes is one of South Africa’s leading British colonials.”

  “I don’t question his commitment to building a British empire. I question the tactics. I’m not forgetting John Sheehan. In some ways the BSA is little better than the buccaneers in the Caribbean. The Company’s in this for itself, to gain control of wealth.”

  “I wouldn’t be too quick to brand the Company as a brotherhood of lawless profiteers if I were you, young Rogan.”

  Rogan loathed being called “young Rogan.” The silly term “my boy” was equally abhorrent to him.

  “What do you call
your expedition into Mashonaland?” Julien challenged. “And Henry’s in the 1870s? Wasn’t it for personal ambition and gold?”

  Rogan drew his brows together and was silent. The wood crackled and cast a flurry of red sparks into the air.

  Julien’s mouth twisted. He drank his coffee. “You, too, can be called a buccaneer.”

  Rogan threw the remains of the bitter coffee into the fire, causing the flames to hiss. “Henry didn’t intend to subjugate a land for Her Majesty. Nor do I. And if I recall, Queen Victoria sent word that she does not approve of the BSA taking African land and subjugating it. The trouble with Rhodes, as I see him, is that he’s a law unto himself.” He tossed his empty mug to the washerboy and turned to stride away. “Good night, Uncle.”

  “Rogan!”

  Rogan paused and turned. He knew he had riled the cobra.

  Julien stood, formidably. The firelight cast wild, dancing shadows across his tall, angular frame.

  “Direct opposition to our authority cannot be tolerated. This is outright rebellion.”

  Rogan laughed unpleasantly. “Rebellion against Mr. Rhodes or against you?”

  Julien strode toward him. The black patch gave his face a sinister look. Had he still been the “young Rogan” of Rookswood, he was certain that Julien would have struck him. Especially after the events in Kimberly.

  They stood confronting each other in the encircling darkness.

  “You’re forgetting the one important fact, Rogan. The fact of which Rhodes sent me here to remind you. Just as straightforwardly as we can. The queen’s Colonial Office in London has already granted Cecil Rhodes that Royal Charter to begin a colony in Mashonaland. You know that. That charter, along with the profits from De Beers Consolidated, officially empowers us to buy and distribute land parcels for farms to its pioneers. It also grants the rights to any mineral discoveries thereabouts. Even if you proceed without us and discover Henry’s gold deposit, you will be forced to work through the Company or find yourself in breach of the law.”