Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Luke drew rein at a rocky ridge atop of a hill. He breathed in the view. To the west lay an endless expanse of grassland, dotted with umbrella-shaped thorn trees. In the foreground lay the Zola River, a peacock-blue ribbon, winding its way through the shaly terrain. The midday sun burned hot in a cloudless sky, and the air shimmered with its heat. He could see forever.

  Luke had grown to love this corner of the savannah. Its primal landscapes and the immense canopy of stars at night. The massive slate-grey thunderstorms that rolled in across the plains, bringing life-giving rains. The unique wildlife. Before him, a family of elephants bathed in the river. Herds of gemsbok, giraffe and zebra dotted the scene and, directly below, in the shadow of the knoll, dozed Dark Mane’s pride. It was always a relief to find these lions safe and well.

  When he first came, two families of lions had lived here at Themba. Poachers slaughtered the river pride shortly after, even the cubs. Skins fetched high prices in Cape Town.

  Then Dark Mane had arrived from the north, single-handedly deposing and killing the bad-tempered twin kings of the plains pride. He bore the trademark black mane and large body of a Kalahari lion. Luke had spent weeks tracking him, accustoming him to his presence, studying his behaviour. The new king was a fierce but fair leader, whose wives liked and respected him. Luke liked and respected him too. Spending time with the lions was one of his greatest joys. He had a special fondness for these mighty hunters, the apex predators of the African veldt, just as thylacines were the apex predators of Tasmania’s wilderness. A memory of the tiger cubs flashed across his mind’s eye: their bright eyes and whiskery noses. Were they alive, he wondered, living safely in their secret valley?

  His chestnut colt shied when he caught the lions’ scent. Luke soothed him with his voice. Caesar snorted and pricked his ears towards the east, where a desperate scene was unfolding. A tall black man was running for the shelter of the stony knoll, racing like his life depended on it, strides swift and sure as a cheetah’s. In the distance, a group of mounted men rode in pursuit. It would be a matter of minutes before they caught him.

  The posse wasn’t the only danger confronting the man. He was heading straight for the pride, who lay camouflaged behind a screen of low acacia trees. Luke spurred Caesar up and over the rocky embankment and down the other side, shouting as he went. The lions leapt to their feet, snarling and lashing their tails. The man stopped running when he spotted them, and glanced back over his shoulder. Then he kept on coming, more ready apparently to take his chances with the lions than with his pursuers. It took a brave man to face a pride on foot, whatever the reason.

  Luke unslung his rifle and fired shots in the air. The lionesses and cubs turned tail and ran, scrambling into the scrub. Dark Mane stood his ground. He wasn’t afraid of Luke, but Luke was afraid. The armed men were almost upon them. Dark Mane was in as much danger as the fleeing man.

  Luke shot over the lion’s head. Dark Mane still didn’t flinch, but it was too much for Caesar. The combination of lion and gunfire sent the colt into a rearing, plunging panic. Damn. It was all Luke could do to stay mounted, and he was losing precious seconds.

  Luke regained control just as the man cannoned into the scrub. He stopped in front of Luke, chest heaving, coal-black skin slick with sweat. Luke sized him up: about his age, tall and thin, limbs lined with ropes of muscle. He carried a Zulu axe, its half-moon blade designed to hook an opponent’s shield. Luke knew now why he’d braved the lions. With courage and a weapon, he’d have half a chance.

  Dark Mane roared and tossed his head about. Luke raised his rifle as the thunder of hooves grew louder. He shot at the ground beside the lion, but he still didn’t budge. Damn. If he was to chase Dark Mane off before the riders arrived, nothing but a full charge would do. Luke spurred Caesar forward, but the colt reared again, mad with fear. Luke leapt from his back.

  Caesar galloped off, hooves raising puffs of dust as he tore away. Luke ran at Dark Mane, waving his rifle, shouting and whooping. At such close quarters, the king of the veldt was a terrifying sight. Half as big again as his lionesses, ten feet from tip to tail, four-feet tall at the shoulder and with teeth like ivory daggers. Dark Mane backed off a few feet and then propped, a defiant snarl on his lips.

  Luke was rooted to the spot. There was something paralysing in the lion’s stare. He roared, and Luke could feel the blast of his breath. Dark Mane crouched low, grinding the ground. Bracing, balancing. The black tassel on his tail twitched. Everything screamed attack, yet Luke was frozen, captive in the lion’s golden gaze. He couldn’t raise his rifle to shoot, even if he wanted to.

  With a bloodcurdling yell, the other man ran in, his axe raised. The spell was broken, and Luke joined in the charge. This was too much for the lion. He loped away, melting into the bush. Luke sagged with relief and shot his unlikely friend a grateful glance. There was no time for more. The mounted men were upon them.

  As they drew their heaving horses to a halt, Luke recognised the lead rider. Herman Smit owned the Nisopho diamond mine. Grandly named the Superior Mine, it was an ugly assortment of pits and tailing dumps on the town’s eastern edge: mongrel diggings where half-starved workers scratched for small, flawed diamonds, poisoning the air and water in the process.

  Herman unslung his rifle from the saddle and peered short-sightedly at Luke. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  Luke stepped forward so Herman could see him.

  ‘My apologies, Colonel Buchanan.’ Herman said as he lowered his weapon, doffed his hat, and changed from Afrikaans to English.

  Luke acknowledged this courtesy with a nod. He knew firsthand the bitterness born by the Boers against the British, and vice versa. On arriving in Cape Town, he’d been mistaken for an Englishman, a hated rooinek, and was beaten half to death in a putrid laneway behind an Afrikaans-speaking bar. So he’d invented an alter ego – Colonel Lucas Buchanan from New South Wales. Inventing a title had worked for Henry Abbott. It worked for him too.

  Luke told the Boers he’d volunteered on their side in the war. For the British, he was a decorated officer who’d fought with them. His wealth was sufficient to ward off questions and to garner admiration and acceptance wherever he went. It never ceased to amaze him how gullible people were.

  Herman wiped droplets of sweat from his florid face with a handkerchief. A brilliant diamond shone beside the gold wedding band on his finger. ‘I caught this thieving Kaffir stealing rations.’ He gestured to his men. One rode forward, uncoiling a rope.

  Luke raised his hand for the rider to stop. He glanced sideways at his companion, who was holding his ground, clutching the axe and glaring at the mine owner with murderous intent. Anyone who tried to take him would feel the bite of that axe, Luke had no doubt. He addressed the fugitive in Zulu.

  ‘These men pursue you with rifles for a few loaves of mealie bread?’

  The man grinned. ‘Not a few loaves, baas. I emptied the whole storehouse and shared out the food, rotten as it was. We are meant to get board and five shillings a week, but we haven’t been paid in months. Men are starving at that fucking mine.’

  Luke turned back to Herman, seeing instead a sneering Henry Abbott standing before him. ‘What do you intend to do with this man?’

  ‘Flog him, chain him. If he’s stolen a diamond, I’ll shoot him. He’s always been a troublemaker, this one.’

  From the look on the black man’s face, there was little doubt he understood English. He raised his axe and the horsemen raised their rifles.

  ‘This is nothing to concern you, Colonel. Hand him over, we’ll be on our way and you can get on with your hunting.’

  ‘I will have this man for myself,’ said Luke. ‘If he’s such a troublemaker, you’ll be well rid of him.’

  ‘A troublemaker he may be, Colonel, but Tau is strong, and cost me a pound at a labour auction not two months ago.’

  ‘I’ll pay you four pounds for his contract. Come and collect it this evening.’

  ‘That is generous, Colonel,
but I’m running out of men. How will I work my mine? Six have deserted this month. I can’t afford to let him go.’

  ‘Five pounds then.’ Luke gestured for Tau to follow him.

  ‘He may have stolen a diamond,’ called Herman. ‘We must search him.’

  ‘I shall search him myself,’ said Luke, wary of Tau’s flexing axe hand. ‘If I find a diamond, you may have both the man and stone back, and keep my five pounds.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘And, for the record, I am not hunting. My lands are game reserves. I’d have you remember it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.’

  The mine owner looked around in wonder. Luke was miles from nowhere, without horse, or men, or tools of any kind. If he wasn’t hunting, what on earth was he busy doing?

  ‘Good day to you, sir. I shall call upon you later.’ Herman saluted, wheeled his horse and led the riders away.

  Luke and Tau trudged in through the compound gate. Luke had purchased a dozen farms around Nisopho, choosing the largest property, Themba, as his home. The historic gabled homestead was built by Dutch settlers who farmed the land in the 1700s. It boasted thick whitewashed walls and small shuttered windows designed to keep out the scorching summer heat.

  A useful assortment of outbuildings surrounded the homestead, including a dozen mudbrick rondavels with thatched roofs. These traditional round huts once provided accommodation for bustling crowds of servants and farm workers. Now they stood almost empty. Luke had hired only two people: Lwazi, an elderly man who looked after the horses, and Sizani, a round, cheerful young woman who could read and write and who ran the house. She peered through the kitchen window as Luke showed Tau into one of the humbly furnished huts. It had sleeping mats, timber headrests and a few wooden cups and bowls on a bench.

  Tau made a show of putting down his axe, a sign of trust. Luke filled a cup with bore water from the hand-pump outside and offered it to Tau. He gulped it down and fetched himself another.

  ‘Come up to the house when you’re ready,’ said Luke. ‘I’ll find you clothes and blankets and whatever else you need. If you want to leave, that’s up to you, but I could use a good man.’ He smiled in open admiration. ‘Somebody who isn’t afraid of lions.’

  Tau returned the smile and Luke’s heart lifted.

  ‘I offer good wages, better than that fat kont wasn’t paying you.’

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Something passed between them: a common understanding transcending race and culture, a yearning for companionship between two lost young men.

  ‘I’ll stay, baas.’

  ‘Good. When you come to the house we’ll eat and discuss your duties.’

  ‘Yes, baas.’

  ‘Don’t call me baas. My name is Luke.’

  Doubt flared in Tau’s eyes, the same doubt Luke himself had felt when Mr Campbell said ‘Call me Daniel’, all those years ago. An unheard-of presumption, and here in South Africa a thousand times more so. It was a lot to ask of Tau. Blacks had been shot for less, but it suddenly meant the world to have this man address him as an equal. ‘Please, Tau. Call me Luke.’

  The answer came clear and proud, although it rolled awkwardly off Tau’s tongue. ‘Yes, Luke.’

  The pair grinned at each other and shook hands, then clasped thumbs over thumbs in a traditional expression of respect and friendship. For the first time since Bear died, Luke didn’t feel alone.

  CHAPTER 43

  The two men ate, drank and talked the afternoon away. Tau wolfed his food like a man starved. Sizani could barely keep up, refilling his bowl again and again with scoops of bobotie, a spicy minced-meat dish with baked custard topping. She served it with steaming plates of roast pumpkin, sweet potato mash and wilted spinach. A large calabash of cool, fermented milk sat on the table, and Luke found a bottle of Cape wine. Afterwards, they moved on to Sizani’s home-brew.

  Tau had grown up with his sister, Nandi, on a missionary settlement in the Transkei. They were too young to remember their parents dying of cholera. A Scottish pastor took them in. They attended the mission school and learned how to read and write English. Later on, Tau helped teach local people blacksmith and carpentry skills. ‘When Father Mackenzie died, the settlement closed and I went searching for work.’

  ‘And your sister?’

  Tau frowned and sculled his beer. ‘She married.’ His expression warned against pursuing the topic.

  ‘I also have a sister.’ Luke found himself opening up to Tau, sharing things he hadn’t talked about since leaving Tasmania. He told him about Becky, and Daniel and Bear. About being in prison and Henry Abbott’s death. He told him about Belle.

  Tau looked askance at him. ‘You are wealthy now. You love this girl and she has your child? Yet you abandon your country and let another man have her? That is not the Zulu way.’

  ‘You don’t understand —’ Luke stopped mid-sentence. The explanation he was about to give suddenly seemed absurd. A surge of missing Belle crashed in. ‘Tell me about the mine,’ he said instead. ‘I worked down a goldmine once. The place was a fucking deathtrap.’

  ‘It’s no different here. Baas Smit works us like dogs, sunrise to sundown. When the reef walls crack, they can smash down and bury us. Two men died last month, and many more were injured. All for spotty pebbles . . .’ Tau retrieved something from his ear and held it out to Luke. ‘Like this one.’ The pale stone shone faintly against his skin.

  Luke grinned and plucked it from Tau’s palm, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The little gem was muddy yellow, pitted and flawed – not much of a diamond, but still worth many months’ wages to a poor miner like Tau.

  ‘Why not sell it and, I don’t know, start a shop or something?’ Luke regretted the words the moment they were out. He didn’t want Tau going anywhere.

  Tau burst out laughing. ‘Start a shop? What should I sell, Luke? Beads and ladies’ dresses?’ He finished off the last piece of pumpkin. ‘No, I will work for you.’

  Luke exhaled. ‘What if you had enough money for whatever you wanted? What would you do?’

  Tau’s smile turned fierce. ‘I’d buy out the other men’s labour contracts, as you have done for me. Nobody should have to work for Smit.’ He poured himself another beer. ‘There are stories that he owned gold and copper mines in the remote north, when he was a young man. Some say he kidnapped bands of San people, the small brown bushmen of the Kalahari, and entombed them alive. Casting them down narrow holes, never again to see daylight. Men, women, children – it didn’t matter, as long as they could dig ore and send it up in a basket to the surface. There was no way out. Some survived for a few years, eating what was thrown to them, until one by one they perished. When the last one died, Smit would take a new lot.’

  Bile rose in Luke’s throat. ‘Surely these are just rumours?’

  Tau shrugged. ‘A man told me he once worked Smit’s old diggings in the desert. Said he found nine little dried-up bodies down one mine, all curled together, including two tiny children.’

  They sat in silence. Luke, with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. He tried to swallow it away.

  ‘It might not be true.’ Tau ran his finger along the table’s smooth surface. ‘This man might have lied to cause trouble. Smit had flogged him.’

  Sizani came in with a coffeepot. She’d changed from her housemaid’s shift and apron into a colourful wraparound kanga, showing off her ample curves. Amber beads shimmered against the sleek swell of her breasts. Tau couldn’t stop staring.

  ‘Mr Eli is here, Colonel,’ she said. ‘In the parlour.’

  Eli Goldsmith was a solicitor and the manager of the town’s only bank. When Luke first arrived in Nisopho, he’d rescued Eli from a brutal street mugging and the two men had since become friends. Once a week, Eli came over to play cards.

  ‘There’s someone else here, too,’ said Sizani. ‘Mr Smit. Should I show him in?’

  So Herman was here to sell him Tau. ‘Let the fucker wait.’ Luke was thinking hard. Liberatin
g Tau wasn’t enough. He could no longer stomach the idea of Smit and his foul mine. ‘How many men work at the diggings?’

  Tau gave him a curious look. ‘Maybe sixty? The baas loses more each week. If he doesn’t start paying wages soon, he’ll have none left.’

  Luke made up his mind. ‘Sizani, show Mr Smit into the parlour. Bring brandy and three glasses. Then take Tau to the storeroom. Give him clothes, blankets, candles, soap – anything he needs.’

  Luke and Eli sat side by side in the white-walled parlour, while Herman Smit regaled them with stories of mining glory. Eli was a small, lively man with a curly moustache of which he was inordinately proud. He tweaked it when bored. He was tweaking it now.

  Herman certainly loved to talk. Luke let him go, making the odd flattering comment and sizing up his guest. Finally, he held up his hand, peeled five pounds from his wallet and handed them to Herman. ‘For Tau.’

  Herman took the money, ashed his cigar on the carpet, and leered at Sizani’s chest as she topped up his brandy balloon. ‘You’re a grand fellow, Colonel,’ he said. ‘A grand fellow. I should have made your acquaintance sooner.’

  ‘I’ve always been fascinated by diamonds,’ said Luke.

  ‘Then you’re in fine company, Colonel. The Romans believed they were splinters of fallen stars.’

  ‘And the Greeks believed they were tears of the gods.’

  ‘Ah . . . an educated man.’ Herman sighed and wiped his moist brow. ‘You’ve no idea how I miss intelligent conversation in this land of savages.’

  ‘Know what I miss?’ Luke opened the drawer of the side table and took out a deck of cards. ‘Playing poker. Gentlemen?’

  Eli nodded. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  Herman slapped his thigh and rubbed his pale palms together. ‘You’re on, Colonel. Deal away.’

  Herman kept on talking as they played, speaking openly of the mines he once owned in the north. ‘Poor concerns that brought me little profit.’