He wished he could tell Esther who he really was and what he was doing. It would be a relief in a way not to have to pretend any more. He was afraid of how she would react, but part of him wanted to admit the truth, to tell her what he was doing to secure a future for them together. Of course, he couldn’t do that. Not yet. But he could say goodbye to her, explain that he was going, and that he was going to be back. Depending on how things went, maybe not with Jacob Eksteen, maybe only after the war, but he’d be back for sure. This could not yet be the end for the two of them.
He couldn’t see her anywhere. He led his horse towards the middle of the camp, where Klein Steyn was trying to concoct a shelter of canvas, branches and leaves before the rain came. ‘Did you see Miss Calitz?’
‘She went that way, a good while back already, I think to see Mr Matzdorff.’
This worried Gideon. She shouldn’t be making things harder on herself. Who needs a last conversation with a doomed man you dare not help? He was suddenly in a hurry, but forced himself to walk to where Matzdorff was being held. There’d be enough riding tonight.
Dik Frik Swiegelaar sat on a rock, half a loaf of bread balanced on his knee. Gideon recognised it as being similar to the one Esther had given him. Why would she give one to this man? Did she know him from before too? He wished he knew more about her. But all in good time. Swiegelaar nodded a greeting. Gideon could not remember them ever having spoken to each other before.
‘Have you seen Miss Calitz by any chance?’
‘She was here to dress Mr Matzdorff’s wounds. Rode off that way, last I saw.’
That made little sense to Gideon. Maybe she had said something to Matzdorff. ‘How’s Matzdorff doing?’
‘He’s been quiet.’
‘I saved his life once. Turns out it was for nothing … Still, mind if I go say farewell?’
‘If you want to torture yourself.’
The closer Gideon came to the tied figure under the overhang, the harder his heart beat. That was no man sitting there and there was only one woman it could be. What in God’s name had she gone and done?
Esther didn’t look up, even when he got close. Her heart was beating wildly too, but for a different reason. Her ruse was about to be discovered. The longer she had been sitting there, the more convinced she had become that nobody would believe her story. Surely if Mr Matzdorff had really tried to overpower her, she could’ve screamed for help? And how did he get her clothes off her and his onto her? The footsteps came closer. A man leading a horse. He walked right up to her. She could see his boots.
Gideon positioned himself between the bound figure and the guard. ‘Esther.’
She looked up sharply. Gideon’s face against the clouds.
‘You have to get away,’ he hissed.
‘You wouldn’t help Mr Matzdorff. Why help me now?’
Gideon’s mouth went dry. She had a point: he couldn’t help her and condemn himself in the process, not when he was so close to getting to De Wet. Should he be brave and stupid, cut her loose, throw her on the horse and ride off into the gathering storm or a hail of bullets? He wished he could do it, show her how much he cared, show everyone who he really was, come what may. It would’ve been easier at any other time, when the De Wet thing was over or nothing more than the vague hope it had been before, not the imminent reality it had become in the last hour. It’s enough to make you curse the gods. He resented being in this situation with no clear way out. There had to be something he could do to save both her and his mission. He wasn’t ready to give up, to forsake his duty. Maybe there was another solution, if he could only see it.
His hesitation told her all she needed to know. ‘I don’t need your help anyway.’
‘You do, more than you know … Listen, I’m supposed to be going away with Jacob. He’s probably waiting for me already. So you have a few days at least before he’s back. Slip away. Go to Bethlehem or some town where the British are strong. Stay there till the war is over.’
‘But why?’
‘Jacob will kill you if he finds you.’
‘He’d never!’
‘You thought he wouldn’t kill Matzdorff either. He’s been shooting people for little reason lately.’
‘We’ve known each other forever.’
‘Yesterday he shot his own uncle and cousin, blood of his blood. I was there, I saw it. Believe me, you shouldn’t be counting on that man’s goodness. Maybe you’d be fine. Maybe he’d forgive you for helping a condemned traitor escape, because that’s how he sees Matzdorff. But I wouldn’t count on his mercy and neither should you. Please, please go!’
‘I can’t go to the British. These are my people. This is my country.’
‘And you’ll risk your life for it?’
‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’re risking your life and it’s not even your country! Don’t ask me to do something you wouldn’t do yourself.’
‘Oh, but I would,’ he said.
‘You’ll never betray something you believe in.’
‘You don’t know me very well.’ Gideon looked back. Swiegelaar was watching him.
‘I know you well enough.’
Who was this person she claimed to know, he wondered. ‘I have to go. You have to go too. Even just go to the Lost Lamb. Stay there with your mother. Make sure Jacob doesn’t get you alone.’
‘What, are you jealous?’
‘Esther, for God’s sake, this is serious. Your life, our life … You have to make sure you survive. It’s more important than anything.’
‘You don’t believe that.’
His own lies were being used against him again, the stupid story about coming especially to join their cause. ‘We’re going in circles here.’
‘Because I don’t want to go anywhere.’
‘Is there nothing I can do to convince you, nothing to make you leave this place?’
‘At last you’re beginning to sound like you know me.’
Gideon found this powerlessness maddening. He loved that Esther was strong-willed, hated that it was so ill-directed this time. Meantime, Eksteen, De Wet and the fulfilment of his mission were waiting. ‘I can’t stay any longer.’
‘So go. Don’t worry about me.’
Gideon wanted to slap her and he wanted to take her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her and not let go. But Swiegelaar was watching. He couldn’t even touch her. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘You know where to find me.’
Gideon waved at Swiegelaar and rode off. On the bright side, he’d probably never have to explain why he hadn’t sounded the alarm about Matzdorff’s escape. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to be with the Boers any more once he had got De Wet. And if things didn’t turn out well with the general and he did come back after all, he could always claim that he didn’t betray Esther because he wanted to protect her. People would be able to understand that. Everyone knows love makes you do stupid things.
Jacob Eksteen and De Wet’s man were ready and waiting for him. The commandant must have noticed something. ‘You look troubled.’
‘Excited.’
Jacob looked overhead. ‘This storm is going to be upon us soon. Maybe we should wait till it passes.’
Gideon wanted to get Eksteen away from there as soon as possible, before Esther got discovered. ‘We’re ready, why don’t we just go and if it gets too bad, we stop wherever we are?’
‘Keen, I see.’
Van den Heever, De Wet’s man, had been riding hard for a long time, but was used to it. ‘Let’s go, it’s a long way to Tierfontein. We’ll get just as wet sitting here.’
Gideon wondered if this farm had already been entered on Major Bryce’s map. ‘Whereabouts is this Tierfontein?’
‘Harrismith.’
Gideon had hoped for something more accurate, but this might do.
They got on their mounts. De Wet’s man rode on one of the horses they got off the British the day before, leading his own tired animal behind him. Lightning lit up the kopjes to their
left and thunder shook the air. ‘God, I love this smell,’ said Jacob. ‘Fresh like the earth’s just being born.’ He spurred his horse on and off they went – four horses and three men.
They headed north-north-east, riding through the veldt, avoiding the roads where the Khakis held sway. From all over, birds called piet-my-vrou, piet-my-vrou, sounding anxious. The sound of the red-chested cuckoos was everywhere, but you hardly saw them. A small flock of guinea fowls scattered at the riders’ approach, screeching and launching their ungainly bodies into flight.
Gideon was glad to get away from the camp, glad to put distance between Eksteen and Esther. He was grateful for every minute they travelled. It gave Esther time, though this would be more comforting if he had believed she’d use it to get away.
There was a small gust of wind that flicked the brims of their hats, a welcome drop in temperature, and then sheets of rain pouring down, all within a minute or two. The riders hunched their heads into their shoulders as if that would help. Soon they were drenched to the skin.
‘One can’t see a thing through this.’ Jacob had to shout to be heard. ‘We could ride right into a Khaki column. Wouldn’t that be something!’
‘If we can’t see them, they won’t see us either.’ De Wet’s man kept his eyes on the ground a few feet in front of his horse, taking it one obstacle at a time.
Their words drowned in the sound of rain.
Somewhere up ahead, Gideon thought, was Matzdorff, plunging onward in this same weather. He was glad the Jew got away, he liked the man, but wished his escape could’ve come about another way. God, that Esther is some woman! He loved her for it, for being the kind of person who would take it upon herself to free this man in whom she had invested so much. He also thought she was unforgivably stupid.
Though he was close to the other two riders, the rain separated them, forcing each into himself, to plait and unravel the strands of their own thoughts.
He truly loved Esther, Gideon believed, though he didn’t know what this meant. Is love the desire to be with someone, to have that person as a worthy witness to your life, a mirror you enjoy looking into? Is it wishing that person well, or going so far as to value that person’s wishes and wellbeing above your own, to the point of self-sacrifice? Is love the fulfilment of a quest of the soul? He did not know the answers to these questions. He only knew that his chest felt like a cathedral when he thought of her, and that sometimes it was filled with the song of a thousand voices and sometimes with echoes of emptiness.
He could not take the chance that she would die. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing the image of that frightful black pistol in Jacob Eksteen’s hand, the jump of the barrel as it fired. The man had become a killer. No way could he entrust Esther’s life to the person she still thought of as her childhood friend. She would not save herself, because she could not understand the danger. That woman wouldn’t see reason. That wasn’t even it, he realised. Even if she did believe him, she’d be liable to stay and await her fate anyway, through some incomprehensible sense of loyalty. Damn that woman! It would take nothing short of violence to get her away from that camp.
They rode down towards a stream lined with willows weeping silvery tears. Gideon wondered if nature had feelings. Did thunder and lightning express anger, did the clouds shed tears of rage? Some rain was sad. He had seen it in Cape Town when they arrived in this country, a forlorn windborne sifting of small drops. In Auckland the rain had a nonchalance; it fell with abandon, happy if anything. Here it came down with violent intent. The drumming on his head was dulling his mind. Rivulets ran from his hair into his shirt. Water had seeped through his hat and tickled his eyebrows. Not only could he not see or hear in this downpour, he couldn’t think clearly. The smell of wet animal filled the cavities of his head. He tried to organise his thoughts. He had to get De Wet. That was his mission as a soldier. He had to save Esther from Jacob Eksteen’s madness. That was his mission as a man. And he had to survive all this. Each of these obligations was pulling him in a different direction. He bounced along to the gait of the horse, a wet rag of a man. Rain trickled into his eyes. He blinked it away and in that flash of broken light saw what he had to do.
He reined in his horse a little so that he fell behind the other two, and prayed for a thunderclap. He scoured the ground they were passing over. When the moment came, he did not want to hurt himself more than he had to. He saw the flash of light and got ready. When the thunderclap came, he kicked his feet out of the stirrups and dove to the ground, kicking the horse as he did so. The horse jumped one way and he flew the other, not quite managing to miss a small bush. He yelled out, wanting the men to notice.
The two riders swung around in time to see Gideon’s horse bound for a step or two and him lying on the ground, writhing. It really hurt, but not half as badly as he wanted them to believe. Eksteen came riding up to him. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘My horse must’ve had a fright. The thunder … Ouch.’ Gideon pretended to try getting up. ‘My back …’
Both men had dismounted by now. De Wet’s man got a hold of Gideon’s horse. Eksteen knelt next to Gideon. ‘Can you move?’
‘I think I can.’ Gideon sat up gingerly and allowed Eksteen to pull him to his feet. He grimaced and bent down, hands on his knees. ‘I can’t straighten up.’
‘Will you be able to ride?’
‘I don’t know … Not far.’
‘We can stop here for the night,’ said Jacob. ‘See if you feel better in the morning.’
‘No, you go ahead. Honestly, I don’t want to hold you up. There’s still an hour of light left.’ Gideon needed them to leave, so he would be free to go where he wanted.
Jacob looked around. ‘It does look like the storm could be letting up.’
‘I think we should keep going. The general was keen for us to move fast.’ De Wet’s man. Bless him.
Gideon sunk down to his haunches, then lowered his rump carefully to the ground until he was seated again. ‘I’ll just sit here for a bit, till the worst pain passes. Give me the reins.’
Jacob had little talent for empathy, but at least he tried. ‘Sure you’ll be right?’
‘As soon as I feel better, I’ll head back to the commando. We haven’t come that far yet.’
‘Sorry you have to miss this opportunity.’
‘I wonder why he wants to see you.’
‘Probably has some plan. It would be nice to go on the offensive.’ Jacob’s impatience was palpable.
‘Good luck with everything,’ said Gideon.
‘You’ll be part of the action, don’t worry.’ Jacob got back on his horse. It occurred to him that maybe this fall wasn’t real, that the Dutchman was just trying to get back to Esther Calitz. But of course not. Nobody would pass up the chance to meet De Wet just because he couldn’t wait a few days to see a girl again.
Far away to the west, a line of sunlight lined the bottom of the cloud bank.
Gideon watched Eksteen and De Wet’s man until he could no longer hear the creaking of leather or even the clopping of hooves. For safety’s sake, he waited longer. His body warmed his wet clothes, but every now and then a cold rivulet found a place to enter. Eventually he got to his feet. It was harder than he had hoped. Most of his weight had come down on his right side. The pain throbbed in his hip and up the side of his back. His right elbow was bloody and his forearm was sore inside, in the bone. The skin was also ripped from the edge of his left hand and he had somehow managed to bang his left ankle. It was stiff and swollen. He hobbled around, moving to find the limits of his mobility and push beyond it. He wasn’t in the best shape, but nothing crucial had been hurt. He’d be able to ride, perhaps not without pain, but that hardly mattered now.
Because of his ankle, he got on the horse from the right, pushing himself up with his right foot in the stirrup. He was surprised by how awkward it felt doing something he was so used to, but from a different side. He swung the horse’s head around and rode away. The rain was lett
ing up. What did he have, forty minutes before sunset, just over an hour before dark? If he got onto a road before then, he could keep going by starlight.
28 November 1901
By the early hours of the morning, the stars began to fade and a bitter cold settled on the land. Gideon’s awareness had dimmed, his gaze fixed on the tangle of the horse’s mane. He stayed in the saddle, but did not look beyond the ears of his horse as the animal walked down the road his rider had chosen. The crickets and owls had gone quiet and the morning birds had not yet awoken. Gideon’s shoulders swung to the gait of the horse. His eyes burnt and he decided to close them for a moment.
‘Halt!’
The shout jerked Gideon from his slumber. He was surrounded by half a dozen khaki-clad soldiers standing in the road, their rifles trained on him. He raised his arms stiffly. ‘I’m Trooper Gideon Lancaster, formerly of the First New Zealand Mounted Infantry. I need to get to a telegraph urgently.’
‘Do you have any form of identification?’ The British corporal’s jaw moved up and down a lot when he spoke, breaking his question into almost incomprehensible bubbles of sound.
‘No. I’ve been attached to a Boer commando as a spy.’
‘Or you could be a Boer coming to spy on us.’
‘Think what you like. But I really need to contact Major Bryce urgently. He’s in Bloemfontein.’
‘Get his weapon.’ One of the soldiers obeyed the command. ‘Now get off your horse. Keep your hands where we can see them.’
Gideon nearly fell when he got on the ground. His legs wouldn’t move properly and he was still sore from the fall. They led him off the road to where a whole platoon had put up for the night.
Gideon reckoned he had come about forty miles. ‘Where are we?’
‘This here is Ghwarriekop,’ explained the man holding Gideon’s horse. ‘Just over there is Biddulphsberg, where the battle was last year.’
The corporal had gone off to wake the lieutenant and came back a few minutes later with the officer’s decision. ‘We’ll take you to Senekal. We can telegraph from there. Until we know who you are, you’ll remain a prisoner.’
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