by Wilbur Smith
‘Diamonds?’ she asked again, wanting his assurance.
‘Yes, madam, and of peculiarly good quality on the average.’
She stared dumbly at the little pile of stones in her hand; they looked murky and small and mundane.
‘You will excuse the liberty, madam, but may I ask you a question? You might of course, choose not to answer.’
She nodded.
‘Are you a member of a syndicate – do you have partners in this venture?’
She shook her head.
‘You mean, you are the sole holder and owner of this property? That you discovered this pipe and pegged the claims entirely on your own account?’
She nodded again.
‘Then,’ he shook his head mournfully, ‘at this moment, Mrs Courtney, you are probably one of the wealthiest women in the world.’
Twentyman-Jones remained at Lion Tree Camp for three days longer.
He went over every line of his report with her, explaining any item of which her understanding was unclear. He opened each of the packages of sample stones, and picked out unusual or typical diamonds with a pair of jeweller’s forceps, laid them on the palm of her hand and pointed out their special features to her.
‘Some of these are so small – do they have any worth at all?’ She rolled the sugar-grain chips under the forefinger.
‘Those industrials, madam, will be your bread and butter. They will pay your costs. And the big jewellery-grade stones, like this one, will be the jam on top of it all. Strawberry jam, madam, of the very best quality – Crosse and Blackwell, if you like!’ It was as close as she ever heard him come to a witticism, and even then his expression was morose.
The last section of his report was twenty-one pages of recommendations for the exploitation of the property.
‘You are extremely fortunate, madam, to be able to open this pipe systematically. All the other great diamond pipes, from Kimberley to Wesselton, were pegged by hundreds of individual miners, and each started working independently of his neighbour’s efforts. The result was utter chaos.’ He shook his head and tugged at his fluffy white sideburns mournfully. ‘Hundreds of plots each thirty feet square all going down at different speeds, with roadway in between them, a tangle of wires and pulleys and buckets connecting each to the lip. Chaos, madam, pandemonium! Costs inflated, men killed in cave-ins, thousands of extra labourers required – madness!’ He looked up at her. ‘While you, madam, have here the opportunity of constructing a model working, and this report,’ he laid his hand upon it, ‘explains exactly how you should do it. I have even surveyed the ground and put in numbered pegs to guide you. I have calculated your volumes of earth at each stage. I have laid out your first incline shaft for you, and explained how you should plan each level of excavation.’
Centaine broke in on his dissertation. ‘Dr Twentyman-Jones, you keep saying “you”. You don’t expect me personally to perform all these complicated tasks, do you?’
‘Good Lord, no! You will have to have an engineer, a good man, with experience of earth-moving. Ultimately I envisage that you will be employing several engineers and many hundreds, possibly thousands, of men at the—’ he hesitated ‘ – do you have a name for the property? The Courtney Mine, perhaps?’
She shook her head. ‘The H’ani Mine,’ she told him.
‘Unusual. What does it mean?’
‘It is the name of the San woman who guided me here.’
‘Very appropriate, then. Now, as I was saying, you will require a good engineer to put in hand the initial developments that I have outlined.’
‘Do you have a man in mind, sir?’
‘Difficult,’ he mused. ‘Most of the best men are employed permanently by De Beers, and of the others the one that comes to mind first was recently crippled in a blasting accident.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Now then, I have heard good reports of a young Afrikaner chappie. Never worked with him myself – damn me, what was his name again. Oh, yes, that’s it. De La Rey!’
‘No!’ Centaine exclaimed violently.
‘I’m sorry, madam. Do you know him?’
‘Yes. I don’t want him.’
‘As you wish – I’ll try and think of someone else.’
In her cot that night Centaine tossed from side to side, trying to get comfortable, trying to adjust the suffocating weight of the child so that she could sleep, and she thought of Twentyman-Jones’s suggestion and sat up slowly.
‘Why not?’ she said aloud in the darkness. ‘He must return here, anyway. A stranger coming here at this time might see more than I would wish him to.’ And she cupped both hands under her belly. ‘It need only be for the initial development stages. I’ll write Abraham Abrahams right now and tell him to send Lothar!’
And she lit the lantern and waddled across the tent to her camp table.
In the morning Twentyman-Jones was ready to leave. All his gear was packed into the back of the lorry and his black labourers were sitting on top of it.
Centaine handed him back the report.
‘Would you be so good as to give your report to my lawyer in Windhoek, sir, together with this letter?’
‘Of course, madam.’
‘He will want to go over the report with you, and then, as I have instructed Mr Abrahams to solicit a loan from my bank, the bank-manager will probably want to speak to you as well, to have your views on the value of the property.’
‘I expected that,’ he nodded. ‘You can rest assured that I will inform him of the enormous value of your discovery.’
‘Thank you. In this letter I have instructed Mr Abrahams to pay you from the loan an amount equal again to your original fee.’
‘That is unnecessary, madam, but very generous.’
‘You see, Dr Twentyman-Jones, at some future date I might wish to retain your services as a permanent consultant to the H’ani Mine – I wish you to have a good opinion of me.’
‘It does not require a fee for that, Mrs Courtney, I find you an extraordinarily plucky, intelligent and comely young lady. I would consider it an honour to work with you again.’
‘Then I will ask one final service of you.’
‘Anything, madam.’
‘Please do not repeat anything of my personal circumstances that you may have observed here.’
His eyes dropped for just a fleeting instant to the front of her dress.
‘Discretion, madam, is not the least prerequisite of my profession. Besides which I would never do anything to injure a friend.’
‘A good friend, Dr Twentyman-Jones,’ she assured him, as she held out her right hand.
‘A very good friend, Mrs Courtney,’ he agreed, as he took her hand, and for one incredible moment she thought he was going to smile. But he controlled himself and turned from her to the waiting lorry.
Once again the journey and the return from Lion Tree Camp to Windhoek took her truck-driver eight days, and Centaine wondered more than once during that time if she had not left it too late. The child in her was big and urgent. Impatiently it demanded release, so that when she at last heard the distant beat of the motors of the returning vehicles, her relief was intense.
From the canvas flap she watched the arrival. In the lead truck rode Lothar De La Rey, and though she tried to ignore it, she felt her pulse quicken when she watched him climb down from the cab, tall and elegant and graceful, despite the dust and heat of the long journey.
The next traveller whom Lothar handed down from the truck took Centaine by surprise. A nun in habit and hood of the Benedictine order.
‘I told him a nurse, I didn’t expect a sister,’ she muttered angrily. In the back of the truck were two young Nama girls. Golden-brown skins and pretty little cheerful pug faces, each of them with an infant on her hip, their breasts heavy with milk beneath the cotton print trade dresses they wore, so much alike that they must be sisters.
‘The wet nurses,’ she realized, and now that they were here, these brown strangers of another race that would give suck
to her child, Centaine felt the first truly bitter pang of regret at what she must do.
Lothar came to her tent, his bearing still aloof and reserved, and handed her a packet of letters before introducing the nun to her.
‘This is Sister Ameliana of the hospital of St Anne,’ he told her. ‘She is of my mother’s family, a cousin. She is a trained midwife, but she speaks only German. We can rely upon her completely.’
A gaunt, white-faced woman, Sister Ameliana had the smell of dried rose petals about her, and her eyes were frosty and disapproving as she looked at Centaine and said something to Lothar.
‘She wishes to examine you,’ Lothar translated. ‘I will return later to discuss the work you have for my company.’
‘She does not like me.’ Centaine returned Sister Am-eliana’s flat hostile stare, and Lothar hesitated before he explained.
‘She does not approve of our bargain. Her whole life is devoted to the birth and care of babies. She does not understand how you can give up your own infant – as is apparent, neither do I.’
‘Tell her that I do not like her either, but she is to perform the task she came for and not place herself in judgement over me.’
‘Centaine—’ he protested.
‘Tell her,’ Centaine insisted, and they spoke rapidly in German before he turned back to Centaine.
‘She says that you understand each other. That is good. She has come only for the child. As to judgement, she leaves that to our Heavenly Father.’
‘Tell her to get on with the examination then.’
After Sister Ameliana had finished and left, Centaine read her letters. There was one from Garry Courtney, full of all of Theuniskraal’s news, and at the end he had affixed Shasa’s inky thumbprint below his own signature with the notation: ‘Michel Courtney, his mark.’
Anna’s voluminous wad of notepaper, covered with her large ill-formed scrawl, though difficult to decipher, left Centaine with a warm after-glow of pleasure.
Then she broke the seal of Abraham Abraham’s letter, the last in the package.
My dear Mrs Courtney,
Your letter and Dr Twentyman-Jones’s intelligence have thrown me into a fever of incredulous amazement. I cannot find the words to express my admiration for your achievement nor the pleasure I feel for your great good fortune. However, I will not weary you with my felicitations and will come directly to business.
Dr Twentyman-Jones and I have conducted extensive negotiations with the directors and managers of the Standard Bank, who have studied and evaluated the samples and report. The bank has agreed to make available to you a loan at 5½ per cent interest per annum in the sum of £100,000. You may draw upon this as you require it, and it is further agreed that this is merely a preliminary figure, and that additional amounts will be forthcoming to you in future. The loan is secured by the claim deeds of the H’ani Mine.
Dr Twentyman-Jones has also met with Mr Lothar De La Rey, and set out for him in detail the requirements of ‘phase one’ of the development of the property.
Mr De La Rey has tendered a contract price of £5,000 for the commission of this work. By virtue of your authority, I have accepted this tender and delivered to him the initial payment of £1,000, for which I hold his receipt—’
Centaine skimmed through the rest of the letter, smiling at Abrahams’ comment:
‘I have sent you the stores you required. However, I am much intrigued by the two dozen mosquito nets you have asked for. Perhaps one day you will explain what you intend to do with these, and thereby allay my burning curiosity.’
Then she set the letter aside for later rereading and sent for Lothar.
He came immediately. ‘Sister Ameliana assures me that all is well, that the pregnancy proceeds naturally without any complication, and that it is very nearly over.’
Centaine nodded and indicated the camp chair facing her.
‘I have not yet congratulated you on your discovery,’ he said as he sat down. ‘Doctor Twentyman-Jones puts a conservative value on your mining property of £3,000,000 sterling. It almost surpasses belief, Centaine.’
She inclined her head slightly and told him in a straight and level voice, ‘As you are working for me and because of the circumstances of our personal relationship, I believe the correct address in future will be Mrs Courtney. The use of my given name suggests a familiarity that no longer exists between us.’
His smile shrivelled and died. He remained silent.
‘You wish me to begin at once, not after the birth?’
‘At once, sir,’ she said sharply, ‘and I will personally oversee the clearing of the tunnel that leads into the valley, which is the first step. We will begin tomorrow night.’
By dusk they were ready. The pathway leading up the valley to the entrance of the cavern of the bees had been cleared and widened, and Lothar’s labour gangs had carried up the cords of mopani wood and stacked them at hand.
It was as though the bees of the great hive were aware of the threat, for as the sun set, its rays were shot through with the darting golden motes of the swift little insects, and the heated air trapped between the cliffs vibrated with the hum of their wings as they swirled about the heads of the sweating labourers. If it had not been for the protective mosquito nets, it was certain that all of them would have been stung repeatedly.
As the darkness fell, however, the flights of disturbed insects vanished back into the depths of the cavern. Centaine allowed an hour to pass, for the hive to quieten and settle for the night, then she told Lothar quietly, ‘You can light the smoke-pots.’
Four men, Lothar’s most reliable, bent over their pots. These were five-pound bully-beef cans, the sides perforated, the insides packed with charcoal and the herbs which Centaine had pointed out to them for gathering. The secret of the herbs was a legacy to her from O’wa, and she thought of the old Bushman now as they lit the smoke-pots and the acrid odour of burning herbs prickled her nostrils. Lothar’s men were swinging the smoke-pots on short lengths of wire, to fan the charcoal. They reminded Centaine of the incense-bearers in the Easter procession to the cathedral of Arras on Good Friday.
When all four smoke-pots were burning evenly, Lothar gave a quiet order to his men and they moved towards the entrance of the cavern. In the lantern light, they looked like wraiths. Their lower bodies were protected by heavy calf boots and leather breeches, while over their heads and torsos were draped the ghostly white mosquito nets. One by one they stooped into the entrance of the cavern, thick blue smoke boiling up from the swinging smoke-pots.
Centaine let another hour pass before she and Lothar followed them into the cavern.
The acrid smoke had fogged the interior so that she could only see a few paces ahead, and the eddying blue clouds made her giddy and nauseated. However, the dynamo hum of the great hive had been lulled by the smoke. The multitudes of glittering insects hung in drugged clusters from the ceiling and the honeycombs. There was only a sleepy whisper of sound.
Centaine hurried out of the cavern and lifted the net from her sweating face, drinking down draughts of the cool sweet night air to still her nausea, and when she could speak again, she told Lothar, ‘They can begin stacking the cordwood now, but warn them not to disturb the combs. They hang low from the roof.’
She did not enter the dark cavern again, but sat aside while Lothar’s men carried in the cords of mopani.
It was after midnight when he came out to report to her.
‘It is ready.’
‘I want you to take your men and go down to the bottom of the valley. Stay there for two hours, and then return.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I want to be alone here for a while.’
She sat alone and listened to their voices recede down into the dark gut of the valley. When it was silent, she looked up and there was O’wa’s star above the valley.
‘Spirit of great Lion Star,’ she whispered, ‘will you forgive this thing?’
She stood up, and mo
ved heavily to the cliff face.
Standing below it she raised the lantern high over her head and stared up at the gallery of Bushman painting that glowed in the yellow light. The shadows wavered so that the giant paintings of Eland and Mantis seemed to pulse with life.
‘Spirit of Eland and of Mantis, forgive me. All you guardians of the “Place where nothing must die” forgive me for this slaughter. I do it not for myself but to provide good water for the child who was born in your secret place.’
She went back to the entrance of the cavern, moving heavily with child and remorse and guilt.
‘Spirits of O’wa and of H’ani, are you watching? Will you withdraw your protection once this is done? Will you still love and protect us, Nam Child and Shasa, after this terrible betrayal?’
She sank down on her knees and prayed in silence to all the spirits of all the San gods and she did not realize that two hours had passed until she heard the voices of the men coming back up the valley.
Lothar De La Rey held a can of gasoline in each hand as he stood before her at the entrance to the cavern.
‘Do it!’ she said, and he went into the cavern of the bees.
She heard the clank of a knife-blade piercing the thin metal of the cans, and then the gurgle of running liquid. The pungent stench of raw gasoline flooded from the dark narrow entrance in the rock, and in her ears was the sound of a million bees roused from their smoke-drugged stupor by the reek.
Lothar came out of the cavern, running backwards, spilling the last of the gasoline on the rocky floor, leaving a wet trail behind him, then dropped the empty can and ran back past her.
‘Quickly!’ he panted. ‘Before the bees come out!’
Already bees were darting about in the lantern light, settling on the netting that screened her face, and more and still more boiled from the apertures in the cliff face above her.
Centaine backed away, and then swung the lantern over her head and hurled it into the entrance of the cavern. The lantern bounced off the rock, the glass shattered and it rolled over the uneven floor. The little yellow flame flickered and was almost snuffed from the wick and then suddenly the spilled gasoline caught. In a whooshing implosion that seemed to rock the earth beneath Cen-taine’s feet and which hurled her backwards, a great breath of flame shot down the mountain’s throat and its gaping mouth filled with fire. The cavern was shaped like a blast furnace, a gale of wind was sucked into it and red flames shot from the openings high up in the cliff face, burning like fifty torches, illuminating the valley with noon light. The rushing wind swiftly drowned out the agonized din of a million burning bees, and within seconds there remained only the steady roar of the flames.