by Saul David
'Has he duped you personally?'
'No, but you hear things. If you do trade with him, fix a price and stick to it.'
'I'll try and remember that,' said George, unconvinced Sihayo was as bad as Witt was making out. All missionaries had a vested interest in overturning the old order, and Sihayo was very much the old order. George was keen to meet him and make up his own mind.
'I hope you don't mind me saying this,' said Witt, an apologetic look on his face. 'I know you said you were a trader, but you have the air of a military man to me. This wouldn't be anything to do with the boundary award, would it?'
Taken off guard, George feigned ignorance. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Don't take it the wrong way. It's just that we're all waiting on tenterhooks. If the award goes against the Zulus, as we're certain it will, then war is on the cards. Only when the Zulus have been defeated will we be able to sleep easy at night.'
'Do you really believe they'd invade Natal?'
'I do, and so would you if you and your family were sitting defenceless with forty thousand bloodthirsty warriors on your doorstep.'
George caught something out of the corner of his eye: it was his wagon coming slowly down the slope. 'My people at last,' said George, pointing out of the window. 'I'd better be making tracks. You said something about a map?'
'One moment.' Witt came back with a small-scale, poorly detailed map upon which was marked a track that led from the drift to the Zulu capital of Ulundi, a distance of sixty miles. 'Once you're over the drift,' said Witt, tracing the route with his finger, 'follow the track for about a mile until you reach the Bashee River. Cross the river, turn immediately left and you'll come to a huge horseshoe gorge. Sihayo's kraal is directly below the cliff face. You can't miss it, and if you do, his people will show you the way.'
It took the best part of three hours to get the wagon across the drift. First the oxen had to be turned loose to graze, then given a similar amount of time to regurgitate and chew the cud, and finally inspanned to the trek tow and loaded on to the pont, a small ferry that worked the river by means of anchored cables. The water level was so low that George was able to ride across, guiding Emperor between the large flat rocks that jutted above the surface. He was tempted to explore the steep rocky escarpment that lay directly beyond the drift. But he decided to wait for the wagon, and it was not until five in the afternoon, with the sun beginning to set, that they were ready to set off down the dusty, rutted track on the last leg of the journey.
'It'll be dark soon,' said Snyman from the box seat. 'Probably best to camp here for the night if we know what's good for us.'
It was more a statement than a question, and George resented its tone. In truth his temper had been building over the last few days of delay. 'Nonsense,' he replied firmly, from the saddle. 'What have we got to fear? We're not at war with the Zulus, so let's keep going. Another half an hour should do it.'
And it might have done in daylight, but the track was so hard to follow in the failing light, the broken ground so uneven, that George eventually gave up and told a smug- looking Snyman to outspan and set up camp. They followed their usual drill: Samuel turned the oxen loose to graze, while Snyman put up a small two-man tent in the lee of the wagon and George collected wood for a fire. Within twenty minutes they were sitting snug round a blazing campfire, drinking black coffee and eating dried biscuit and boiled ham.
'Any game to be seen hereabouts?' asked George, as he stared nervously into the inky blackness.
'No big game, if that's what you mean,' replied Snyman. 'It was all hunted out years ago. But you still get the odd antelope.'
As if in confirmation, a twig snapped behind them, beyond the wagon. George's raised eyebrows were met with a Boer shrug. 'Probably one of the oxen.'
'Take a look, Samuel,' said George to the young African.
Samuel got up and disappeared into the darkness. There was a scraping sound and what appeared to be a muffled cry. George turned to look and froze. By the light of the fire he could just make out a large group of warriors, armed with shields and assegais, advancing steadily towards them at the crouch. On seeing George, the leader cried, 'Jee!' and dashed forward.
'Zulus!' shouted George, springing to his feet and reaching for the pistol in his waistband. He was too late. As his hand closed on the wooden butt, a Zulu shoulder caught him full in the chest, driving him backwards on to the scrubby ground. A heavy body was pinning him down; the smell of sweat, animal skin and clay was overpowering. George looked up, gasping for breath, and saw two rows of white teeth smiling above him. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could also see the tip of an assegai poised an inch from his chest. He kept perfectly still.
'Have you secured the other two?' George's assailant asked his men.
'Yes, Inkhosi.'
'Good.'
George was hauled to his feet. 'Who are you?' asked the leader, 'and why are you camping on my father's land without permission?'
'You're Sihayo's son?' asked George.
'Answer the question!'
George thought of declaring his kinship, in the hope it would relieve the tension, but the bishop had advised him to reveal neither his identity nor his mission until he was in Sihayo's presence. Instead he said, 'My name's George Hart. I've brought goods to trade for cattle. I mean no harm.'
'Why, then, were you creeping around like thieves in the night?' asked his interrogator, his handsome face cocked to one side, as though he were more amused than angry. He was powerfully built with broad shoulders and muscular arms, and was naked apart from a loin covering and what looked like bunches of white oxtails round his neck, wrists and knees; his hair was set high on his head in two domed ridges, giving him the appearance of being taller than he really was.
'We weren't creeping anywhere,' replied George indignantly. 'We were hoping to reach your father's kraal before dark, but lost our way.'
'I don't believe you, white man. I think you and your accomplices are masquerading as traders; I think your true intention is to survey this territory for the Natal authorities.'
'Why would we do that?'
'To prepare the ground for an invasion. You and I both know the Boundary Commission will rule against the Zulus and that war is likely. You're spies, and the penalty for spying in Zululand is death.'
A chill ran up George's spine. He could not believe what he was hearing. Yes, he wanted to scream, I am a spy but not in the way you think. But would this fiery young warrior, related to him by blood, accept the true version of events? He suspected not, which is why he had to tread very carefully.
'Would it change your mind,' said George, 'if I told you we were related?'
The son roared with laughter. 'How can you, a white man,' he said between chuckles, 'be related to me?'
'I'm Ngqumbazi's grandson. You have heard of Ngqumbazi?'
The son's laugh faded to a scowl. 'That dung beetle! We don't speak her name. You say you're her grandson? Then your grandfather must have been the white soldier who seduced her and shamed her in front of her family.'
'I was told her family had forgiven her. That's why she left the baby, my mother, and returned to Zululand.'
'The family never forgave her,' said the warrior without pity. 'How could it, and still be respected by its people? She returned, yes, but remained an outcast.'
'What happened to her?' asked George.
'She was banished to a small kraal in the hills, well away from the family. She died there about ten years ago.'
George could feel his anger rising. Cousin or no, he could happily have killed the implacable warrior before him. To think his grandmother had given up her only child to be with her people and they had treated her like this, shunned her like a crazed dog. Try as he might, he was finding it difficult to feel a common bond with this hard, cruel race. 'What is your name?' he asked.
The warrior stood to his full height. 'Mehlokazulu kaSi- hayo, my father's first-born. It means "Eyes of the Nation".'
'Well, "Eyes of the Nation",' said George with an edge to his voice, 'are going to take me to your father or not?'
'No. I have work to do in Natal, but I will leave two men to guide you in the morning. Your wagon can stay here; it's too big to make the climb.'
He turned, spoke briefly to two warriors, and disappeared into the night, the bulk of his men trotting after him.
George spurred Emperor on, urging him up the steep path that led to Sihayo's eyrie. They had left at first light and, with the two warriors acting as guides, it had not taken them long to reach the magnificent sight of the horseshoe gorge; but the climb was a different prospect, and not for the first time George wondered how an attacking force would fare over ground littered with large rocks and monkey-rope creepers. At last the ground began to level out and there, nestled up against the blood-red cliff face, lay Sihayo's kraal, kwaSox- hege.
Like all Zulu homesteads, it consisted of a circle of thatched beehive-shaped huts built on sloping ground around a central cattle enclosure known as an isibaya. Security was provided by an outer perimeter of stakes and thorn trees, with the main entrance at its lowest point. As George entered the kraal on foot, flanked by his escort, he noticed the neighbouring mealie and vegetable fields were full of half-naked women and children, their modesty covered by small rectangles of beadwork and animal skins. So Witt was right again: menial work did not agree with Zulu men.
Inside, George gazed in awe at the sheer size of the place. He put the number of huts, some of them the size of small barns, in excess of sixty: these would house not only Sihayo, his wives and children, but also the families of his younger brothers, married sons and chief retainers. One of these huts, according to the son he had met in the valley, was now empty.
George was led round the brushwood perimeter of the isibaya to the hut of the chief's great wife, the undlunkulu-, it was both the largest dwelling and situated on the highest ground, giving it a commanding view of the entire kraal and its main approach. Outside the hut, he came across a handsome, rotund man of about fifty with salt-and-pepper hair. Reclining on a sheepskin, he was taking snuff and calling on the women and children in the fields to stop chattering and get on with their work. He was scantily clad in a monkey-tail kilt, though his heavily beaded necklace and leopardskin headband denoted a man of substance; and, like all married men, he wore the black head-ring known as the isicoco, a fibre circlet about half an inch thick, which was woven into the hair and polished with beeswax, the ultimate recognition of his manhood and adult status. It could only be Sihayo.
'Inkhosi,' said one of the warriors in confirmation. 'Your son Mehlokazulu found this white man in the valley below.'
Sihayo looked up and frowned. 'Where is my son? Why did he not escort the white man himself?'
The warrior looked nervous, almost afraid to speak the truth. 'He's hunting, Inkhosi.''
'Hunting? Hunting where?'
'In Natal,' interjected George in Zulu.
Sihayo turned his glare upon the stranger. 'Who are you? And what do you know of my son's actions?'
'My name is George Hart. I was sent by Bishop Colenso with news of the Boundary Commission. Last night your son and his men burst into my camp and held my party at spearpoint. When I explained who I was, he told me he was on his way to Natal.'
'The hot-headed fool!' exclaimed Sihayo, the blood draining from his face. 'Didn't I tell him to let the matter lie? Yes, but when has he listened to his father?' He turned to the warrior who had spoken. 'Sithobe, take some mounted men and try and intercept Mehlokazulu and his men before they do something we'll all regret.'
'Yes, Inkhosi. But he has a good few hours' start on us and will be in Natal by now.'
'I know that. Do what you can.'
As Sithobe left with the other warrior, Sihayo turned back to George. 'So tell me about the Boundary Commission.'
'Its report will recommend the border follows the line of the Blood River.'
'A generous settlement indeed; Cetshwayo will be pleased. But how do I know you speak the truth?'
George handed Sihayo a letter from Bishop Colenso, which he had kept hidden in the lining of his corduroy jacket. The chief tore open the letter and read the bishop's confirmation that the report would favour the Zulus.
'Aieee,' said Sihayo. 'Durnford is a man of his word, after all. Who would have thought the white man would rule in favour of the Zulu?'
'I know. It came as quite a surprise to the bishop, which is why he sent me in person. He's anxious the Zulus don't commit any aggressive acts that will give Frere an excuse to ignore the report. You must tell Cetshwayo of this as soon as possible.'
'I will, but it may already be too late. Three days ago one of my junior wives, Nandi, went missing; yesterday we received word that she was living just across the Buffalo in the kraal of a Kaffir member of the Natal Border Guard. To think she would leave me, a great chief, for such a traitorous jackal! Anyhow, Mehlokazulu came to me and offered to bring her back by force. I refused. But he seems to have gone anyway.'"
'My God!' said George. 'If your son crosses the border into Natal with a war party, all hell will break loose. This might be just the type of provocation Frere needs to justify a war. You must stop him.'
'Sithobe will do his best. In the meantime all we can do is wait. With luck he won't find her and no harm will be done. But if he does return with her, the isanusi will decide her fate.'
'The isanusi?’
'The diviner of the tribe. It's his job to smell out evil spirits. He will decide if my wife is guilty of adultery.'
'And if she is?'
'She will die.'
'Chief, you can't let that happen. Recovering a Zulu refugee from Natal by force is bad enough, but if you kill her, the people of Natal will be in an uproar.'
Sihayo waved his hand dismissively. 'Why should they care? It's happened before and nothing came of it.'
'Yes,' said George, 'but this time it's different. The high commissioner is looking for any excuse to declare war on the Zulus and you mustn't give him one.'
'I can't interfere with the customs of our people. Let's talk no more of this. We have good news to celebrate. Come.'
George followed the chief into his hut, crouching low through the entrance, and found himself in a dark, windowless room, supported by wooden cross-struts and pillars, with a fireplace at its centre. There was no chimney, and the hut smelt strongly of wood-smoke and cow-dung, a liberal quantity of which had been mixed with clay from white anthills and polished with ash and bullock's blood to produce the smooth mahogany-coloured floor. Sihayo was busy pouring a thick dark liquid from an earthen pot into a smaller clay vessel. This he handed to George, who, unwilling to offend, took a long draught and promptly choked on the heady brew of what tasted like a very strong beer, complete with half-fermented grains. Sihayo laughed and clapped him on the back.
'Sit,' he directed, spreading out a grass sleeping mat. 'Will you share a pipe with me while we wait for my son to return?'
George nodded and Sihayo fetched what looked like a hollowed-out cow's horn, half filled it with water and placed inside it a small bowl containing some dried leaves. A burning coal was put on top of the leaves, and as smoke began to appear, Sihayo clamped the open end of the horn to his mouth and inhaled deeply. Wide-eyed, he handed the horn to George, who followed suit and at once collapsed in a fit of coughing, his eyes streaming tears. 'By Jove,' spluttered George, lightheaded. 'That's strong stuff. What is it?
'Insangu,' replied Sihayo. 'It grows wild. Do you like it?'
'I'm sure I could get to like it. But I fear I may need a clear head when your son returns. Are those,' asked George, pointing to a bundle of spears, 'Shaka's famous stabbing assegais?'
'They are.'
'Mind if I take a look?'
'Of course not,' said Sihayo, detaching one from the bundle and handing it to George. 'We call it the iklwa because that's the sound it makes as it's withdrawn from human flesh.'
'Careful,' said the chief. 'It's very sharp. Let me show you how to use it.'
He took the spear from George and gripped it in his right hand, midway down the shaft. His left arm he held in front of his body, as if he was holding a shield.
'We hook the shield behind that of our enemy and sweep it to the left, so uncovering the exposed flank. Then we move in with the iklwa, aiming for the chest.' Sihayo turned his shoulders and demonstrated the underhand stabbing motion. 'Once the enemy is down,' added Sihayo with a smile, 'we slit open his stomach to release his spirit. If we do not, the spirit will haunt us.'