Read The Shangani Patrol Online
Authors: John Wilcox
The Shangani Patrol (37 page)
‘It was not as bad as all that. They were very gentle with me, and later, I was able to wash and change the dressing.’
‘What happened when you reached Bulawayo, and why did the king send a party to look for us? If he wanted me back here, he could simply have waited for our return.’
Alice grinned. ‘I refused to see the old rascal. I was not going to let him think that he could just send his warriors and drag me back here. So when he summoned me, I told him to go to hell.’
Jenkins nodded his head approvingly. ‘Good for you, Miss Alice.’
Alice’s smile had disappeared, however. ‘Yes, well, he sent his sister to fetch me, but I insisted on talking to Fairbairn first. It was he who told me that Rhodes had sent a huge column that had already crossed into Matabeleland, that the king was in great pain and that his relationship with the white men had worsened.’ She pulled a face. ‘I realised that it would do no one any good for me to continue playing the Great White Lady, so I struck a bargain with his majesty.’
Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of bargain, for goodness’ sake?’
‘Oh, don’t worry. Your position has not been compromised and I haven’t sold bloody Rhodes short. I said that I would treat his foot if he would send a party out to find you and bring you back here. Eventually,’ her smile returned, ‘after we had exchanged a few choice words through Fairbairn, he agreed. And here you all are at last, my darlings, though you look as though you could do with a good bath and a hot meal - which shall be forthcoming, I promise.’
Simon took her hand. ‘And your leg . . . ?’
‘It has healed perfectly well. Now, when you have eaten, I think you should go and see the king.’ Her expression was now very serious. ‘And I should be very careful about what you say to him, my dear.’
‘To echo you, to hell with him.’
‘Yes, well, you won’t find him very contrite, I fear. He is not a happy monarch. Rhodes’s column of pioneers has crossed over the Shashe into Matabeleland at Tuli and is building a fort there.’
‘Rhodes has moved remarkably fast.’
‘Yes, and I understand from Fairbairn that it’s quite a crowd. The king thinks he is about to be invaded. This is a dangerous time, Simon.’
Fonthill lowered his brows over the edge of his cup. ‘But he signed the agreement. He knew that a column would be coming sooner or later to build the road.’
Alice smiled wanly. ‘Yes, but it’s very much sooner rather than later, and it sounds as though it’s a virtual army. Fairbairn tells me that there are some two hundred prospectors, a hundred and fifty native labourers and, would you believe it, five hundred “police” - they’re really soldiers - together with the usual paraphernalia of about one hundred and twenty wagons and two thousand oxen. They have even brought along a giant naval searchlight, which they shine into the bush at night to deter attack. Fairbairn is drafting a letter of protest from the king.’
Fonthill nodded and then looked at her sharply. ‘That still doesn’t excuse the bloody man from abducting my wife.’
Alice reached across and gripped his knee. ‘I think, darling, that you must be very careful how you handle Lobengula. He has not harmed me and he did agree to send men to find you. To repeat, my love, these are dangerous times. In fairness to the man, remember that he has about twenty thousand warriors who are just dying to wash their spears in British blood. He is trying to restrain them.’
Jenkins, who had been listening, pulled at his moustache. ‘Sounds a bit to me like Zululand all over again, isn’t it?’
Fonthill nodded. ‘Hmm. I think we have all done our bit for Rhodes now. You, my love, have had a bullet in your thigh, I have had my chest used as a carving block by this Portuguese madman and we have all tramped more miles than I would have wished over this bit of Africa. I have no intention of doing any further exploration to the east. I think we now make our way back down to the Cape, don’t you agree?’
‘’Ear, ’ear,’ growled Jenkins.
There was, however, an awkward silence from Alice, who looked away with an air of embarrassment.
‘What?’ Fonthill frowned in puzzlement. ‘You never wanted to come on this expedition in the first place. Whatever is the matter?’
Alice gave him a weak smile. ‘You will see that Ntini is back,’ she said. ‘He arrived just a few days ago. He came with this cable for me. I think you had better read it.’
Simon took the cable form. It was from the editor of the
Morning Post
in London, and it read:
Morning Post
in London, and it read:
SPLENDID COPY STOP UNDERSTAND PIONEER COLUMN HEADING NORTHWARDS STOP TROUBLE EXPECTED FROM LOBENGULA STOP OPPOSITION PAPERS WITH COLUMN STOP CAN YOU JOIN IT SOONEST AND REPORT TROUBLE AND PROGRESS STOP CONGRATULATIONS STOP LIKE OLD TIMES STOP CORNFORD
Fonthill looked up in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean that you are going to join the column, surely?’
At this point, Jenkins rose and ostentatiously walked to where his pack lay. There he began unpacking it. Alice followed him with her eyes before replying.
‘I must, Simon.’ She spoke softly and slowly. ‘When I agreed to accompany you on this expedition, I did so on the understanding that I would report it for the
Morning Post
. You know that. I made a commitment to Cornford.’
Morning Post
. You know that. I made a commitment to Cornford.’
‘Yes, but this thing could develop now into a full-scale war, another Isandlwana for all I know. You can’t be involved in that, my darling. It would be far too dangerous.’
She blew out her cheeks. ‘Well, my love, let’s see.’ She began counting on her fingers. ‘So far on this trip I have been involved in a close-up encounter with lions; two attacks by Portuguese mercenaries; a fight with slavers; and I have been abducted. Now, a bit of old-fashioned campaigning with a British invading force - for that’s what it sounds like - should really represent only a touch of light relief, don’t you think?’
Fonthill’s face was thunderous. ‘Don’t be flippant, Alice. We agreed that you would report for the
Morning Post
only on our expedition, not some bloody invasion of the whole territory.’
Morning Post
only on our expedition, not some bloody invasion of the whole territory.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Alice now gave her husband her sweetest smile, ‘did you not wish to see for yourself this wonderful farming country in Mashonaland that the prospecting column will discover? And didn’t Mr Rhodes offer to give you some of this prime land - even though it wasn’t his to give? Don’t you think you should look at it?’
‘Oh come along, Alice. You know that I never wished you to become involved with the column. I really thought that your journalistic days were over - with the exception, that is, of reporting on our particular expedition.’ He held up the cable. ‘Cornford speaks about “the opposition” accompanying the column. This means that you will be in it again up to your neck, trying to get scoops and all the rest of it. I know what you are like. You will be sticking your neck out, taking risks to get exclusives and so on. You will be well and truly back in the profession. And I shall lose you, I know it.’ He floundered for a moment, lost for further words. ‘Dammit all, it’s not right, you know.’
Alice’s face lost its expression of sweet cynicism and she reached out and took his hand. ‘My darling, you will
never
lose me, you know that.’ She paused for a moment and then spoke softly again. ‘When I look at you, my love, I see a nose broken by a musket barrel in Afghanistan, a back terribly scarred by a Dervish whip in the Sudan, and now a chest cut horribly by a Portuguese knife. You have sustained all of this in the service of the Empire, although you haven’t served formally in the army for years. Yet I do not begrudge you your adventuring, although I worry about you terribly. But I must have a life too, you know. It would perhaps be different if we had a child, but . . .’ her voice faltered for a moment, ‘we do not, so one half of us can’t be off adventuring for the Queen and the other sitting at home knitting. Well, not this half anyway.’
never
lose me, you know that.’ She paused for a moment and then spoke softly again. ‘When I look at you, my love, I see a nose broken by a musket barrel in Afghanistan, a back terribly scarred by a Dervish whip in the Sudan, and now a chest cut horribly by a Portuguese knife. You have sustained all of this in the service of the Empire, although you haven’t served formally in the army for years. Yet I do not begrudge you your adventuring, although I worry about you terribly. But I must have a life too, you know. It would perhaps be different if we had a child, but . . .’ her voice faltered for a moment, ‘we do not, so one half of us can’t be off adventuring for the Queen and the other sitting at home knitting. Well, not this half anyway.’
Fonthill gripped her hand tightly in return.
‘You see,’ she continued, ‘I have made a commitment to Cornford and he was kind enough to take me on. Now I don’t anticipate for one moment returning to the
Morning Post
as a full-time correspondent, even if they would have me. But to be
here
, on the spot, so to speak, of this remarkable expansion of the Empire - even if I don’t approve of it, perhaps particularly
because
I don’t approve of it - and not write about it would be a terrible waste of the talent I know I have. I must report on what happens to this column and see it through. Then I can stop. Do you see?’
Morning Post
as a full-time correspondent, even if they would have me. But to be
here
, on the spot, so to speak, of this remarkable expansion of the Empire - even if I don’t approve of it, perhaps particularly
because
I don’t approve of it - and not write about it would be a terrible waste of the talent I know I have. I must report on what happens to this column and see it through. Then I can stop. Do you see?’
Simon sighed. ‘Very well. I shall come with you, of course. But I must give 352 and Mzingeli the chance to opt out, if they wish.’
‘Of course.’
Wearily, Fonthill stood and called Jenkins and Mzingeli over. They sat around Alice while Simon explained the situation. ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘we cannot ask you to accompany us - nor the boys, of course - and I can understand why you in particular, Mzingeli, would want to return to the Transvaal. It is up to you.’
‘Well.’ Jenkins looked affronted. ‘I go where you go, you know that, bach sir. But if you don’t want . . .’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course we both want you. Please come with us. There will be plenty to do. What about you, Mzingeli? I would continue to pay you, of course, but we shall quite understand if you have had enough of danger and fighting.’
The tracker gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head. ‘I come,’ he said. ‘You want Ntini and Joshua?’
‘Oh yes please,’ interjected Alice. ‘I would like them to come and run my cables back for me.’
‘Yes. Then they come.’
Simon gave a weary grin and rose to his feet. ‘It seems,’ he said, ‘as though Fonthill’s private army stays in being, then. Thank you both. Well done. Now, I suppose I ought to go and see the bloody king.’
‘Not before you have shaved,’ said Alice. ‘And you, 352. You look like a pair of pirates. But you, Mzingeli, have managed to preserve your essential elegance and dignity. I am proud of you.’
She received the tracker’s slightly embarrassed half-smile in return.
Later, Fonthill and Mzingeli walked down the hill to the king’s house. Simon’s anger at Lobengula’s abduction of Alice had abated somewhat, not least because he had sensed a change in mood by the Matabele towards him and his party. The men who had met him out on the high veldt had been surly and had not engaged in conversation with Mzingeli, merely stating that they had come to fetch the white man back to his wife. In Bulawayo, there was now an undoubted air of hostility. Warriors were sitting outside their huts, ostentatiously sharpening their assegais and bending new hides around the framework of their shields. If Simon caught their eye, he received a scowl. It was not a good time to attempt to rebuke a king whose people were itching to go to war, to wash their spears in the blood of white men.
He found Lobengula standing, for once, and talking to his
inDunas
. The king whirled round and indicated that Fonthill and Mzingeli should sit, and then walked slowly to his couch.
inDunas
. The king whirled round and indicated that Fonthill and Mzingeli should sit, and then walked slowly to his couch.
Simon inclined his head. ‘Tell the king,’ he said to Mzingeli, ‘that I hope I find him in good health and that his foot is causing him no pain.’
Lobengula ignored the pleasantries. ‘I take back your wife because my foot bad,’ he said, through the tracker. ‘If you there when my men found her, they would explain that we borrow her. But you gone. We not harm her. Treat her well. And then send my people to tell you we have her safe here and bring you back.’
‘I have to say, your majesty, that in my country it is a criminal offence to abduct someone’s wife.’
At this, Lobengula stood and advanced on the seated pair, so that he loomed over them, his face like thunder. ‘You not in your country,’ he shouted, ‘you in mine. I do what I want here. But I no harm your wife. I ask her to do service for me. If white men respect king, she should do that service.’
Fonthill kept his voice level and looked the king in the eye. ‘You will know that my wife is not a doctor, and that in England, as in Matabeleland, her duty is to her husband. But she believes in trying to reduce pain with the drugs at her disposal. How is your foot now?’
The directness of the question and the refusal of Fonthill to be bullied slightly disconcerted Lobengula. He raised his eyebrows and then lifted his right foot and replaced it again. ‘Foot better,’ he said. ‘King is grateful to Nkosana. What you do now?’
Other books
Lady in Flames by Ian Lewis
The Trouble With Being Wicked by Emma Locke
Threads of Change by Jodi Barrows
A Princess of the Aerie by John Barnes
Museum of the Weird by Gray, Amelia
The Hundred Gram Mission by Navin Weeraratne
Dead on Ice by Lauren Carr
A Shadow Fell by Patrick Dakin
The Immortal Prince by Jennifer Fallon