Mungo St. John was on his quarterdeck, gaunt and lean and pale, and he took a step towards her, but she turned from him immediately. Nathaniel, she called to the bosun. 'I wish to visit the buggaloo. ' She indicated the Arab dhow which was still anchored downstream from Huron. She's making ready to sail, ma'am. ' Nathaniel knuckled his forehead. 'She'll be gone before we can get across'She will if you continue talking, ' Robyn told him briskly. 'I must see if there is aught they need, the poor devils, before they sail.'
Nathaniel glanced at his Captain, and after a moment's hesitation, Mungo, nodded his assent and turned back to watch the stream of slaves coming aboard through the entry port.
The Arab Captain of the dhow, just strong enough to take his place at the tiller, greeted her respectfully and listened attentively while she spoke.
Nathaniel was waiting in the gig, out of sight below the level of the dhow's deck, and Robyn made sure that they were shielded from a casual watcher on Huron's deck before she passed the canvas package to the Arab, and followed it with a gold English sovereign. There will be another sovereign for you, from the man You deliver it to, she told him, and the Arab bit the coin, and smiled wanly as he tucked it into a fold of his turban.
And I am Matabele. Induna of two thousand. My name is Gandang, son of Mzilikazi, son of Zulu, and I come with a bright spear and a red heart.'
Zouga understood the words with difficulty, for they were spoken rapidly, in accents that were strange to his ears, but there was no misunderstanding the Induna's intention. His tone was clear, the murderous determination in his voice evident, and around him the circle of long black shields was unbroken and steadfast.
Unconsciously Zouga had straightened, forcing his aching muscles erect, and he held the Induna's gaze without flinching.
They stared at each other, and Zouga found himself exerting all his will, all the force of his personality, trying to stay the Induna's spear arm. He knew it needed only for the bright broad blade to drop and two hundred amadoda would sweep into the rudimentary camp. It would be over so swiftly, the resistance that Zouga and his tiny band could offer would be so puny that they would not even earn the compliment of disembowelment from the victors.
He knew that only his steady gaze and the corn pletely fearless mien that he offered to the Matabele had so far stayed the spear arm, but the silence was drawing out.
At any second the spell would snap. He must choose his next action and words as though his life depended upon them, as indeed they did.
Gandang watched the strange pale man before him with his features impassive, yet for possibly the first time in his life while on his father's service, he was uncertain.
The man who called himself Bakela had spoken familiar names. Tshedi and Manali, they were names that his own father revered, yet that in itself would not have been enough to stay his hand, for the King's orders were clear: all who entered the Burnt Land must die. It was more than that. He knew who this man was. The maiden who he would soon take as wife had spoken of him. This was the brother of the white woman who had delivered Juba to his care, and who he had called amekazi, mother.
Juba had spoken of the man Bakela as she lay beside him on her sleeping-mat. She had spoken of him with admiration and awe, as a mighty hunter of elephant, as a warrior honoured by an all-powerful Queen who lived far beyond great waters. Juba had spoken of this man Bakela as a friend and a protector.
So Gandang paused before giving the order 'Bulala!
Kill themV A Matabele Induna is never influenced by the words of a woman, if he has fifty wives their voices are still as the chattering of the waters over the rocks in the shallow rapids of the Nyati river, and a man does not heed them, or rather it must never be apparent that he heeds them.
Juba had travelled to strange places and spoken of wonders and witchery, and Gandang while seeming not to listen had indeed listened and been impressed. The girl was not only comely and high bred, but sensible far beyond that mere simpering giggling sexuality to which he was accustomed in other girls of her age.
Gandang was learning that a Matabele Induna is never influenced by the whims and words of a woman, unless those words are spoken and the whims expressed on the privacy of the sleeping-mat, by a senior wife whose good sense has been proven.
Then it is folly not to hearken, for a senior wife can make a man's life unbearable, even if that man is an Induna of two thousand, and the favoured son of the most powerful monarch in Africa.
Behind the dark impassive mask of his handsome face, Gandang was thinking furiously. Instinct and Juba's words had warned him that it would be folly to slay this man, yet the warriors at his back knew his orders, and if he failed to carry them out, that failure would immediately be construed as weakness, and his treason reported to the King.
Before him the tattered figure took a pace forward, his whole being ludicrously arrogant. Gandang could see no trace of fear in the steady gaze of his strangely coloured eyes. I come as an emissary to the great King Mzilikazi, ruler of the Matabele people, and I bring greeting from the White Queen from across the waters At the words Gandang felt a small warm flame. of relief. The fact that the white man spoke the language of the people, albeit with a strange accent, made it more plausible that he was indeed an emissary. It was plausible, also, that this Queen of his would want to seek the protection and favour of a king as powerful as his father, and that she should be so ignorant as to send her emissary through the Burnt Land instead of along the open road from the south. Zouga saw the shift of mood in the Induna's eyes, that tiny crack in his determination.
Wait, he said. 'There is something that I have for you. , In Zouga's writing-case still reposed the impressive handwritten letters, with seals of wax and scarlet ribbon, that had been provided him by the Under-secretary at the Foreign Office, in the usual form.
In the name of Her Britannic Majesty, Ruler of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, To the representatives of all foreign governments or to whosoever it may concern, We do, by these presents, request and require that our beloved Morris Zouga Ballantyne be allowed to pass freely without let or hindrance and that he be afforded that assistance of which he may stand in need.
Zouga turned his back on the silent menacing ranks of spears-men, and walked back slowly through the gap in the scherm of cut thorn branches.
Jan Cheroot was waiting for him, his face the colour of the watch-fire ash. He and the gunbearers were crouched below the thorn barrier, staring through the chinks with expressions of such utter terror that Zouga felt emboldened in comparison. Lay down those guns, ' he snapped, for all the weapons were cocked and primed and a
