Zouga had sat by and watched the King give judgement on a hundred such occasions. Sometimes the decision had been worthy of a black Solomon, at others Zouga had been appalled by the barbaric savagery of the sentence.
Now the King stared at the man before him, and he fiddled with the toy spear in his right hand, frowning and shaking his head softly, then he reached a decision, and leaning forward he proffered the weapon to the man who knelt before him. With this blade, open the womb of the woman you love, take out from it that which offends against law and against custom, and place it in my hands.'
Zouga did not sleep that night, and once he threw off his blankets and hurried to the fringe of the acacia grove to retch and heave, vomiting up his horror at what he had witnessed.
In the morning the memory of the girl's screams had not faded but the King was jocular and garrulous, pressing pot after pot of sour beer on Zouga's rebellious stomach, recounting episodes from his long and eventful life, describing vividly the scenes from his childhood and youth in far-off Zululand with a certain old man's wistful nostalgia.
Then suddenly, without any prior hint that he would do so, he commanded Zouga, 'Speak the words of your paper.'
He listened silently as Zouga translated the terms of the concession he was seeking, and at the end he mused a moment. To hunt elephant and to dig a hole, ' he mumbled at last. 'It is not so very much you wish for. Write that you will do these things only in the land below the Zambezi, east of the Inyati River and above the Limpopo.'
Not quite convinced that the King was this time serious, Zouga quickly added the proviso to the foot of his home-grown legal document.
Then he directed the King's trembling hand to form the big uncertain cross below it. Alzilikazi: his mark.'
The King's pleasure in affixing the wax seal beside his mark was childlike and unaffected. After it was done he passed it to his Indunas to admire, and leaned forward towards Zouga. Now that you have what you want from me, you will wish to leave. ' There was regret in the rheumy eyes, and Zouga felt a pang of guilt, but he replied directly. I cannot hunt in the rains, and there is much work for me to accomplish in my own land across the sea. I must go, but I shall return, Nkosi Nkulu. 'I give you the road to the south, Bakela the Fist. Go in peace and return to me soon, for your presence pleases me, and your words are wise for one still so youngStay in peace, Great Elephant. ' Zouga rose and left the King's courtyard, and his step was as light as his spirits were gay. He had the concession buttoned into the breastpocket of his tunic, fifty-six pounds of native gold in his chest, the stone bird of Zimbabwe, and three fine tusks of ivory to buy his way. The road to the south, to Good Hope and to England lay open before him.
The wind was offshore, a faint backlash of the monsoon, but the sky was low and grey and the twisting squalls of rain fell from it like pearl dust.
Ensign Ferris, Black joke's most junior officer, was taking his sights off the traverse board as the gunboat closed the land, calling them quietly to the signals yeoman who swiftly worked out the distance offshore, and wrote this down on the navigation slate, so that any moment the Captain could glance down at it to confirm his own observations.
There was a man in the bows with a leadline, chanting the depth as he read it from the markings on the line, then twirling the weight and hurling it out ahead of Black joke's creeping bows, letting it sink and then reading the mark again as the ship passed over it. By the deep six.'
Clinton Codrington was conning his ship in by the leadsman's chant, by the angles that Ferris was shooting off the land features which they had identified, by the colour shadings of the water, by the break and swirl of the tide on shoal and bank, and by a seaman's instinct.
The chart surveyed thirty years previously by Captain Owen, R. N he trusted not at all. Bring her around a point, he told the bel quietly, and as the ship swung towards the land, they smelt it on the wind. Slave stink! exclaimed Denham fiercely, and as he said it the masthead lookout sang out sharply, Smoke! Smoke from the right bank of the river. 'How far up stream? 'Two miles or more, sir!
' For the first time since sailing from Zanzibar harbour, Clinton allowed himself to believe that he was in time, that he had reached the Rio Save in time to answer the heartrending appeal of the woman he loved. We will clear for action, if you please, Mr. Denham, but don't run out the guns. ' He kept his voice level and formal, but his Lieutenant grinned at him. A fair cop, by Jove.
Congratulations, sir, and the crew laughed and skylarked as they lined up at the arms chest to receive their pistol and cutlass.
As Black Joke breasted the breaking white water of the bar, touched sand bottom for a moment and then broke the grip of it, and surged forward into the dark green and still waters of the estuary, Clinton nodded at Denham. You may run out the guns now.'
He had delayed until this moment to avoid altering the ship's trim during the critical passage of the bar.
With the carriages rumbling ominously, Black joke bared her fangs and under fighting sail, her bronze propeller thrashing exultingly, her crew armed and eager, she went into the labyrinth of the Rio Save like a ferret into the warren.
Clinton took her around the first bend, following the deep green sweep of the channel between the paler sandbanks. it was two hours past low tide and the flood was pushing strongly, the leadsman calling good bottom and Clinton was trying to conceal his impatience and eagerness by the calm controlled tone in which he called his orders to the helm. Would you just look at that! exclaimed Ferris, and pointed over the side. Beside them floated what looked like an ebony log. It was only as they passed and it bobbed and rolled in their wake that Clinton realized that it was a human corpse, stomach distended, round and shiny with gas and limbs twisted like the branches of a tree blasted by lightning. Clinton transferred his attention back to the ship, with a small grimace of distaste. Meet her, he told the hehnsman and then as they tore around the broad curve of water between the mangrove forests and the full stretch of the estuary opened ahead of them, he said, 'Midships! ' His voice was flat, unemotional, neither triumphant nor dejected. Smoke rose from the bank of the river, and through his glass he could see the smouldering remains of a series, of long low buildings, roofs burned through and collapsed inwards. They seemed to have been deliberately fired.
in the smoke soaring and circling on spread wings rose a host of birds, buzzards and kites and vultures and the carrion-eating marabou storks. They seemed to reach up with the smoke to the belly of the lowering monsoon clouds, dimming the light of day with their wings. The oppressive towering silence was broken only by the faint high cries of the birds, and the river was empty.
Clinton and his officers stared silently at the wide deserted sweep of the Rio Save, green and smooth from bank to mangrove-clad bank. No one spoke as Black Joke bore on, close in to the ruined and blackened barracoons.
