grunted with approval, as he spread it between them.
It was a map of Central Africa, east to west coast, south to the Limpopo, north to the lakes, drawn in India ink and the borders were illuminated by Harkness characteristic figures and animals.
Instantly Zouga coveted it with his very soul. All that Harkness had accused his father of he felt in his own heart. He had to have this, even if it was necessary to steal, or, by God, kill. He had to have it.
The map was huge, at least five feet square, handdrawn on the finest quality linen-backed paper. It was unique, the detail enormous; the notations were profuse but succinct, the observations first hand, the details precise, written in a tiny elegant script that needed a reading glass to be deciphered with ease. Here heavy concentrations of elephant herds during June to September. 'Here I sampled gold reef in ancient workings at two ounces to the ton. 'Here rich copper is worked by Gutus people. 'Here slave convoys depart for the coast in June.'
There were literally hundreds of these notations, each in a neatly numbered box, that corresponded to the exact location on the map.
Harkness watched Zouga's face, with a sly half-smile on his face, and then handed him a reading-glass to continue his examination.
It took Zouga a few minutes to realize that the pink shaded areas indicated the 'fly corridors' of the high African plateau.
The safe areas through which domestic animals could be moved to avoid the tsetse fly belts. The terrible Ngana disease which the fly carried could decimate the herds.
Knowledge of these corridors had been gathered by the African tribes over hundreds of years, and here it was faithfully recorded by Thomas Harkness.
The value of this knowledge was incalculable. Here Mzilikazi's border impis kill all travellers. 'Here there is no water between May and October. 'Here dangerous malarial vapours during October to December.'
The areas of greatest hazard were signposted, while the known routes to the interior were clearly marked, though there were few enough of these.
The cities of the African kings were marked, as was the location of their military kraals, the areas of influence of each were defined and the names of the subservient chiefs noted. Here concession to hunt elephant must be obtained from Chief Mara. He is treacherous.'
Harkness watched the young man eagerly poring over the priceless document. His expression was almost fond, and he nodded his head once as a memory passed like a shadow behind his eyes. He spoke at last. Your father would be trying to restore his reputation at a single stroke, Harkness mused. 'He would have to feed that monstrous ego. There are two areas that come immediately to mind. HereV He placed his open hand across an enormous area to the north and west of the defined shape of Lake Marawi.
In this area the copious and authoritative notations were replaced by meagre, hesitant observations obtained from hearsay or native legend, and by speculation followed by a question mark. Sheikh Assab of the Omani Arabs reports River Lualaba runs north and west. Possible flow into Lake Tanganyika. ' The dotted outlines of rivers, instead of crisp detail. 'Pemba, the Chief of the Marakan, reports huge lake shaped like butterfly twenty-five days march from Khoto Khota. Called Lomani. Possible source of Luapula and of Herodotus fountain. ' The lake was sketched in.
Question. Is Lake Tanganyika connected to Lake Albert?
Question. Is Lake Tanganyika connected to Lake Lomani? If so, Lomani is ultimate source of Nile river? ' Harkness touched the two question marks with his gnarled and bony finger. Here, said Harkness. The big question marks.
The Nile river. That would attract Fuller. He spoke of it often. ' Harkness chuckled. 'Always with the same introductory words, 'of course, the fame matters not at all to me'. ' The old man shook his silver head. 'It mattered not less than the air he breathed. Yes, the source of the Nile river and the fame that it would bring its discoverer that would fascinate him.'
Harkness stared for a long time at the empty spaces, dreaming perhaps, visions awakening behind the bright black eyes. He aroused himself at last, shaking his shaggy head as if to clear it.
There would be only one other feat that would attract as much attention, would be greeted with as much acclaim. ' Harkness ran his spread hand southwards down the parchment to cover another vast void in the web of mountains and rivers. 'Here, he said softly. 'The forbidden kingdom of the Monornatapas.'
The name itself had an eerie quality. Monomatapa.
The sound of it raised the fine hair on the back of Zouga's neck.
You have heard of it? ' Harkness asked. Yes, ' Zouga nodded. 'They say it is the Ophir of the Bible, where Sheba mined her gold. Have you travelled there? ' Harkness shook his head. 'Twice I started out, he shrugged. 'No white man has travelled there. Even Mzilikazi's impis have not raided that far east. The Portuguese made one attempt to reach the Emperor Monomatapa.
That was in 1569. The party was wiped out, and there were no survivors. ' Harkness made a sound of disgust. As you could expect of the Ports, they abandoned any further attempt to reach Monomatapa. For the 200 years since then they have been content to sit in their seraglios at Tete and Quelimane, breeding half-castes, and picking UP the slaves and ivory that filter down out of the interior. 'But still there are the legends of the Monomatapa. I heard them from my father. Gold and great walled cities.'
Harkness stood up from the table with the grace of a man half his age and crossed to an iron-bound chest against the wall behind his chair. The chest was not locked but the lid required both the old man's skinny arms to lift it.
He came back with a draw-string bag made of softly tanned leather. It was obviously weighty for he carried it in both hands. He pulled the mouth open, and upended the contents on to the linen map.
There was no mistaking the lovely yellow metal, it had the deep glowing lustre which has bewitched mankind for thousands of years. Zouga could not resist the urge to reach out and touch it. It had a marvelous soapy feeling against his fingertips. The precious metal had been beaten into heavy round beads, each the size of the top joint of Zouga's little finger and the beads had been strung on to animal sinew to form a necklace. Fifty-eight ounces, ' Harkness told him, 'and the metal is of unusual purity, I have had it assayed.'
