A woman and child stood near her, a black woman, with a pleasant, even pretty, face. Not young, in her middle thirties possibly, though it was always difficult to guess an African's age. She wore European-style clothing, cast- offs probably, for they were so faded that the original pattern was hardly visible, but starched and fastidiously clean. Robyn sensed that they had been donned for the occasion.
Although the child wore the brief leather kilt of the local Shangaan tribe, he was clearly not a full-blooded African. He could not have been more than seven or eight years of age, a sturdy boy, with a head of dustycoloured curls and oddly pale-coloured eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about him that made Robyn stare.
He carried a small bunch of the yellow acacia flowers in his hands, and smiled shyly at Robyn before hanging his head and shuffling his feet in the dust. The woman said something to him and tugged at his hand and he came hesitantly to Robyn and handed her the flowers. Thank you, she said automatically, and raised the bouquet to her nose. They were faintly, but sweetly perfumed.
The woman hiked her skirts and squatted beside the moved the wilted flowers and then handed the grave, re little blue china vase to the boy. He scampered away towards the river-bank.
While he was gone the woman plucked out the first green sprouts of weeds from the mound of the grave and then rearranged the whitewashed stones carefully. The familiar manner in which she performed the chore left no doubt in Robyn's mind that she was responsible for the upkeep of her mother's grave.
Both women maintained a friendly, comfortable silence, but when their eyes met they smiled and Robyn nodded her thanks. The child came trotting back, muddy to the knees and slopping water from the vase, but puffed up with self-importance. He had clearly performed this task before.
The woman took the vase from him and set it carefully on the grave, then both of them looked expectantly towards Robyn and watched her while she arranged the acacia flowers in the vase. Your mother? ' said the woman softly, and Robyn was startled to hear her speak English. Yes, ' she tried to hide her surprise. 'My mother. 'Good lady. 'You knew her? 'Please? ' After the valiant opening, the woman had very little English, and their communication was halting, until Robyn, out of the habit of talking to little Juba said something in Matabele. The woman's face lit'with pleasure and she answered swiftly in a language which was obviously one of the Nguni group, and whose inflection and vocabulary differed very little from that to which Robyn was accustomed.
You are Matabele? ' Robyn demanded. I am Angoni, the woman put in hastily, for there was rivalry and hostility between even the closely related tribes of the Nguni.
Her tribe, the Angoni, had swept northwards from their origins in the grassy hills of Zululand, and crossed the Zambezi river thirty years before, she explained in her lilting musical dialect. They had conquered the land along the northern shores of Lake Marawi. It was from there that the woman had been sold to one of the Omani slave- masters, and had come down the Shire river in chains.
Unable to keep up with the slave caravan, reduced by starvation, and the fevers and hardships of the long journey, she had been freed of her chains and left for the hyenas beside the slave road. It was there that Fuller Ballantyne had found her and taken her into his own small camp.
She had responded to his rough nursing and when she was recovered, Fuller had baptized her with the Christian name of Sarah. So my father's detractors are mistaken, Robyn laughed, and spoke in English. 'He made more than one convert.'
Sarah did not understand but laughed in sympathy. By now it was almost dusk and the two women, followed by the half-naked child, , left the little cemetery and started back along the footpath, with Sarah still telling how when Robyn's mother, summoned at last by Fuller Ballantyne, arrived in Tete with other members of the Kaborra-Bossa expedition, Sarah had been presented to her by Fuller as a personal servant.
By now they had stopped at a fork in the path, and after a moment of hesitation Sarah invited Robyn to her village which was only a short way off the path. Robyn glanced up at the sun and shook her head, it would be dark in an hour and Zouga would be certain to turn out the camp to search for her if she had not returned by then.
f She had enjoyed the hours spent with the young woman and the bright sweet child, and when she saw Sarah's obvious disappointment, she said quickly, Although I must go, I will return tomorrow at the same time. I wish to hear all you can tell me of my mother and my father.'
Sarah sent the little boy with her as far as the buildings of the village. and after the first few yards Robyn quite naturally took the boy's hand, and he skipped along beside her, chattering gay childish nonsense, which helped to lift her sombre mood until Robyn laughed and chattered with him.
Before they reached the outskirts of Tete, Robyn's fears were confirmed. They met Zouga and Sergeant Cheroot. Zouga was armed with the Sharps rifle and angry with relief the moment he saw her. Damn me, Sissy, but you have had us all beside ourselves. You've been missing for five hours.'
The child stared at Zouga with wide eyes. He had never seen anything like this tall lordly man with the imperious manner and sharp commanding voice. He must be a great chief, and he slipped his hand out of Robyn's, retreated two paces, then turned and darted away like a sparrow from the circling hawk.
Some of Zouga's anger left him as he watched the child go, and a small smile touched his lips. For a moment I thought you'd picked up another stray. 'Zouga, I found Mama's grave. ' Robyn hurried to him and took his arm. 'It's only a mile or so.'
Zouga's expression changed again and he glanced up at the sun that was already on the tops of the acacia trees and turning deep smouldering red. We'll come back tomorrow, ' he said. 'I don't like to leave the camp after dark, there are too many jackals lurking about, two legged jackals. ' Firmly. he led her back towards the village, continuing his explanation as they walked. We are still having a great deal of difficulty obtaining porters, despite the fact that the Governor in Quelimane assured me they would be readily available, and the good Lord knows there are any amount of able-bodied men hereabouts. Yet that strutting poppinjay Pereira finds obstacles at every turn. ' The frown made him look much older than his years as did the full beard which he had allowed to grow since disembarking from Black fake. 'He says that the porters refuse to contract until they know the direction and duration of the safari. 'That seems logical, Robyn agreed. 'I know I wouldn't carry one of those huge packs, unless I knew where I was going. 'I don't think at all that it's the porters, there is no reason why the destination should worry them. I am offering top wages, and not a single man has come forward. 'What is it, then? 'Pereira has been trying to wheedle our intentions out of me, ever since we left the coast. I think this is a form of blackmail, no porters until I tell him. 'Then why don't you tell him? ' Robyn asked, and Zouga shrugged. Because he is too damned insistent. It's not a casual interest, and instinct warns me not to trust him with any information which it is not essential for him to know.'
They walked on in silence until they reached the perimeter of the camp.
Zouga had laid it out on the lines of a military base, with an outer stockade of acacia thorn branches, a Hottentot guard at the gate and the boma for the porters separated from the stores depot by the tent lines. It looks
