'My poor people,' whispered Lobengula. 'Will you look after my poor people when I am gone, Nomusa?'
'I swear it to you, oh King,' Robyn said fiercely. 'I will stay at Khami Mission until the day that I die, and I will devote my life to your people.'
Then Lobengula smiled, and once again there was a flash of the old mischievous twinkle in his eye.
'I give you the royal permission which I denied you all these years, Nomusa. From this day forward any of my people, man or woman or child of Matabele who wish to pray with you, you may pour water on their heads and make the cross of your three gods over them.'
Robyn could not reply.
'Stay in peace, Nomusa,' said Lobengula, and his wagon rumbled slowly out through the gates of the stockade.
Clinton Codrington reined in the mule on the crest of the rise above the royal kraal, and he groped for Robyn's hand. They sat silently on the seat of the little Scotch cart, watching the last pale shreds of dust thrown up by the king's wagons disappearing away in the north across the grassy plain.
'They will never leave him in peace,' Robyn said softly, 'Lobengula is the prize,' Clinton agreed. 'Without him, Jameson and Rhodes will have no victory.'
'What will they do with him!'she asked sadly. 'If they catch him.'
'Exile, certainly,' Clinton said. 'Sint Helena Island, probably. It's where they sent Cetewayo.'
'Poor tragic man,' Robyn whispered. 'Caught between two ages, half savage and half civilized man, half cruel despot and half a shy and sensitive dreamer. Poor Lobengula.'
'Do look, Papa!' Vicky called suddenly, pointing down the rude track towards the east. There was a thick column of dust rising above the tops of the thorn trees, and even as they watched, a distant troop of mounted men rode out onto the grassy plain with badges and weapons twinkling in the sunlight.
'Soldiers,' whispered Lizzie.
'Soldiers,' repeated Vicky gleefully. 'Hundreds of them.' And the twins exchanged a bright ecstatic glance of complete understanding and accord.
Clinton picked up the reins, but Robyn tightened her grip on his hand to restrain him.
'Wait,' she said. 'I want to watch it happen. Somehow it will be the end of an age, the end of a cruel but innocent age.'
Lobengula had left one of his trusted indunas in the royal kraal, with instructions to lay fire to the train as soon as the last wagons were clear. In the mud-brick building behind the king's new residence were the remains of the hundred thousand rounds of Martini-Henry ammunition for which he had sold his land and his people. There were also twenty barrels of black powder.
'There!' said Robyn, as the pillar of black smoke and flame shot hundreds of feet straight up into the still air.
Only many seconds later did the shock wave and the great clap of sound pass over where they watched from the ridge, and the smoke, still spinning upon itself, blossomed into an anvil head high above the shattered kraal.
Lobengula's house that had given him such pleasure and pride was only a shell, the roof blown away and the walls fallen in.
The beehive huts of the women's quarters were ablaze, even as they watched, the flames jumped the stockade and caught in the roofs beyond. Within minutes the whole of Gubulawayo was in leaping, swirling flames.
'Now we can go on,' Robyn said quietly, and Clinton shook up the mule.
There were thirty horsemen in the advance scouting party, and as they galloped up, the tall straight figure leading them was unmistakable.
'Thank God that you are safe!' Zouga called to them.
He was handsome and heroic in the frogged uniform with his brass badges of rank ablaze in the sunlight, and the slouch hat cocked forward over his handsome, gravely concerned features.
'We were never in any danger,' Robyn told him. 'And well you knew that.'
'Where is Lobengula?' Zouga sought to divert her scorn, but she shook her head.
guilty of one act of treachery against 'Lobengula 'You are an Englishwoman,' Zouga reminded her. 'You should know where your loyalties lie.'
'Yes, I am an Englishwoman,' she agreed icily, 'but I am ashamed of that today. I will not tell you where the king is.'
'As you wish.' Zouga looked at Clinton. 'You know that it is for the good of every one in this land. Until we have Lobengula, there will be no peace.'
Clinton bowed his bald head. 'The king has gone to the north with his wagons and wives and the Inyati regime.'
'Thank you,' Zouga nodded. 'I will send an escort with you to the main column. They are not far behind us.
Sergeant!'
A young trooper with triple chevrons on his sleeve spurred forward. He was a fine-looking lad, with high English colour in his cheeks and broad shoulders.
'Sergeant Acutt. Take the six men from the rear three files and see this party to safety.'
Zouga saluted his sister and brother-in-law curtly and then ordered. 'Troop, at the gallop. Forward!'
