He closed the door to his bedroom quietly and listened for a few seconds. The house was still silent, their guests slept. On silent, bare feet, Jordan glided down the thick carpet to the double doors at the end of the passage to tap lightly on one of the panels, twice then twice again, and a voice called to him softly, 'Enter!'
'These are a pastoral people. You cannot take their herds away from them.' Robyn Ballantyne spoke with a low controlled intensity, but her face was pale and her eyes sparkled with furious green lights.
'Please, won't you be seated, Robyn.'
Mungo Sint John indicated the chair of rough raw lumber, one of the few furnishings in this adobe mud hut that was the office of the Administrator of Matabeleland. 'You will be more comfortable, and I will feel more at ease.'
Nothing could make him appear more at ease, she thought wryly. He lolled back in his swivel chair, and his booted ankles were crossed on the desk in front of him. He was in shirtsleeves, without a tie or cravat, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned.
'Thank you, General. I shall continue to stand until I receive your answer.'
'The costs of the relief of Matabeleland and the conduct of the war were born entirely by the Chartered Company. Even you must see that there must be reparation.'
'You have taken everything. My brother, Zouga Ballantyne, has rounded up over a hundred and twenty-five thousand head of Matabele cattle, '
'The war cost us a hundred thousand pounds.'
'All right.' Robyn nodded. 'If you will not listen to the voice of humanity, then perhaps hard cash will convince you. The Matabele people are scattered and bewildered; their tribal organizations have broken down; the smallpox is rife amongst them 'A conquered nation always suffers privation, Robyn.
Oh, do sit down, you are giving me a crick in the neck.'
'Unless you return part of their herds to them, at least enough for milk and slaughter, you are going to be faced with a famine that will cost you more than your neat little war ever did.'
The smile slipped from Mungo Sint John's face, and he inclined his head slightly and studied the ash of his cigar.
'Think about this, General. When the Imperial Government realizes the extent of the famine, it will force your famous Chartered Company to feed the Matabele. What is the cost of transporting grain from the Cape? A hundred pounds a load. Or is it more now? If the famine approaches the proportions of genocide, then I will see to it that Her Majesty's Government is faced with such a public outcry, led by humanitarians like Labouchere and Blunt, that they may be obliged to revoke the charter and make Matabeleland a crown colony after all.'
Mungo Sint John took his bottle off the desk and sat upright in his chair.
'Who appointed you champion of these savages, anyway?' he asked. But she ignored his question.
'I suggest, General, that you relay these thoughts to mister Rhodes before the famine takes a hold.'
She gloried in the visible effort it took him to regain his equanimity.
'You may well be right, Robyn.' His smile was light and mocking again. 'I will point this out to the directors of the Company.'
'Immediately,' she insisted.
'Immediately,' he capitulated, and spread his hands in a parody of helplessness. 'Now is there anything else you want of me?'
'Yes,' she said. 'I want you to marry me.'
He stood up slowly and stared at her.
'You may not believe this, my dear, but nothing would give me greater pleasure. Yet, I am confused. I asked you that day at Khami Mission. Why now have you changed your mind?'
'I need a father for the bastard you have got on me. It was conceived four months after Clinton's death.'
'A son,' he said. 'It will be a son.' He came around the desk towards her.
'You must know that I hate you,' she said.
His single eye crinkled as he smiled at her.
'Yes, and that is probably the reason that I love you.'
'Never say that again,' she hissed at him.
'Oh, but I must. You see I did not even realize it myself. I always believed that I was proof from such a mundane emotion as love. I was deceiving myself. You and I must now bravely face up to that fact. I love you.'
'I want nothing from you but your name, and you shall have nothing from me but hatred and contempt.'
'Marry me first, my love, and later we will decide who gets what from whom., 'Do not touch me,' she said, and Mungo Sint John kissed her full on the mouth.
It had taken almost ten full days of leisurely riding to make a circuit of the boundaries of the ranch lands that Zouga had claimed with his land grants.
It stretched eastwards from the Khami river, almost as far as the Zembesi crossing and southwards to the outskirts of Gubulawayo, an area the size of the county of Surrey, rich grasslands with stretches of parklike forests and low golden hills. Through it meandered a dozen lesser rivers and streams, which watered the herds that Zouga was already grazing.
mister Rhodes had appointed Zouga the custodian of enemy property, with powers to take possession of the
