malevolence. I'll kill you for that, he said softly, and then he swung the bay away and put her into a dead gallop, straight at the five-stranded, barbed fence.
The bay went up and stretched at the jump, flying free of earth and then landing again on the far side, neatly gathered and fully in hand, reached out again into a run, a superb piece of horsemanship.
Sean walked the stallion, fighting the temptation to lash him into a gallop, following the path over the high ground, a path now almost indiscernible, long overgrown. Only a man who knew it well, who had been along it often before, would know it as a path.
There was nothing left of the huts of Mbejane's kraal, except the outline of building stones, white circles in the grass. They had burned the huts, of course, as is the Zulu custom when a chief is dead.
The wall of the cattle kraal was still intact, the stone carefully and lovingly selected, each piece fitted into the shoulder-high structure.
Sean dismounted and tethered the stallion at the gateway. He saw that his hands were still shaking, as though in high fever, and he felt sick to the gut, the aftermath of that wild storm of emotion.
He found his seat on the stone wall, the same flat rock that seemed moulded to his buttocks, and he lit a cheroot.
The fragrant smoke calmed the flutter of his heart, and soothed the tremble in his hands.
He looked down at the floor of the kraal. A Zulu chief is buried in the centre of his cattle kraal, sitting upright facing the rising sun, with his induna's ring still on his head, wrapped in the wet skin of a freshly killed ox, the symbol of his wealth, and with his food pot and his beer pot and his snuff box, his shield and his spears at his side, in readiness for the journey. Hello, old friend, said Sean softly. We reared him, you and I. Yet he killed you. I do not know how, nor can I prove it, but I know he killed you, and now he's vowed to kill me also. And his voice quivered. Well, smiled Sean. If you have to make an appointment to speak with me, it must be some business of dire consequence. Through the merry twinkle of his eye, he was examining Mark with a shrewd assessing gaze. Storm had been right, of course. The lad had been gathering himself to make the break. To go off somewhere on his own, like a wounded animal perhaps, or a cub lion leaving the pride at full growth? Which was it, Sean wondered, and how great a wrench would the parting make on the youngster? Yes, sir, you could say that, Mark agreed, but he could not meet Sean's eyes for once. The usually bright and candid eyes slid past Sean's and went to the books on the shelves, went on to the windows and the sweeping sunlit view across the tops of the plantations and the valley below. He examined it as though he had never seen it before. Come on in then. Sean swivelled his chair away from the desk, and took the steel-rimmed spectacles off his nose and waved with them at the armchair below the window. Thank you, sir. While he crossed to the chair, Sean rose and went -to the stinkwood cabinet. If it's something that important, we'd best take a dram to steel ourselves, like going over the top. He smiled again. It's not yet noon, Mark pointed out. That's a rule you taught me yourself. The man who makes the rules is allowed to change them, said Sean, pouring two huge measures of golden brown spirit, and spurting soda from the siphon. That's a rule I've just this moment made, and he laughed, a fat contented chuckle, before he went on, Well, my boy, as it so happens, you have chosen a good day for it. He carried one glass to Mark, and returned to his desk. I also have dire an d important business to discuss. He took a swallow from his glass, smacked his lips in evident relish, and then wiped his moustaches on the back of his hand. As the elder, will it be in order if we discuss my business first?
Of course, sir. Mark looked relieved and sipped cautiously at his glass, while Sean beamed at him with illconcealed self-satisfaction.
Sean had conceived of a scheme so devious and tailored so fittingly to his need, that he was a little in awe of the divine inspiration which had fostered it. He did not want to lose this young man, and yet he knew that the surest way of doing so was trying to hold him too close. While we were in Cape Town I had two long discussions with the Prime Minister, he began, and since then we have exchanged lengthy correspondence. The upshot of all this is that General Smuts has formed a separate portfolio, and placed it under my ministry. It is simply the portfolio of National Parks. There is still legislation to see through Parliament, of course, we will need money and new powers but I am going ahead right away with a survey and assessment of all proclaimed areas, and we will act on that to develop and protect - He went on talking for almost fifteen minutes, reading from the Prime Minister's letters and memoranda explaining and expanding, going over the discussions, detailing the planning, while Mark sat forward in his chair, the glass at his side forgotten, listening with a rising sense of destiny at work, hardly daring to IJ breathe as he drank in the great concept that was unfolded for him.
Sean was excited by his own vision, and he sprang up from the desk and paced the yellow wood floor, gesturing, using hands and arms to drive home each point, then stopping suddenly in full flight and turning to stand over Mark. General Smuts was impressed with you, that night at Booysens, and before that. He stopped again, and Mark was so engrossed that he did not see the cunning expression on Sean's face. I had no trouble persuading him that you were the man for the job. What job? Mark demanded eagerly. The first area I am concentrating on is Chaka's Gate and the Bubezi valley. Somebody has to go in there and do a survey, so that when we go to Parliament, we know what we are talking about. You know the area well The great silences and peace of the wilderness rushed back to Mark, and he felt himself craving them like a drunkard. Of course, once the Bill is through Parliament, I will need a warden to implement the act. Mark sank slowly back in his chair. Suddenly the search was over. Like a tall ship that has made its offing, he felt himself come about and settle on true course with the wind standing fair for a fine passage. Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?
Sean asked genially. Nothing, said Mark softly. Nothing at all. And his face was shining like that of a religious convert at the moment of revelation.
Mark Anders had been a stranger to happiness, true happiness, since his childhood. He was like an inriocent discovering strong liquor for the first time, and he was almost entirely unequipped to deal with it, It induced in him a state of euphoria, a giddy elation that transported him to levels of human experience whose existence he had not previously guessed at.
Sean Courtney had engaged a new secretary to take over Mark's duties from him. He was a prematurely bald, unsmiling little man, who affected a shiny black alpaca jacket, an old-fashioned celluloid butterfly collar, a green eye-shade and cuff -protectors. He was silent, intense and totally efficient, and nobody at Lion Kop dreamed of calling him anything but Mr Smothers.
Mark was to stay on for a further month to instruct Mr Smothers in his new duties, and at the same time Mark was to set his own affairs in order and make the preparations for his move to Chaka's Gate.
Mr Smothers inhuman efficiency was such that within a week Mark found himself relieved almost completely of his previous duties, and with time to gloat over his new happiness.
Only now that it had been given to him did he realize how those tall stone portals of Chaka's Gate had thrown their shadows across his life, how they had become for him the central towers of his existence, and he longed to be there already, in the silence and the beauty and the peace, building something that would last for ever.
He realized how the recent whirlpool of emotion and action had driven from his mind the duty he had set
