However, Lobengula, that wily thief and coward, had already fled northwards, taking with him his wives, his herds, what remained of his fighting imp is and his diamonds.
'A small force of white men pursued him for part of the way, until they ran into a Matabele ambush and were slaughtered to a man. More white men would have followed Lobengula, but the rains came and turned the veld to mud and the rivers to torrents. So Lobengula escaped with his treasure. He wandered on northwards without a goal, until the will to go on deserted him.
'In a wild and lonely place, he called Gandang, his half brother to him. He entrusted to him the care of the nation, and, coward to the very end, ordered his witch doctor to prepare a poisonous potion and drank it down.
'Gandang sat his body upright in a cave. Around his body he placed all Lobengula's possessions: his assegais and regimental plumes and furs, his sleeping-mat and head stool his guns and knives and beer-pots and his diaMOnds. Lobengula's corpse was wrapped in a sitting osition in the green skin of a leopard and at his feet were placed the five gallon beer-pots of diamonds. Then the entrance to the cave was carefully sealed and disguised, and Gandang led the Matabele nation back to become the slaves of Rhodes and his Royal Charter Company.
'You ask when this occurred? It was in the rainy season of the year 1894. Not long ago barely ninety years ago. IN_ 'You ask where? The answer is very close to where we now sit. Probably within twenty miles, of us. Lobengula travelled directly northwards from GuBulawayo and had almost reached the Zambezi river before he despaired and committed suicide.
'You ask if any living man knows the exact location of the treasure cave? The answer is yes!' Peter Fungabera stopped, and then exclaimed, 'Oh, do forgive me, my dear Tungata, I have neglected to offer you File 342 any refreshment.' He called for another glass, and when it came, filled it with water and ice and, with his own hands, carried it to Tungata.
Tungata held the glass in both hands and drank with careful control, a sip at a time.
'Now, where was ! Peter Fungabera returned to his chair behind the desk.
'You were telling us about the cave,' the white man with the pale eyes could not resist.
'Ah, yes, of course. Well, it seems that before Lobengula died, he charged this half-brother of his, Gandang, with the guardianship of the diamonds. He is supposed to have told him, 'There will come a day when my people will need these diamonds. You and your son and his sons will keep this treasure until that day.'
'So the secret was passed on in the Kumalo family, the so-called royal family of the Matabele. When a chosen son reached his manhood he was taken by his father or his grandfather on a pilgrimage.' Tungata. was so reduced by his ordeal that he felt weak and feverish, his mind- floated and the iced water in his empty stomach seemed to drug him, so that fantasy became mixed with reality, and the memory of his own pilgrimage to Lobengula's tomb was so vivid that he seemed to be reliving it as he listened to Peter Fungabera's voice.
It had been during his-first year as an undergraduate at the University of Rhodelia. He had gone home to spend the long vacation with his grandfather. Gideon Kumalo was the assistant headmaster at Khami Mission School, just outside the town of Bulawayo.
'I have a great treat for you,' the old man had greeted him, smiling through the thick lenses of his spectacles. He still had a little of his eyesight left, though within the following five years he would lose the last vestiges of it.
'We are going on a journey together, Vundla.' It was the old man's pet name for him. VundLa, the hare, the clever lively animal always beloved by the Africans. The slaves had taken him with them in legend to America in the form of Bret Rabbit.
The two of them took the bus northwards, changing half a dozen times at lonely trading, stores or remote crossroads, sometimes waiting for forty-eight hours at a stop, when their connection was delayed. However, the delay did not rankle. They made a picnic of it, sitting at night round their camp-fire and talking.
What marvelous stories old grandfather Gideon could tell. Fables and legends and tribal histories, but it was the histories that fascinated Tungata. He could hear them repeated fifty times without tiring of them: the story of Mzilikazi's exodus from Zululand, and the umfecane, the war with the Boers, and the crossing of the Limpopo river.
He could recite the names of the glorious imp is and the men who had commanded them, the campaigns they had waged and the battle honours they had won.
Most especially, he learned from the old man the history 0 f the 'Motes who burrowed under a mountain', the impi that had been founded and commanded by his great grandfather, Baro the Axe. He learned to sing the war songs and the praise songs of the Moles, and he dreamed that in a perfect world he would himself have commanded the Moles one day, wearing the regimental head-band of mole-skin and the furs and the feathers.
So the pair, the greybeard with failing eyesight and the stripling, travelled together for five leisurely companionship-filled days, until at the old man's request, the rackety, dusty old bus set them down on a rutted dirt track in the forest.
'Mark this spot well, Vundla,' Gideon instructed. 'Here, the water-course with the fall of rock, and the kopje over there shaped likea sleeping lion this is the starting point.
*I 'They set off northwards through the forest, following a Succession of landmarks that the old man made him recite in the form of a rhyming poem. Tungata found he could still recite it without hesitation: The beginning is the lion that sleeps, follow his gaze to the crossing place of the e rant-' It was another three days' travel at Gideon's reduced 'pace before he toiled up the steep hillside with Tungata handing him over the worst places, and they stood before the tomb of Lobengula at last.
Tungata remembered kneeling before the tomb, sucking blood from the self-inflicted cut on his wrist and spitting the blood on the rocks that blocked the entrance and Yrandfaffier the terrible oath -of secrecy after hisL repeating guardianship. Of course neither the old man nor the and oath had mentioned diamonds or treasure. Tungata. had merely sworn to guard the secret of the tomb, passing it to his chosen son, until the day when 'The children of Mashobane cry out for succour , and the stones are burst open to free the spirit of Lobengula, and it shall come forth like fire Lobengula's fire! After the ceremony the old man had lain down in die shade of the ficus tree that grew beside the entrance, and, exhausted by the long joupey, had slept until nightfall.
Tungata had remained awake examining the tomb and the area around it. He had found certain signs that had led him to a conclusion that he did not confide to his grandfather, not then nor during the journey homewards.
He had not wanted to alarm and disturb Gideon, his love for him was too great and protective.
Peter Fungabera's voice intruded on his reverie, jerking him back to the present.
'In fact, we are privileged to have with us at this very moment an illustrious member of the Kumalo clan, and the present guardian of the old robber's tomb, the honourable Comrade Minister Tungata Zebiwe.' The white man's pale, cruel eyes riveted him, and Tungata stiffened on the hard wooden bench. Tungata tried his voice, and found that even the small quantity of water that he had taken had eased his throat. His voice was deep and measured, only slightly ragged at the edges.
'You delude yourself, Fungabera.' He made the name in to an insult, but Peter's smile never slipped. 'I know nothing of this nonsense that you have dreamed up, and even if I did-' Tungata did not have to finish the sentence.
'You will find my patience inexhaustible Peter promised him. 'The diamonds have lain there ninety years. A few more weeks will not spoil them. I have brought with me a doctor to supervise your treatment. We will find ' just how much you can bear before your Matabele courage fails you. On the other hand, you have the option at any time to make an end to this un leasantness. You can elect to P take us to Lobengula's burial site, and immediately after you have done so, I will arrange to have you flown out of the country to any destination of your choice-' Peter Paused before adding the final sweetener to his proposition and with you will go the young woman who so gallantly defended you in the courtroom, Sarah Nyoni.' This time there was a flash of emotion behind the contemptuous mask of Tungata's features.
2, 'Oh yes,' Peter nodded. 'We have her safely taken care of.' 'Your lies need no denial. If you had her, you would have used her already.' Tungata forced himself to believe that Sarah would have obeyed him. She had read and understood the hand, sign that he had flashed to her across the courtroom as he was being led away. 'Take cover! Hide yourself. You are in danger!' he had ordered her and she Ld acknowledged and agreed. She was safe, he had to leve that, it was all he had to believe in.
'We shall see,' Peter Fungabera promised.
Not that it matters.' Tungata had to try and protect her, now that it was clear that the Shana were hunting for Sarah. 'She is a mere woman do what you will to her. It will mean little to me.' Fungabera raised his voice. 'Captain!' The guard commander came immediately. 'Take the prisoner back to his quarters. His treatment will be ordered and supervised by the doctor. Do you understand?' When they were alone, Colonel Bukharin said quietly, 'He will not be easy. He has physical strength and something else beyond that. Some men simply will not bend, even under the most extreme coercion.'
'It may take a little time, but in the end-'
'I am not so certain,' Bukhariri sighed
