barely human, using the same weird dialect, and Tanase strained forward to catch each syllable and then repeated calmly. 'When the cattle lie with their heads twisted to touch their flank, and cannot rise, then warriors of Matabele take heart, for the time will be nigh.' This time there was a slight difference in the wording of the prophecy from the one that they had heard before, and all of them pondered it silently as the Umlimo fell forward onto her face and flopped limply as a boneless. jellyfish. Slowly all movement of the albino's body ceased, and she lay like death.
Gandang made as if to rise, but Tanase hissed a warning, and he arrested the movement and they waited, the only sound in the cavern was the click and rustle of the fire and the flirt of bats' wings high against the domed roof.
Then another convulsion ran down the Umlimo's back, and her spine arched, her hideous face lifted, but this time her voice was childlike and sweet, and she spoke in the Matabele language for all of them to understand.
'When the hornless cattle are eaten up by the great cross, let the storm begin.' Her head sagged forward, and the child covered her with a kaross of fluffy jackal furs.
'It is over,' said Tanase. 'There will be no more.' Thankfully the four indunas rose, and crept back along the gloomy pathway through the catacombs, but as they saw the glimmer of sunlight through the entrance ahead, so their steps quickened, until they burst out in the valley with such indecent and undignified haste that they avoided each other's eyes.
That night, sitting in the open-sided setenghi on the floor of the valley, Somabula repeated the prophecies of the Umlimo to the assembled indunas. They nodded over the first two familiar riddles, and as they had a hundred times before, they delved inconclusively for the meaning, and then agreed. 'We will find the meaning when the time is appointed it is always the way.' Then Sornabula went on to relate the third prophecy of the Umlimo, the new and unfamiliar riddle. 'When the hornless cattle are eaten up by the great cross.' The indunas took snuff and passed the beer pots from hand to hand, as they talked and argued the hidden meaning, and only when they had all spoken did Somabula look beyond them to where Tanase sat holding the child under her leather cloak to protect him from the night chill. 'What is the true meaning, woman? 'he asked.
'Not even the Umlimo herself knows that,' Tanase replied, 'but when our ancestors first saw the white man riding up from the south, they believed that their mounts were hornless cattle.' 'Horses?'
Gandang asked thoughtfully.
'It may be so,' Tanase agreed. 'Yet a single word of the Umlimo may have as many meanings as there are crocodiles in the Limpopo river.' 'What is the cross, the great cross, of the prophecy?' Bazo asked.
'The cross is the sign of the white men's three-headed god,' Gandang answered. 'My senior wife, Juba, the little Dove, wears that sign about her neck, given to her by the missionary at Khami when she poured water on her head.' 'Is it possible that the white men's god will eat up the white men's horses?' doubted Babiaan. 'Surely he is their protector, not their destroyer.' And the discussion passed from elder to elder, while the watch fire burned low and over the valley the vast shining firmament of the heavens turned with weighty dignity.
To the south of the valley, amongst the other heavenly bodies, burned a group of four great white stars that the Matabele called the 'Sons of Manatassi'. They told how Manatassi, that terrible queen, had strangled her offspring with her own hands, so that none of them might ever challenge her monarchy. According to the legend, the souls of the little ones had ascended to shine on high, eternal witness to the cruelty of their dam.
Not one of the indunas knew that the name by which the white men knew these same stars was the Southern Cross.
Ralph Ballantyne was wrong when he predicted to Harry Mellow that by the time they returned to the Rbase camp Mr. Rhodes and his entourage would have moved on to Bulawayo. For as they rode in through the gates of the stockade, he saw the magnificent mule coach still parked where he had last seen it, and beside it were a dozen other decrepit and travel-worn vehicles. Cape carts and surreys, even a bicycle with worn tyres replaced by strips of buffalo-hide.
'Mr. Rhodes has set up court here,' Cathy explained furiously, as soon as she and Ralph were alone in the bath tent. 'I have made the camp too comfortable by half, and he has taken it over from me.' 'As he does everything else,' Ralph remarked philosophically, as he stripped off his stinking shirt, and flung it into the far corner. 'I've slept in that for five nights, by God, the laundry boy will have to beat it to death with a club before he gets it into the tub.' 'Ralph, you aren't taking it seriously,' Cathy stamped her foot in frustration.
'This is my home. The only home I have, and now do you know what that what Mr. Rhodes told me?' 'Have we got any more soap?' Ralph demanded as he hopped on one leg to free his breeches. 'One bar will not be enough.' 'He said, 'Jordan will be in charge of the kitchens while we are here, Mrs. Ballantyne, he knows my tastes.' What do you think of that?' 'Jordan is a damned fine cook.' Ralph lowered himself gingerly into the bath, and grunted as his naked buttocks touched the nearly boiling surface.
'I have been forbidden my own kitchen.' 'Get in!' Ralph ordered, and she broke off and stared at him incredulously. 'What did you say?' she demanded, but in reply he seized her ankle and toppled Cathy shrieking her protests on top of himself.
Steaming water and suds splattered the canvas walls of the tent, and when he released her at last, she was sodden to the waist.
'Your dress is soaked,' he pointed out complacently, 'now you have no choice take it off!' Naked, she sat with her back to -him in the galvanized bath with her knees drawn up under her chin, and her damp hair piled on top of her head, but still she continued her protest.
'Even Louise could bear the man's arrogance and misogyny no longer. She made your father take her back to King's Lynn, so now I have to bear him on my own!' 'You always were a brave girl,' Ralph told her and ran the soapy flannel cares singly down her smooth back.
'And now the word has gone out to every dead-beat and drifter in Matabeleland that he is here and they are riding in from every direction for the free whisky.' 'Mr. Rhodes is a generous man,' Ralph agreed, and tenderly slid the soapy flannel over her shoulder and down the front.
'It is your whisky,' said Cathy, and caught his wrist before the flannel could reach its obvious destination.
'The man has an infernal nerve.' For the first time Ralph showed some emotion. 'We will have to get rid of him. That whisky is worth 10 pounds a bottle in Bulawayo.' Ralph managed to slip the flannel a little further south.
'Ralph, that tickles.' Cathy wriggled.
'When are your twin sisters arriving?' He ignored her protest.
'They sent a runner ahead, they should be here before nightfall.
Ralph, give me that flannel immediately!' 'We will see how steely Mr. Rhodes' nerves really are-' 'Ralph I can do that myself, thank you kindly, give me the flannel!' 'And we will also see how sharp Harry Mellow's reflexes are-' 'Ralph, are you crazy? We are in the bath!'
'We will take care of both of them with one stroke.' 'Ralph, you can'd You can't not in the bath!' 'We will have Jordan out of your kitchen, Harry Mellow overseer of the Harkness Mine and Mr. Rhodes on his way to Bulawayo an hour after those two arrive 'Ralph, darling, do stop talking. I can't concentrate on two things at once,' Cathy murmured.
The tableau at the trestle-table in the dining tent seemed unaltered since Ralph had last seen it, rather like one of the productions at Madame Tussaud's Waxworks. Mr. Rhodes even wore the same clothing as he dominated the tent with his expansive charisma.
Only the bit players seated in the position of petitioners facing the long table had changed. These were a motley bunch of out-of-luck prospectors, concession-seekers, and impecunious promoters of ambitious ventures, who had been attracted by Mr. Rhodes' reputation and millions like jackal and hyena to the lion's kill.
It was the mode in Matabeleland to display one's individuality by adopting eccentric headgear, and the selection which faced Mr. Rhodes across the table included a Scottish bonnet with an eagle feather pinned to the brim by a yellow cairngorm, a tall brushed beaver girl with a green St. Patrick's ribbon, and a magnificent embroidered Mexican sombrero, the owner of which was relating a meandering tale of woe which Mr. Rhodes cut short. He did not enjoy listening as much as he did talking.
'So then, you've had enough of Africa, have you? But you haven't the passage money? 'he asked brusquely.
'That's it exactly, Mr. Rhodes, you see my old mother-' 'Jordan, give the fellow a chi tty to see him home, and charge it to me personally.' He waved away the man's thanks, and looked up as Ralph came into the tent.
'Harry tells me your trip was a great success. He panned your crushings from the Harkness reef at thirty ounces a ton, that's thirty times richer than the best ban ket reef of the Witwatersrand. I think we should open a bottle of champagne. Jordan, don't we have a few bottles of the Pommery'87 left?' 'At least I'm not providing the champagne as well as the whisky,' Ralph thought cynically, as he lifted his glass to the toast. 'The Harkness Mine.' He joined the dutiful chorus and the moment he had drunk he turned on Dr. Leander Starr Jameson.
'What is this about the mining laws?' he demanded. 'Harry tells me you are adopting the American mining code.' 'Do you have any
