Warrior

ships: all hands on deck, alternately making and shortening sail, the activity constant. And then they would have had to anchor out in the bay and come ashore by lighter, and boats would ply to and fro all day with supplies. Yet inside the hour, the Enterprise would moor in Cape Town, and they would descend by gangway to the quay. Here, most certainly, was the future. At least of merchant ships: he did not suppose you could make war with a paddle wheel.

'Ubusika abufuni kumka,' – winter does not want to go away – said Fairbrother, pulling his cloak closer about him.

Hervey nodded. He too felt the chill in the air. But it was eyomSintsi, the month when the coast coral tree flowered: summer was not so very far away. Indeed, as he took up his telescope to observe the landmarks of the Cape, there on the slopes of the Table Mountain he thought he could make out the yellows and whites of early spring. He took a deep breath, but it was the sea air only; there was nothing to be smelled of the land yet. He would never forget that first time, with Peto, when he had stood on the quarterdeck of Nisus, the fleetest of frigates, and the scent of Coromandel had drifted across the still, Indian waters.

Peto – would he ever venture with him again? No, it could never be. For his old friend was as much an invalid, now, as those of the lower-deck who limped and coughed their way about Greenwich. If ever there was a man with whom to hazard, and then to share a table, it was Peto. Long years at sea, in daily battle with elements that would overwhelm his wooden world if he were once to nod, and periodically with the King's enemies, who sought more particularly to destroy him, had made of Peto an officer in whom boldness and discretion were admirably combined. Fairbrother's brilliance was of an altogether different nature; and Somervile, although he would shoot tiger with him, as the saying went, was not a soldier or a fighting captain. Somervile was first a man of letters; his love of powder smoke was like that for tobacco, to be taken up or put down as occasion had it. Somervile was a good, and old, friend; Hervey looked forward eagerly to seeing him again. Doubtless there would be some beating up and down in Kaffraria (and he would be first to admit, from painful experience, that the warriors in that place could fight), but it would not be the same as India with Peto.

But if he had to keep his cloak tight closed now, it was indeed eyomSintsi, and with the flowering of the coral tree would come warmer weather. It would soon be the time to begin the mission to Shaka Zulu, before the summer's parching heat made the cattle thin and thirsty, and Xhosa and Zulu, and all the others of Kaffraria and Natal, in no humour to parley.

'Hervey! Capital, capital!' Sir Eyre Somervile, lieutenant-governor of the Cape Colony, rose from his desk to meet his old friend with outstretched hand.

Hervey took it, smiling. It was, indeed, good to see him, truly one of his most constant friends, his company ever enlivening. And he looked so much better than when he had seen him last. The spreading girth, the result, no doubt, of the ample table of the Court of Directors of the East India Company, and the scarce provision of exercise in the City, was very much reduced, and the claretcomplexion was no longer so pronounced. In fact, he looked quite his old self of ten and more years ago, when first they had met in Madras. 'It has evidently been a lean winter!'

Somervile patted his stomach, convinced it was no longer any handicap to exertion. 'Indeed, indeed. After the contest with those infernal Xhosa reivers I deemed it expedient to reduce my store. I trust I am campaigning fit!'

Hervey nodded. 'You have every appearance of it, I assure you.'

Somervile glanced over Hervey's shoulder, and seeing Fairbrother waiting, threw up his hands and made noisily for the door. 'My dear sir! Forgive me: come in; come in!'

They shook hands. And Hervey noticed how much less guarded was Fairbrother now. His manner was ever unhurried, in contrast to Somervile's, but before the two friends had gone to England, Fairbrother had always seemed watchful, almost resentful (if there could be resentment in languor). Perhaps his friend might at last recognize that the lieutenant-governor held him in nothing but the best of opinion.

'Good morning, Sir Eyre,' he replied, taking his hand freely.

'Now, are you just landed? I had not yet had word of a ship. And the fortunate Mrs Matthew Hervey, and Miss Georgiana Hervey: are they gone directly to the residence?'

Hervey tried not to look too uncomfortable. 'We came by the Enterprise, yes. Kezia and Georgiana remain in London, however.

In the circumstances I thought it best. Fairbrother and I came at once when we were landed to let you know of our return, though I have a sad and urgent duty to perform elsewhere.'

'Oh? Sit you both down. Some coffee?'

'Thank you, yes.'

Somervile nodded to his clerk.

'Armstrong,' said Hervey, his voice lowered. 'Caithlin Armstrong died two months ago.'

The joy at once left Somervile's face. 'Oh, great gods!' he groaned. 'He was of most excellent bearing at the frontier, as I told you in my letter. I owe my life to him. It is as simple as that.'

Hervey shook his head slowly. 'These things . . .'

Somervile shook his head too. 'You know that if there is anything at all that I or Emma may do . . .'

Hervey nodded. 'Thank you.'

'The children – how many? – they are taken care of, I imagine?'

'They are. The quartermaster's wife, Mrs Lincoln – you remember?'

'How could I forget? Such a wedding.'

'There are five.'

'And what will Armstrong do, therefore?'

'Return at once to England. There's an Indiaman which leaves tomorrow. I have brought Sarn't-Major Collins with me to do duty instead.'