Warrior

Afterwards, he and Fairbrother walked down from the bluff together.

'It marks well what we spoke of last night, does it not?' said his friend, the sun now strong enough to oblige them both to replace their hats. 'This is a country in which a man might happily put down roots.'

It was just that, Hervey conceded. And he was happy to acknowledge its bounties. But he confessed that his thoughts were with the more practical details of the days ahead. He had urged Somervile to discount too great a setback in losing King's good offices with Shaka, but there was first the question of seeking Shaka out. Isaacs had assured them that he knew the way to Dukuza: it was but a trek, as the Cape Dutch had it, north for a day and a half, perhaps two, following the coast. But without King, Hervey was uncertain how they would make their entry. Would Shaka receive them, indeed? But Isaacs had been confident in proposing himself, albeit in some dejection at the loss of his friend. Shaka, said Isaacs, had told them that he had moved his kraal to Dukuza from Bulawayo to be nearer his English friends – friends, not merely Lieutenant King. And although Isaacs did not have King's rank, and therefore quite Shaka's esteem, he assured Hervey he would be received as an honest man of trade.

A little after nine o'clock, the embassy to the Court of Shaka left Port Natal for Dukuza. Welsh, the Rifles' captain, had enlisted half a dozen voerlopers from the settlement, native and part-native men of whom Isaacs spoke well, to range ahead and read the country.

The military scouting proper was given to a section of eight dragoons under the command of Lance-Serjeant Hardy, Isaacs riding with them, and the section of mounted riflemen following as advance guard.

Somervile, at the head of the main body (the half troop of light dragoons and the thirty bat-horses), was animated to an unusual degree. Africa was not India, as he had been at pains to point out on every occasion they had been drawn to make comparison, but something of India evidently stirred within, the same impulse of many a gallop across the plains of Madras or of Bengal. 'Ex Africa semper aliquid novi!' he declared at length, shaking his head slowly in wonder.

Hervey smiled. His friend was a considerable classical scholar, if a repetitious one. 'Pliny again? Most apt. I have always thought of you as formed in Pliny's mould.'

Somervile nodded gravely. 'The comparison is favourable. Pliny was an assiduous observer.'

Hervey smiled the more. He was not given to flattering to advantage, but if ever he had the inclination . . .

'But perhaps I should add 'novi omnes dies', for certainly Pliny never saw such sights as these.'

Hervey frowned at his old friend's proposal to gild the lily. 'Recollect, Sir Eyre, that assiduous observation was in the end the death of him.'

Somervile scowled. 'Not only do you tempt the Fates, you betray a want of comprehension. Recollect that it was not the volcano that killed Pliny; he was found with not a mark upon him. He was by that time a corpulent man, and almost certainly placed a strain upon his heart wholly in excess of its capacity.'

Hervey smiled wryly, and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the spread (if undoubtedly diminished of late) that was the lieutenantgovernor's waist. 'Just so.'

Somervile appeared not to notice, intent as he was on a greenbacked heron that flapped low and awkwardly between them and the scouts. 'It was a heron that crossed our path the first time you and I rode together,' he replied absently.

Hervey did not recall it. 'At Cape-town?'

Somervile looked at him, puzzled. 'At Guntoor. A pair of them, indeed. The day we rode to see what ill the Pindarees had done.'

Hervey shook his head: Madras was an age ago. 'You astound me, Somervile. I remember the Pindaree depredations, but . . .'

'Do you not recall my quarters at Guntoor? I have a clear recollection of your being greatly discomfited by the house snakes.'

'I have no recollection of them, no, although I do remember your quarters,' he replied warily, for he was invariably discomfited by snakes, despite his years in India.

'They were night herons at Guntoor, however. I wonder if the species is to be found in these parts . . .'

A big black bird the size of a turkey, with a huge curved bill and vivid red face, scuttled out of the scrub a dozen yards ahead of them and made for the haven of a nearby thorn bush. Somervile's horse protested at the effrontery, resisting its rider's attempts to close with the bush for a better look, until shortened reins, and spurs, did the trick.

Hervey did not feel inclined to follow so eagerly; he had never been as keen an observer of the bird kingdom as Somervile (except birds of prey). They would surely see more if they stood off a little?

Johnson took the opportunity to come up alongside him. 'What were Mr Somervile sayin – liquid an' Africa? An' thee abaht dyin, sir? Ah couldn't catch it right.'

Hervey was long past protesting that being overheard was one thing, but having to repeat himself quite another. 'Latin, a saying by a general called Pliny: 'There is always something new out of Africa.' And I said that Sir Eyre should remember that Pliny's curiosity was the death of him, because, when the volcano erupted, he went to take a closer look, and was killed.'

'But there aren't no volcanoes 'ere, are there?'

'None that I can see. I meant in the general sense, that care killed the cat.'

'What?'

Hervey turned in the saddle, and thrust his hand out. ' 'What, courage man! What though care killed a cat.' '

Johnson looked at him strangely. 'Tha's chirrupy this mornin', sir.'

'Shakespeare, Johnson! 'What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.' '