Warrior

Towards four o'clock they saw the first of distant kraals, if modest sized: umuzi, single homesteads, with small herds of cattle tended by youths and boys. It was a pastoral landscape that once more put Hervey in mind of the Wiltshire plain.

He started singing, beneath his breath:

From Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,

Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand,

From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain,

They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

He had known the author of those words, Bishop Heber of Calcutta. True, he had tended to avoid his society, but he did respect the evident sincerity in wishing to share the gospel with a country that, in the end, had been the death of him – martyr to a climate his constitution was not equipped to brave. But 'India's coral strand' was at least half welcoming to mission (India, after all, had heard the gospel before England), whereas 'Afric's sunny fountains' and 'palmy plains', from all he had seen so far, appeared decidedly less so. He had certainly heard no one calling to be delivered from 'error's chain'.

His thoughts began to range again as they plodded on.

'Galloper guns,' he said suddenly, out of a silence of a quarter of an hour. 'That is what we must have here. I can't think why we ever did away with them in India.'

Somervile, though startled by the sudden martial turn (they had previously been observing on the habits of egrets) was nevertheless quick to the point. 'I fancy it would not be beyond the capability of the foundry at Cape- town.'

'In such country, seeing how sharp the Zulu move, a galloper would have capital effect, especially with explosive shell, or shrapnel. I for one would trade weight of shot for celerity.'

He wondered that he had not thought of it after Umtata. But then, such thoughts did not always spring from the theoretical contemplation of a problem, or else the men at the Board of Ordnance would have no need of field service; and in any case, the battle at Umtata, after the skirmishing which preceded it, had been as set-piece an affair as any in Spain.

'I will see to it when we return,' he said decidedly, and then he lapsed once more into consideration of 'error's chain'.

* * *

Late in the afternoon they reached the southernmost of the Fasimba kraals. Isaacs struggled to the front of the column, despite Somervile's assurance that there was no need. Fasimba, he told them, 'haze', was the name of the regiment of guards – 'Shaka's Own'.

This royal kraal – ikhanda – was bigger than they had seen so far. Isaacs said it was the headquarters of a Fasimba general, and the barracks of the unmarried youths who reported for training there – the inkwebane. It was by no means a great ikhanda, some fifty or so huts, whereas at Dukuza there were a thousand, but the cattle byre had been enlarged to pen the booty-cattle of the Pondoland campaign. He said it would not be prudent to pass by without acknowledging Shaka's man, the induna.

'Isaacs, your devotion to duty is admirable, but . . .'

Isaacs waved a hand, protesting.

Somervile shook his head. Isaacs was not fit to be in the saddle, yet how might they proceed without him – here, especially, the kraal of Shaka's guards? But he had to concede, and he did so with an esteeming smile. 'I am most excessively obliged to you.'

Hervey sent back the order for a close escort of six dragoons, and then with Somervile, Fairbrother and Isaacs, set off down the halfmile of gentle slope for the kraal.

Only as they came close did they see the 'sentinels' flanking the sango, the ceremonial entrance.

Hervey groaned. 'Good God!'

Somervile was as quick to the recognition, but quicker to the necessity for composure. 'Eyes front, I think, Hervey.'

'One of them's a woman!'

'I am able to determine that for myself. Nod to the guard of honour forming up for us.' He cleared his throat. 'Or I imagine it's a guard of honour.'

A dozen inkwebane in ceremonial dress, a single red-lory feather in each head-ring, the distinction of the Fasimba, were mustering outside the sango. They carried the short, stabbing spear, the iklwa, and black war shields, and appeared oblivious to the impalings under which they paraded.

Somervile raised his hat to return their salute. Hervey and Fairbrother saluted in the usual fashion, for although a salute was meant for the senior officer, and therefore returned by him alone, it seemed prudent to err on the side of unequivocal respect.

'I've a mind they were alive when they were hoist,' said Hervey, trying to keep his stomach down, for the stench of corruption was almost overpowering.

'Seven days ago, I'd say,' opined Fairbrother, not to Hervey's mind very usefully.

They rode through the opening in the great thorn stockade and halted inside the empty cattle byre, the herds