Warrior

'I believe he does.'

The serving-girls brought more beer, but before they could pour much of it, the older warrior returned, and with a graver expression than when he had greeted the visitors at the sango.

He whispered into the induna's ear.

The induna looked perturbed. He questioned him urgently, sotto voce, and then gave way, for the briefest moment at least, to a look of dismay, before masking it with resolution, and rising.

He bowed to his guests, who rose with him, and from a loop fastening by the door of the hut he took his ceremonial staff.

Somervile motioned to Fairbrother.

With no time to think how he might phrase his question, Fairbrother asked simply if they might be of help.

The induna hesitated, as if unsure whether or not he had a right to speak, and then turned back to him. Twelve youths and boys, tenders of the royal cattle at Dukuza, had been sent to him for punishment, he explained. Shaka suspected them of kleza – squirting the milk from the cows' udders into their mouths – contrary to the mourning orders. Shaka had questioned them, they denied it, and he had directed them to take the usual oath, to swear 'by Shaka'. This, knowing their guilt, they had refused to do, and so Shaka had ordered them to come here, to the Fasimba kraal, where in a year or so they would have been enrolled as inkwebane, and tell the induna that Shaka had ordered them to be put to death.

Somervile looked at Isaacs, who nodded that this was a fair translation.

The induna watched, as if somehow fearful of their opinion.

'Hervey, we must prevent this,' said Somervile, decidedly.

Isaacs looked alarmed. 'Sir, there's no way on earth as we can prevent it. We'd be cut down at once – before yon bugler could play a note!'

Hervey took hold of Somervile's arm. 'You cannot think otherwise but as Isaacs says!'

Isaacs gasped for breath even more. 'He said the youths'd come 'ere without escort, solely on their honour. That's Shaka's power!'

'And Shaka knows we'll be here,' suggested Fairbrother, in a sinister way. ' 'My name is Shaka, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair' . . .'

Somervile, if not exactly despairing, was agitated nevertheless. 'I have no desire to look upon his bestial works, yet we can do no good inside this hut.'

Hervey was not so sure. 'What say you, Isaacs?'

'Will make no difference.' He sank back to the floor, the sweat running freely down his face.

'Come,' said Somervile, striding for the door.

A dozen youths and boys stood in the middle of the cattle enclosure, in line, facing the isigodlo. The same cadets of the guard of honour, but without their finery, stood in line behind them.

The induna strode angrily across the byre, berating Shaka's consigned.

Somervile followed as close as he thought safe.

'What does he say, Fairbrother? I can't make out a word.'

Fairbrother raised an eyebrow. 'A Zulu general's ranting, Sir Eyre – I doubt even the wretched boys know.'

But slowly, as the induna stopped his railing and began speaking in more measured terms, though angry still, Fairbrother was able to catch some sense of it.

'He asks them if it's true they did kleza, and that Shaka sent them to say that he'd ordered them to be put to death.'

There was a murmuring among the condemned youths, with here and there a stronger voice seeming to admit it was so.

The induna raised his stick and swung it down furiously. 'Ni ngama qawu . . . You are heroes – and as men and heroes you shall die by the spear, and not by the felons' club!'

The words were spoken so clearly – for the hearing of all in the enclosure – that Somervile and even Hervey were able to understand.

The young heroes had ranged themselves in age, so that on the right of the line, the place of honour, was the eldest, a youth of about Hervey's own height, and sixteen years, perhaps.

Somervile grew restless. 'My God, Hervey: those boys at yonder end are but eight or nine!'

Fairbrother spoke sharply. 'Close your eyes, Sir Eyre. That, or keep your counsel – with respect.'

Isaacs, who had struggled to join them on the arm of the older warrior, sealed the business. 'It's Shaka's will, and none of us'd be worth a spit if we crossed it!'

Somervile shook his head in unhappy resignation. Hervey stayed his own hand from his sabre only with the fiercest resolve.

And then, removing his shako, Fairbrother stepped forward. 'Mnumzana . . .'