Warrior

THE MOUNTAIN FALLSNext day

'Bugle'Roddis sounded reveille at the first intimations of daybreak, the little darts of sunlight that shot up in the eastern sky like fire-works at a fete.

They had camped a quarter of a mile from the kraal – on favoured ground, said Mbopa. But it was to the west, so that the rising sun was in their eyes. Hervey had not supposed that this was coincidental. Half an hour before reveille, therefore, as the troop and the riflemen quietly stood-to-arms, a dozen of the most trusted dragoons, with Fairbrother, had slipped out in pairs, beyond the pickets, to scout for any Zulu using the shadows and the favourable light to make a stealthy approach.

But as the sun's full face slowly revealed the ground to the watching dragoons and riflemen, Hervey saw not warriors but women and children. They had gathered as spectators, just as the Spanish and Bengali peasants used to gather. A camp of soldiers was a thing of universal fascination.

They might have been decoys, even innocent decoys, to distract them from the manoeuvring of the warriors around the flanks. But it was to detect such manoeuvring that he had sent out Fairbrother and the picked men. Had he truly expected to be attacked? To a soldier the question was pointless: expectation and possibility required the same precautions. But if he had been asked, he would have said 'no'. The threat to Shaka's life, which Pampata had pressed upon them, had proved empty: his brothers had left Dukuza for their own kraals before nightfall, and Shaka himself had walked peaceably abroad, observing his visitors from a distance in the manner of one who was merely intrigued by the appearance of something new. The discipline of the field, however, the stand-to-arms dawn and dusk (which too many of his acquaintance derided as slavishness), was a rule of life as that of any religious.

And he thought of Sister Maria. She would be on her knees at this hour. How he wished he had been able to return and speak with her. She had pointed the way at their convent meeting, but there was so much he would have asked about the twists and turns of the path he knew he must take. Nothing had been resolved, but it had, at least, been a beginning.When he was returned to England he would be able to take up these things again. There had been nothing he could do about Kat; there had been nothing he could do about Kezia – nor Georgiana, nor Elizabeth – but he knew his relief on embarking for the Cape had been almost indecent.

'Leave to stand-down, sir?'

He woke; he had not seen Brereton come to his side, with the captain of the Rifles. He cleared his throat, and made a show of putting his telescope under his arm. 'By all means. General parade at . . . ten.'

It was a generous allowance for breakfast and mustering, but Hervey saw no reason to put on a display any earlier. In any case, they waited on Shaka's word for what would happen next.

Somervile now appeared, looking discomposed. 'My servant did not wake me. Why did not the picket officer?'

Hervey kept his smile to himself. 'My dear Somervile, there was no need of your presence. Your sleep is more valuable to us than your pistol.'

'Yes, yes, that's all very well; but I am quite put out. You must not take these things upon yourself so.'

Hervey frowned. 'If I am not to take the simplest of decisions, how do you expect me to take the important ones? I must, with the very greatest of respect, remind you that I command your escort.'

Somervile looked at him with a combination of dismay and affront.

But Hervey was adamant. 'It simply will not do if you insist on being the soldier. I cannot have the responsibility.'

Somervile shook his head. 'I wished only to see the sun come up on the kraal. I had no intention of usurping your command.'

'Then I will be sure to call you tomorrow.' Hervey knew he traded on their long years' acquaintance, but he was certain of his point: he could not discharge his duty if Somervile were given leave to range.

Private Johnson came up, saluting both of them. 'Would tha like some more tea, sir?' He addressed his remarks to Hervey, who had enjoyed his first at stand-to. 'An' you an' all, Sir Somervile?'

Whether Johnson's incorrect form was intended or not (he could be distinctly perverse in such things), neither Hervey nor his friend thought fit to remark on it. Hot tea was ever worth a breach of etiquette.

A steaming brew of best Bengal filled their canteens.

Hervey's brow furrowed as he drank, in no measure of distaste, rather of mystification.

'Summat up wi'it, sir?'

'Johnson, there's milk in this tea. Where did you get it?'

'From one o' them 'erd boys, last night.'

'Which herd boys?'

'When you were in wi' t'king.'

Hervey tried hard to keep his countenance, for the sake of regimental pride. He certainly had no desire to inhibit Johnson's legendary skills in 'progging'. The executions at the Fasimba kraal were so fresh in his mind, however, that he could not but shiver at the thought of how dearly they might be taking milk with their tea. It was one thing to drink sour curds in Shaka's kraal. 'He gave it to you?'

'I gave 'im some beads for it.'

Somervile could no longer forbear. 'Admirable diplomacy, Private Johnson. Admirable.'

' 'E said 'e'd bring some more this morning an' all, sir. That'll be 'im there now.' Johnson nodded to the crowd of women and children advancing on them gingerly.

Hervey turned, with no little anxiety, to look for Brereton and Welsh. He saw Collins instead, and pointed to the visitors. 'Sar'nt- Major, pass the word to be civil to them, but to be on guard. Sharp on guard.'

'Sir.'

In an instant, Collins had his corporals relaying the orders.