Warrior

across the saddle, and then, as they neared the entrance of the kraal, on foot. They did so in part because their commanding officer rode with them, and Serjeant Hardy's sharp eye was on them, but also because Shaka's majesty somehow exerted a power even in death. And there was, too, the soldier's rough-hewn sympathy for the widow of the fallen warrior (if mingled with less worthy feelings).

The kraal was deserted, ghostly in its sudden emptiness. Night was fast falling; there would not be time to dig the traditional grave of a chieftain, to slaughter the customary black ox and wrap the body of her lord in its skin, but Pampata did not despair: instead she brought Shaka's most treasured cloak from the isigodlo, and dressed Inkosi ye lizwe, the Lord of the World, for the journey of his spirit to the place of his ancestors. And when she had done this, they went and found an empty grain pit, near the great council hut, and into the pit they reverently lowered the earthly remains of Shaka Zulu.

It was dark when they were finished. They sealed the grave with a stone and covered it with thorn bushes so that Mbopa and the brothers might not discover the last resting place of the king, and defile it. Yet although it was dark, Pampata would not leave the grave except by the most strenuous urging, and even then she was intent on making at once for the chief minister, Ngomane. Only with the gentlest persistence were Hervey and Fairbrother able to persuade her to come back to the encampment with them: there she could rest safely, they assured her, and then travel with them the next day, for Somervile himself intended going to Ngomane's kraal.

The camp stood-to-arms a full hour before first light. Every man knew what had happened, and expected – feared – the worst. Hervey himself had slept but little, doing the rounds of the picket twice before midnight and twice after. He did not know if the Zulu attacked at night, but he could take no risks. He did not believe that their burying Shaka had gone unseen, and it might serve Mbopa in implicating them in his death, if he had a mind to. In the febrile condition of the place, as Fairbrother had put it, Mbopa might have his warriors cast aside all that Shaka had taught, and throw themselves at once on these izinkonjane, these 'swallows'.

But morning came peacefully, if overcast. Hervey had lain with his telescope trained on the distant kraal from the first signs of daylight, and observed only stillness – no smoke of cooking fires, no singing, no calling of the herd boys. He could not recollect so complete a flight in Spain or in India, and wondered on the fear that wrought it; and the peril which fear of that degree threatened.

They breakfasted quickly – cold, just smoked cheese and rum. He had considered striking camp and quitting the hillside while it was dark, but he could not be certain that his patrols would detect Mbopa's men in the pitch black, and to be caught off balance so might have gone badly for them. And so he had decided instead to follow the Indian practice – chota hazree, 'little breakfast', then two hours' marching before an hour's off-saddling, a good mash of tea, and boiled bacon and biscuit.

They would divide into two parties. Somervile would go first to Ngomane's kraal, at Nonoti, and tell him what had happened (Pampata said they would find him willing to believe them, for the chief minister had always mistrusted Mbopa), and the other party would alert Ngwadi, Nandi's son, Shaka's best-loved half-brother.

Somervile had thoughts that Ngwadi might be vice-regent, for there would be need of a native minister. And when Pampata revealed that Shaka's son, by her great rival Mbuzikaza, would be at Ngwadi's kraal, raised by a nurse in the greatest secrecy, he became certain of it. Pampata should not go, therefore, to the chief minister's kraal, but to Ngwadi's, escorted by Hervey: she knew the way (it was a hundred miles, perhaps more), and was confident of her welcome there.

This troubled Hervey at first. His prime duty was the safety of the lieutenant-governor. But by degrees he accepted that this did not require his being at Somervile's side at all times: Fairbrother would accompany him to Ngomane's kraal, and Fairbrother he trusted as himself. It was not, after all, hostile territory, except (perhaps) where Mbopa stood. But he did insist that the major part of the force, the Rifles and half the dragoons, would escort Somervile to Nonoti; Captain Brereton he would take with him to Ngwadi's kraal.

Somervile's party was first to move off. So eager was Somervile to leave, indeed, that he himself disassembled his field bed while his two servants folded up his tent. He wished to arrive at Ngomane's kraal before Mbopa or his news, although Pampata said that even if they galloped the ten miles to Nonoti, they could not be sure of it, for news, especially evil news, travelled fast in this country.

Hervey's party was delayed, however. Pampata had first to be instructed – coaxed – into the saddle, and before that, accoutred in a manner more suitable for the journey (both for comfort and modesty). Johnson found her a pair of overalls, and a cape, but as they were making ready to leave, Pampata suddenly shrieked in dismay: she had left in the kraal the one thing that would reassure Ngwadi that she spoke the truth, for only death would have parted Shaka from it – the little toy spear with the red wooden shaft which Nandi had given him when a child. With a deal of gesture and pointing, she managed to make Hervey understand.

Reluctantly, he agreed to let her retrieve it, fretting that the sun was risen a good way further – half an hour and more, now, since Somervile's party had broken camp.

They formed column of twos – twenty-odd dragoons – and struck off, mounted, down the hill towards the kraal, Pampata's bat-horse on a lead rein in the charge of Farrier Rust.

At Shaka's private entrance to the isigodlo, in the outer fence, they halted. Hervey told Brereton to withdraw a hundred yards to the north and keep a sharp lookout over the kraal while he and Pampata went inside.

When the dragoons had withdrawn, the two slipped silently into the royal quarters. As they rounded the guard hut, Pampata gasped in delight: the isigodlo was covered in white blossom – a heavenly sign that her lord was favoured!

Hervey smiled, for not only was the blossom delightful, it was the first note of joy he had heard in Pampata. She was a stranger, but her grief had touched him.

'I would see the resting place of Nkosi,' she said.

Hervey hesitated . . . But he could not deny her one last glimpse of the grave. He nodded.

He half expected the ndlunkulu to have been rifled, but the great palace-hut was exactly as before. Pampata quickly found the spear, and a string of beads that had belonged to Nandi, but tears filled her eyes at the sight of the bed of leopard skins on which she and her lord had spent many a loving night.

'Yiza, come away,' said Hervey, softly, taking her arm.

Outside, Pampata braced herself, resolved to do what she must. They hurried to the inner entrance of the isigodlo, and thence for the grain pit.

But a sudden movement at the far side of the byre made him push her roughly to the ground and flatten himself beside her.