Warrior

Johnson had lain all day among the wild pear trees on the little hill to the south-east of the kraal, with Molly calmly pulling at the grass beside him. He had fastened the reins to his swordbelt so that if he fell asleep she would not break cover and reveal their hiding hole – or, worse, take off and leave him in this wild and Godless place.

She had not done so when the Zulu attacked. His Cape pony and the bat-horse had bolted good and proper when he had walked back towards the troop – on account, doubtless, of the rifle fire – but Molly had stood her ground, as a well-trained charger ought. And when he had raced back to her pursued by more Zulu than he could count, and vaulted half into the saddle, so that he lay rather than sat astride, she had broken into the most even of trots, allowing him to get his balance, and then the reins and finally the stirrups. They had galloped, then, for the ridge on which the troop had camped, and when he had stopped shaking, and recovered his breath, and his wits (the instinct for flight displaced everything but brute strength), he had begun to take stock of the sorry situation.

From this position, he could see even better the fate that had befallen Captain Brereton's dragoons, and the certainty that none had escaped death. The Zulu were already stripping the bodies. But where Colonel 'Ervey was he had no notion – except that he was not among the dragoons below. Was he inside the kraal still? Had the Zulu woman given him away?

What was he supposed to do, now? What could he do?

First, he could make sure he wasn't caught. Even if the Zulus did have some of the troop horses, they wouldn't be able to catch him as long as he stayed mounted and Molly stayed sound. He would have to show himself, though, or how would Colonel 'Ervey know he was there? Could he keep riding round the kraal till Colonel 'Ervey saw him?

But what if he were a prisoner inside the kraal? Could he leave Molly tied up, hidden, and go into the kraal by himself ? He had the rifle, after all. And when it was dark he ought to be able to get in somehow . . .

But he would have to look in every hut! And as soon as he fired the rifle, the whole of the kraal would stand- to, and then there would be no chance of getting out (there were only twenty or so cartridges left).

No, surely it would be better to keep looking for him outside. Colonel 'Ervey would know how to get out; he'd got out of worse places than here! Just as long as the Zulu woman hadn't given him away.

He reloaded the rifle and slipped it back into the saddle sleeve. 'Right, Molly, lass; we're gooin' lookin' for thi master!'

He had to think sharp again, however, for there were Zulus coming up the rise. Had they seen him (he thought he had kept his head down)? Were they after him, or just wanting to scour the camp ground?

He looked left, the way the rest of the troop had gone. Perhaps if he dropped back a bit, and headed in that direction, he would find somewhere to keep watch on the entrance which Colonel 'Ervey and the Zulu woman had gone through?

But there were Zulus over on the left, too. They looked like they were searching for him. Perhaps he ought to head back a little, the way they had come yesterday? Yes, that was the best course: if he got the other side of the hill behind him – only half a mile or so west – and then turned south for about a mile, he would come onto the queer-shaped hill they had stopped on to look at the kraal yesterday, and then from there he'd be able to see if there were any Zulus on the south side of the kraal, and if there weren't he could watch from there. He'd got Colonel 'Ervey's telescope after all.

He gave them the slip – bastard Zulus! Why didn't they come at them fair instead of sneaking up like that? – and circled south, unseen. And from the queer-shaped hill he saw the clump of pear trees, and not a Zulu for half a mile and more. That would be the place to hide (Colonel 'Ervey wouldn't have said 'hide': he'd have said 'conceal themselves', but that didn't matter; just as long as nobody saw them).

He knew how the scouts did it. He may have been a groom for twenty years, but he knew a thing or two (and if he didn't, all he had to do was think what Colonel 'Ervey would do). He halted well short of the clump, in the open (but there was no other cover), and took out the telescope. He knew how to use it, except that even with Molly standing still it was difficult to find the trees through it, and then they were a bit of a blur.

He gave up after a while. But he'd have seen if there were Zulus among the trees, even blurred, because they'd have been moving – and there wasn't anything moving. He screwed up his bare eyes against the sun just to make sure. No – there were nothing.

The scouts used to dismount, and one of them would go forward and check a place on foot. But that was with another man covering him, and he hadn't got anyone. So ought he to dismount? No; he bloody well wasn't going to get down from Molly till he was certain there wasn't a Zulu in half a mile!

He slipped the rifle from its sleeve, pulled back the hammer, and edged Molly towards the clump of pear trees, as the sahibs did in India when they were hunting tiger.

There was nothing. Just wild pear trees, ten of them, and stunted little things, not like proper pear trees in England. In fact he wouldn't have known they were pear trees at all unless Old Bez – Corporal Bezuidenhuit – the Rifles' commissary, had told him. Not that they had come past this particular clump, but these were the same trees all right. Not that he needed to know. It wasn't even as if there were pears on them. He'd have to wait all summer for pears.

Not that he felt like eating. Except that Old Bez had told him – warned him – about the boomslang, the snake that were so pois'nous that when it bit you, you didn't have time to say, 'God 'ave mercy', before you were dead. And this boomslang hung about in trees waiting for people to walk underneath, and then it dropped on top of you and you'd be dead. But it didn't like pear trees, said Old Bez, or some other sort of trees, which he couldn't remember now. But definitely not the pear tree. So here he could hide – conceal himself – with Molly and have a good scout of the ground with his – Colonel 'Ervey's – telescope, and then he could work out what best to do next.

He slid from the saddle and loosened the girth – he thought it was safe to, and Molly would have to have some grass in her or she'd get colic and then they'd be in trouble. They were in trouble already, but they'd be in real trouble with colic. And then he began thinking about the dragoons down there, with the vultures circling round. There was . . . He wasn't sure exactly who there was, because he'd been hammering a shoe back onto his pony right up until they mustered. There was Connell, because he was Captain Brereton's coverman that morning. He didn't like Connell much, but everybody said he was good at skill-at-arms, and riding school. And there must've been French, because he was Colonel 'Ervey's coverman, wasn't he? Poor old Frenchie. He were a gentleman really, but he didn't put on airs at all. He'd help anybody, in fact – write letters for them that didn't write an' all. And that new lad, Hanks, who'd thrown up when he'd had to drink rum from the pisspot, which everybody had to do when they joined. And Mr Petrie, whose father had come to see him off, a nice old gentleman who'd shaken his hand and asked if he'd been at Waterloo, and gave him a sovereign when he'd said yes. He was a nice man, too, was Mr Petrie. He always smiled when he returned your salute; Colonel 'Ervey liked him as well, and