Warrior

still be in yon kraal or they'd be doing something that'd tell you they'd got him – bastard Zulus!

But where had Mr Somervile gone? Nobody had told him. All he knew was as they were going one way and Colonel 'Ervey was going another. But he wouldn't want to be going another way now, would he? He'd be wanting to catch up with Mr Somervile, and Captain Fairbrother.

Yes, that was it – Captain Fairbrother. He'd know how to find Colonel 'Ervey, even if he were in the kraal still. He bet he could catch them up on Molly. And it wouldn't be that hard, would it, to see where they'd gone, because fifty horses couldn't not leave an easy trail to follow? So if he set off now he'd be able to catch up with them in a day or two. Except that he'd have to do sentry again by himself at night, and he wasn't sure he could.

But what if Colonel 'Ervey wasn't doing that at all? What if the Zulus had killed him?

He sank to the ground, as if his legs turned slowly to jelly. And warm tears began trickling down his grimy cheeks.

XXI

THE WATERS THAT COVER THE EARTHAfternoon

Hervey and Pampata stood staring at the Thukela in dismay and disbelief. In the morning they had crossed the Inonoti with barely twenty strides, the water not rising above Pampata's knees; but here the river was wider than Hervey could have thrown a spear, and looked deeper than his 'sister' could ford (he had learned already that she could not swim). Besides, the Thukela was in spate, its current stronger than he would have cared to tackle even on his own.

Pampata knew the cause. The Inonoti, she explained, was but a small river, rising from the ground not so very far from where they had crossed, whereas the great Thukela rose in the mountains – uKhalamba, the barrier of spears – many miles to the west. The clouds that had crossed their sky must have shed their water there in a great rain, mvulankulu, which the Thukela had collected and now returned to the sea.

This was some comfort at least, for Hervey knew well enough that a spate river could fall as quickly as it rose. But he could not see how so much water could pass at such a speed without a great deal more behind it. He had watched the cloud for three days, and thought it unlikely there would be any let in the current before morning. With difficulty he asked her how deep was the Thukela when the waters subsided.

She pointed to her breastbone.

It was not encouraging: if she had to wade at that depth, it could take days before they might ford. And then a darker thought occurred. 'Ingwenya?' he asked, pointing at the river.

Pampata shrugged, as if to say 'who knows?'

But if she had crossed the river before, she must surely know?

Her gestures indicated that she could not say one way or the other.

'How many times have you crossed the river?'

'Kabila.'

'Twice? Only twice?' How could she know the way to Ngwadi's kraal – a hundred miles – if she had crossed the Thukela but twice?

She understood him perfectly, and looked away. 'You will not come with me?'

He almost gasped at her determination. Instead he smiled. 'I will go with you.'

They spent an hour or so foraging, though without much success. Hervey had no great appetite for the creatures that crawled or slithered out of their path, though he could easily have caught one with his sabre, and there was no game to tempt him, even if he had thought it worth risking a shot – which he did not. He wondered if there were fish in the river, although how to catch them he did not put his mind to. They found some monkey orange, with their bitter fruit, but little else beyond the odd root that might have been enjoyable had they been able to boil it. Hervey was not hungry, though. The ostrich eggs had filled his stomach, and with a rich yolk as fortifying as red meat. He would not pine for bread and beef.

Instead they sat in the shade of a lala palm, watching the Thukela, resting and gathering their strength for the morning when the river would be lower. Hervey took off his boots as Pampata washed her feet in the river, then sat beside her to wash, and soothe, his own.

'Qaphela – ingwenya,' she said, with a cautionary laugh.

Beware the crocodiles: he took his feet out.

After a while he asked her about the rock rabbit, and how she had come to know the medicine in its urine. It was an ancient knowledge, she replied, taught her by her mother. All Zulu women knew of it, though not all of them could use it to advantage.

And then she smiled, as if at a happy memory of something in her distant past, her childhood. 'Do you know why the rock rabbit has no tail?' she asked, indeed quite childlike.

Hervey returned the smile, and shook his head.

It was a long story, made longer by frequent interruptions for the sake of clarification. 'At the newness of the land,' she began, 'animals did not have tails. All were happy except ibhubesi, the king of beasts, so one day he asked them to his court to receive presents that they might look more beautiful. All the animals went to the lion's court except the rock rabbits, who preferred to bask in the sun, although they still wished for their presents, and so asked the monkeys if they would bring them for them. The lion gave presents to all who came – presents of a tail – but being very old and his sight failing, he made many mistakes, giving, for example, the elephant a very small tail, but the squirrel a very long one. The monkeys took home their tails, wishing they were not so short, and those of the rock rabbits. But when they saw the rock rabbits they refused to give them up: 'We shall attach them to our own,' they said, 'to make them longer.' Since that day the rock rabbits have had no tail, but are no longer so lazy.'

Hervey lay back against the lala palm, hands behind his head, for all the world as if he were in the garden at Horningsham. The wound was now but a dull ache. He could take his ease. 'A charming story.'