Warrior

them – and take the consequences.

The Zulu were young but wore the red neck feathers of the seasoned warrior. One was scarred heavily about the body. They came on side by side. Pity: it gave him no advantage, for if he attacked from a flank the one would screen the other – though it meant he would not face both at once. He must attack from a flank and behind, allowing him freedom to swing his sabre. He could first slice the spear arm of the nearer, gaining precious seconds to despatch the other, before turning back to finish off the first. They carried the short, not the war shield: that would help. All he needed was that they continue on their line, passing the thorn bush the way he expected.

Fifty yards off, they stopped suddenly. They began casting around. He could not think why (he and Pampata had not halted at all). One of them picked up something – so small he could not tell. What had they dropped – a button, a bead?

They looked about, pointed towards the river, exchanged words – a murmur to him, no more – and then resumed their advance, but at a cautious walk. His every muscle tensed; his gut churned like a water wheel (so hard he forgot the pain in his shoulder). They would search the thorn bush, he was certain: it was the only cover between here and the river.

They separated, one to pass either side. What choice had he now but the pistol?

The scarred warrior – the more seasoned of the two? – was coming left of the bush, his spear arm therefore closest.

Hervey took a last, deep breath, then sprang like a cock at set-to.

For all his caution the Zulu turned too late, Hervey's blade cleaving savagely through the flesh of his upper arm and shattering the bone.

He didn't wait to see its effect, turning on his heels to launch at the second while he yet had surprise.

The second, younger, looked afraid, eyes wide, though he still came on.

Hervey drew his pistol.

The Zulu faltered – he knew what a ball did – and Hervey rushed him with the point of the sabre.

He tried to parry with his shield, drawing his spear arm back. But in went the point – four inches, deadly.

Hervey withdrew, turned his wrist and sliced upwards and left to disarm him.

The Zulu dropped his spear and fell to his knees.

Hervey drove his sabre deep into his side to be certain.

It was a thrust too many. The other Zulu, spear now in left hand, was on him like the leopard of the night.

But, left-handed, the spear had neither the force nor the precision of the real warrior's thrust. It pierced the cartridge case not the kidneys. Hervey sidestepped and caught the Zulu without a guard. He drove in his sabre so deep he had to wrench it free. The warrior fell writhing like an eel out of water.

Hervey watched, panting, as blood ran to earth. Both Zulu had taken killing points; there was no need of coups de grace. Yet it was a full minute before they lay still and he could trust to leave them.

What inexpert warriors they had been compared with those at Umtata! And they the scouts, supposedly the best. He need have little fear of the host which followed in their footsteps – if only they were not so many.

He braced himself. There was now, perhaps, but three quarters of an hour before the host would be upon them.

He ran as fast as he could, back to the lala palm where Pampata lay. 'Come,' he shouted, holding out a hand. 'Come, now!'

She rose, not alarmed but uncertain. 'What is it, mfowethu?'

'Mbopa!' he gasped, pulling at her arm.

She saw the blood running down his scabbard. 'Where do we go?'

'Across! Across the river!'

He pulled her to the water's edge. He looked at the Thukela's great width, the greatest river of the country of the Zulu (fifty yards across, one hundred, who could tell?), and at its great speed. Was there point, even, in taking off his boots?

And then, like the Children of Israel in the wilderness, their deliverance appeared as if by the hand of God – in the upper part of a fever tree, which bobbed towards them in the slacker water near the bank.

'There!' he cried, pointing.

But Pampata could not see deliverance. She could see only death – and this she was not yet ready to give herself up to.

Hervey saw, and her sudden fearfulness moved him the more. 'Come, dadewethu,' he said firmly. 'Trust me.'

She turned to him, trustingly.

He put an arm around her, and together they leapt for the saviour-branch.

They held fast to the sodden branches as the current took them midstream, whence the great cloudy rush of water swept them away from Mbopa's horde, like flotsam in a mill race – though east, away from Ngwadi's kraal.What creatures they shared the river with Hervey gave not a thought to, for the Thukela itself, in its angry flood, was a greater threat to life and limb than any crocodile's jaws.

But no ark of Noah's could have been a surer rescue than the fever tree. As the Thukela began swinging