Warrior

'We must trust to your dragoons' speedy recall.'

Hervey inclined his head, the sign that he was not convinced. 'We may have to quit this place. We have the advantage of horses, that is all. Much as I admire Ngwadi, we have no obligation to him. My prime duty is your safe return.'

Somervile looked at his pistols, as if asking himself what he did here, a diplomatist not a soldier. 'I hope it shall not come to that. My mission would be altogether unaccomplished.'

'You would of course live to accomplish it another day,' countered Hervey.

'But the day may not be given me. Recollect that I am recalled to London.'

'Carpe diem?' said Hervey, with more than a hint of scepticism. 'But what pain in the seizing?'

Somervile frowned. 'You disappoint me, Hervey. 'Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.' Gather the day, Hervey, not seize it.'

Hervey sighed. 'Somervile, we stand here with loaded pistols, and bodies lying all about us, like . . . Medea, and you declaim the finer points of Horace! I must respectfully remind you that I have a duty to discharge, and I intend discharging it.'

Somervile looked chastened once more. 'I would not stand in the way of duty, Hervey.'

'Come, then; let us leave these fellows to the sexton's work. I confess I was always discomfited by the evidence of victory.'

His friend nodded, acquiescing (though not, to his mind, in any scheme of quitting this place), before bending down to pick up a spear. 'I am not disposed as a rule to trophies, but the iklwa is indeed a singular weapon. I believe there would be profit in contemplating it.'

Hervey had not quite thought of it thus, but he was not averse to adding another memento of his trade to those he had acquired over the years. Georgiana would be intrigued by it at least (even if Kezia might recoil . . .). He stooped to prise the iklwa from the hand of the warrior who had intended death to him not many minutes before. 'At stand-to this evening I will ride out to see who is gathered; and likewise at dawn tomorrow. If there is a swarm of 'bees' then I fear I shall insist we fly before we are stung to death.' He flexed the spear in his hand, wondering indeed if ever he would be able to show it to anyone.

Later, with Corporal Cox, he rode out from the kraal on his reconnaissance. He knew the ground he had trodden with Pampata well enough – all folds and hollows – and he did not reckon it safe to go much beyond a mile or so in that direction, for there were hiding places enough for a whole impi, and the fleetest of horses would have been hard-pressed to outpace a determined envelopment. He saw no sign of Mbopa's men, however, even whence they had attacked, and whither they had retreated. Neither saw he any sign in the rest of their circumnavigation of the kraal, and at a radius of a mile and a half. The ground in all directions, he discovered, was as unfavourable to the defenders as might be. He wondered how Ngwadi could have chosen such a place, for he would surely have understood the importance of ground (Matiwane's warriors, as he recalled, could make themselves invisible in what looked like the flattest country). And he rode back with his spirits sagging, knowing the initiative lay firmly with Mbopa, or whoever was his field commander. They could expect attack from any direction or several, and he could ill afford skirmishers out to break up the assault.

He reported his disquiet to Somervile, who asked simply if he had reconnoitred their line of withdrawal in the event that an attack went hard with them. Hervey told him he had (there was a line of thorn bushes, part of the cattle drove, which would give them cover by day and direction at night), and would have a rifleman stand by with the horses at the 'sally port'. He then asked what Somervile had learned of Shaka's child from Pampata.

Somervile expressed himself disappointed in this. 'She says the boy's been taken to a place called Mpapala, Ngwadi's father's kraal, a day and a half's march from here.'

'Safe, at least.'

'Oh, indeed so. And I would not hasten thither, for I think it would not profit us greatly to find the boy if Ngwadi is then defeated.'

'I understand. If the troop were here I would suggest we convey her there with an escort, out of harm's way, but . . .' Hervey would not divide his force any more.

'Exactly so. There is no option but to wait on their return . . . Did she tell you that Ngwadi himself knows of the boy, or his identity?'

'She did. Ngwadi knows both, but no one but Pampata knows of his knowledge. Ngwadi knows because Nandi confided in him her delight at having a grandchild.'

'I begin greatly to admire Pampata, you know, Hervey. She displays an admirable constancy that is most touching.'

Hervey raised his eyebrows at the dryness of his friend's appraisal.

'Oh, indeed she does,' Somervile insisted, misreading the gesture. 'And I might add that I have pity for her in her condition of bereavement.'

Hervey's mouth fell open. 'Somervile, you astonish me. Did you ever suppose her grief to be the less for her being . . . an ingenue?'

Somervile looked at him, puzzled. 'Hervey, are you quite well? Your sojourn has not left your faculties impaired?'

Hervey knew his old friend to be capable of studied obtuseness, but on this occasion he had a very real fear that he was being entirely candid. 'Somervile, I may assure you, in the most certain of terms, that Pampata is as much a woman – more a woman, I might say – than many a one you would meet in London.'

Somervile studied the officer before him, the major of dragoons, lieutenant-colonel of mounted rifles, and thought to himself that this mission to Shaka, if no advantage of state proceeded from it, was worth it yet for the discovery of such sensibility – of such appreciation of humanity. He felt buoyed by it, indeed. He would prepare a paper on the Zulu; he would read it to the Royal Society at Somerset House. 'Capital, Hervey. Capital!'

All afternoon, men from the outlying kraals came into kwaWambaza. They carried with them spears and short