Hervey 10 - Warrior (33 page)

And then, as though they were answering the cry of alarm, Dingane and Mhlangana sprang from behind the hedge and raced to Shaka's side.

Fairbrother froze: this was not the moment to be discovered skulking like the jackal.

He crouched lower as Mbopa's railing continued, turning to look for his line of retreat.

There was none but that would expose himself to Mbopa and the brothers.

He reached for his pistol, wondering how its one shot might be of best use (indeed
any
use).

Mbopa ceased his rant, and Shaka rose, as if from torpor.

Fairbrother's every muscle was tensed for flight.

And then came a cry like no other he'd heard. He froze, like Lot's wife turned to the pillar of salt.

Into Shaka's flank plunged Dingane's spear.

But the regal cloak deflected the point, so that instead it pierced his arm.

Shaka spun round.

Dingane thrust again, deep into his side.

Shaka reeled.

Mhlangana drove his spear into his breast.

Shaka threw his arms wide, and like a child betrayed, cried, 'It is you, sons of my father, who are killing me!'

Fairbrother pulled back the hammer of his pistol.

Shaka now stretched to his full height. The brothers shrank back in the astonishment of men who had inflicted mortal wounds to no effect.
Was
this chief immortal?

'What have I done, Dingane?' The voice was sorrowful, not angry. 'What have I done, Mhlangana, that you kill me thus? You think you will rule this country? I tell you, you will not, for I see the swallows coming. The white people have already arrived!'

The brothers stood rooted with horror.

Mbopa, who had watched as the adjudicator at a combat, stepped forward, and without a word, Brutus-like, thrust his spear beneath Shaka's ribs.

Yet still Shaka did not falter, even as blood poured from his mouth and the three body blows. He did not look at Mbopa, as if to deny he was worthy of remark. Instead, with all the majesty he could muster, he turned his back on them and began walking for the kraal.

The cloak slipped from his shoulders as if it were his life departing.

Only Mbopa followed.

A dozen paces, then as Shaka appeared to stumble, Mbopa quickened, and stabbed him twice more from behind.

Still Shaka did not fall. He turned, slowly, with a look of desolation. '
Hau! Nawe Mbopa ka Sitaya
. . . So, you too, Mbopa, son of Sitaya: you, too, are killing me . . .'

But Mbopa, as defiant as the brothers were hesitant, stood his ground. He had no doubts now of the mortality of this or any other king.

Without a sound, Shaka crumpled to his knees.

And for a full minute he remained upright, as if praying. Then the King of the Zulu fell forward, his face to the red earth, which he had reddened even more with the blood of countless warriors.

The assassins stood in watching silence. Fairbrother, certain he must be discovered, got to his belly and brought his pistol to the aim.

At length, when the spear wounds no longer bled, Mbopa spoke to the brothers – sharply, for they seemed paralysed. He raised his spear, gesturing towards the dragoons' encampment.

The brothers fled.

Mbopa now strode back to where Shaka's two ancient attendants crouched, terrified. They were witnesses – the only witnesses.

They did not flinch. If Shaka demanded their lives it was their duty to submit – and was it not Shaka's own chamberlain who took upon himself the king's mantle thus?

Fairbrother took careful aim. And then – iciest of calculations – he lowered the pistol.

The cudgel struck twice, and then the spear; and then there were no more witnesses to the death of
Si-gi-di.
He who was equal to a thousand warriors.

XVII
LAMENTATIONS

Later

'
Ku dilike intaba. Inkosi ye lizwe ishonile
– The mountain has fallen. The Lord of the World is dead!'

Rumour spread like flame along a trail of powder – a trail lit by Mbopa. He told of how the Izi-Kwembu had struck down the great Shaka.

Harem lilies and warriors alike fled the kraal, as if they would somehow be swallowed up in the great convulsion of the Earth that must follow the death of the Most High.

Fairbrother lay flat to the ground for what seemed an age, certain that in the frenzy, no foreign face could expect quarter. The shadows were long when at last he judged it safe to beat back to camp.

There he found Hervey and Somervile, oblivious of what had happened.

'Fairbrother?' said his friend, anxiously, seeing him dust-covered and greatly exercised.

'Shaka's dead. Murdered. Mbopa and the brothers.' He stumbled over the words, breathless. Hervey had not seen him so discomposed.

Somervile was at once agitated. 'You saw?'

'Everything. I thought I should not live to tell the tale.'

Hervey beckoned an orderly. 'Have the camp stand-to-arms,' he said, calmly.

'Who else saw?' asked Somervile.

'No one.'

'Damnation! Did you not try to prevent it?'

Fairbrother gave him a look of pity.

'Forgive me: I did not mean to imply. . . Tell me everything.'

When the account – a full and considered one – was finished, Hervey shook his head, and turned to Somervile. 'I'm sorry I doubted your trust in Pampata. He might be alive still.'

Somervile held up a hand. 'No. Mine is the responsibility. I told Pampata she would have our support, and I failed her.'

'We needn't fail her again. If we move at once we can have command of the kraal before last light.'

Somervile shook his head. 'Command?'

'Yes, command! We can apprehend the assassins!'

Somervile was calculating rapidly. 'That would present us with certain difficulties, do you not see? Dingane is heir; if we move against the kraal we shall become implicated in the plot.'

Hervey turned to Fairbrother. 'There's another heir, is there not? Mbane? Are his hands clean?'

'
Mpande.
No, he wasn't there with the other two. But Isaacs said he likes his pleasures in excess, did he not? He hardly sounds likely. There's Ngwadi – but he's illegitimate.'

He turned back to Somervile. 'Then what of this child of Shaka's? Is
he
not the rightful heir?'

'As I understand it,' replied Somervile, and sounding weary at his own incapability, 'the Zulu are not a people with settled precedent in these matters. More's the point: do you see them ruled by a boy? Who would be regent? Regency's a desperate enough affair in the most civilized of nations.'

Hervey pressed him for a conclusion. 'And so we look to our own defence, and withdraw to Port Natal as soon as may be?'

Somervile was still deep in thought, however.

When at last he broke silence, it was with a look that said he was resolved on something novel. 'Our own late regency was perhaps not entirely devoid of merit. Perhaps this is our opportunity to bring order to their benighted affairs, deliver them from error's chain.'

'You mean an
English
regency?'

'Why not? We have had such arrangements in India.'

Hervey cleared his throat. 'Forgive me, Somervile, but is that within your authority? Would the duke approve?'

'I have certain plenipotentiary powers . . . '

Hervey was still unconvinced. 'Even if that be so, how are we to find the child?'

Fairbrother, beginning to dust himself down, smiled grimly. 'I suspect that all we need do is follow Mbopa's trail, for he will be Herod-like.'

'Or statesmanlike? Himself as regent?'

'He might will it, Sir Eyre, but there's the little problem of his rank. There's Ngomane.'

Somervile nodded, conceding the point. Ngomane was chief minister, Mbopa merely chamberlain. 'He's at his kraal, did not Pampata say – Nonoti?'

'She did.'

'How far is it?'

Hervey took out his map. 'If this is at all faithful, nine or ten miles, but what the country is like, I cannot say.'

'Then we ought to send word there at once.'

Hervey agreed, but he was reluctant, still, to remain so much on the defensive. 'Might we try also to discover the state of affairs here, in the kraal?'

Somervile thought for a moment. 'Very well. We'll go at once.'

Hervey shook his head. 'That would be a needless risk. Fairbrother and I will go.'

Somervile looked faintly vexed at being once more excluded from a more active role in his own embassy, but was wise enough not to object. 'As you wish.' And then he turned again to Fairbrother, seeming to recollect something. 'What did they do with Shaka's body?'

Fairbrother frowned. 'I didn't observe, Sir Eyre. I confess that my head was in a hole.'

'Quite so,' he replied, chastened. 'But I think we must discover it. A king's obsequies should not lightly be set aside.'

They found Pampata kneeling by Shaka's side, alone, rocking to and fro, and moaning softly.

'This is Mbopa's work, I tell you,' she said without rising. 'It is as I foretold. Like the hyena, he circled, waiting.'

'You saw it,
Nkosazana,
madam, little chieftainess?' asked Fairbrother, gently.

She did not look at them, or move her head this way or that to signify her answer. 'I know it to be true. And then with those other dogs, Dingane and Mhlangana, he crept in for the kill when my lord was pulled down.'

How did she know this? Fairbrother pressed tenderly. 'Who has told you,
Nkosazana
?'

'My lord tells me.'

Hervey wanted to console her, as he would the widow of one of his own men. He crouched beside her, put an arm around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, nodding to Fairbrother to cover the body – which he did with the bloody cloak. 'Come,
Nkosazana.
We shall bear him into the kraal.'

Fairbrother beckoned Serjeant Hardy and his six dragoons.

Hervey stood supporting her as they took up the body.

'
Nkosazana,
' began Fairbrother, judging it the moment that she would answer truly. 'Do you know where is Shaka's son?'

She understood. But her look of anxiety told him she had misunderstood his purpose. '
Nkosazana
. . .' He struggled to find the words. 'We wish to find the boy to make him chief under King George's protection.'

Pampata looked searchingly at him, and then at Hervey. She had trusted them, and yet her lord was dead. Yet what alternative was there? Dingane and Mhlangana would hunt down the child; they would hunt
her
down. Her peril could be no greater.

The dragoons bore Shaka's body with as much observance as they would one of their own officers, at first 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'.