When the Lion Feeds c-4 Read online

  In a level place a huge buck-sail was spread for the dancing and at each corner a lantern hung on a pole. The band was tuning with squeaks from the fiddles and preliminary asthma from the single concertina.

  The men gathered in knots amongst the wagons or squatted beside the braaivleis pits, and here and there a jug pointed its base briefly at the sky. I don't like to be difficult, Waite, Petersen came across to where Waite was standing with his captains, but I see you've put Dennis in Gunther's troop. That's right. Waite offered him the jug and Petersen took it and wiped the neck with his sleeve. It's not you, Gunther, Petersen smiled at Gunther Niewehuisen, but I would be much happier if I could have Dennis in the same troop as myself. Keep an eye on him, you know.

  They all looked at Waite to hear what he would say. None of the boys are riding with their fathers. We've purposely arranged it that way. Sorry, Dave. Why?

  Waite Courtney looked away, over the wagons at the furious red sunset that hung above the escarpment. This isn't going to be a bushbuck shoot, Dave. You may find that you'll be called upon to make decisions that will be easier for you if you're not making them about your own son. There was a murmur of agreement and Steff Erasmus took his pipe out of his mout and spat into the fire.

  There are some things it is not pretty for a man to see.

  They are too hard for him to forget. He should not see his son kill his first man, also he should not see his son die. They were silent then, knowing this truth. They had not spoken of it before because too much talk softens a man's stomach, but they knew death and understood what Steff had said. One by one their heads turned until they were all staring across the square at the gathering of youngsters. beyond the fires. Dennis Petersen said something but they could not catch the words and his companions, laughed.

  in order to live a man must occasionally kill said Waite, but when he kills too young; he loses something... a respect for life: he makes it cheap. It is the same with a woman, a man should never have his first woman until he understands about it. Otherwise that too becomes cheap. I had my first when I was fifteen, said Tim HopeBrown. I can't say it made them any cheaper; in fact I've known them to be bloody expensive.

  Waite's big boom led the laughter. I know your old man pays you a pound a week but what about us, Sean? protested Dennis, we aren't all millionaires. All right, then, Sean agreed, five shillings in the pool.

  Winner takes the lot. Five bob is reasonable, Karl opened, but let's get the rules clear so there's no argument afterwards Kills only, woundings don't count, said Sean. And they have to be witnessed, insisted Frikkie Van Essen. He was older than the others; his eyes were already a little bloodshot for he had made a start on the evening's drinking.

  all right, dead Zulus only and a witness to each kill.

  The highest score takes the pool. Sean looked around the circle of faces for their assent. Garry was hinging back on the fringe. Garry will be banker. Come on, Garry, hold out your hat. They paid the money into Garrick's hat and he counted it. Two pounds, from eight of us. That's correctHell, the winner will be able to buy his own farm.

  They laughed. I've got a couple of bottles of smoke hidden in my saddle bags, Frikkie said. Let's go and try them. The hands of the clock on the church tower showed quarter before ten. There were silver-edged clouds around the moon, and the night had cooled. Rich meaty smelling steam from the cooking pits drifted across the dancers, fiddles sawed and the concertina bawled the beat, dancers danced and the watchers clapped in time and called encouragement to them. Someone whooped like a Highlander in the feverish pattern of movement, in the fever of fun. Dam the dribble of minutes with laughter, hold the hour, lay siege against the dawn! Where are you going, Sean? I'll be back just now. But where are you going? Do you want me to tell you, Anna, do you really want to know? Oh, I see. Don't be long. I'll wait for you by the band. Dance with Karl. No, I'll wait for you, Sean. Please don't be long. We've got such a little time left. Sean slipped through the circle of wagons, he kept in the tree shadow along the sidewalk, round the side of Pye's store and down the lane, running now, jumped the ditch and through the barbed wire fence. It was dark in the plantation and quiet as she had said; dead leaves rustled and a twig popped under his feet. Something ran in the darkness, scurry of small feet. Sean's stomach flopped over: nerves, only a rabbit. He came to the hedge and searched for the hole, missed it and turned back, found it and through into the orchard. He stood with his back against the wall of vegetation and waited. The trees were moon grey and black below. He could see the roof of the house beyond them. He knew she'd come of course. He had told her to.

  The church clock chimed the hour and then later the single stroke of the quarter hour. Angry now, damn her!

  He went up through the orchard, cautiously staying in shadow. There was a light in one of the side windows, he could see it spilling out into a yellow square on the lawn.

  He circled the house softly.

  She was at the window with the lamp behind her. Her face was dark but lamplight lit the edges of her hair into a coppery halo. There was something of yearning in her attitude, leaning forward over the sill. He could see the outline of her shoulders through the white cloth of her gown.

  Sean whistled, pitching it low to reach her only, and she started at the sound. A second longer she stared out from light into the dark and then she shook her head, slowly and regretfully from side to side. She closed the curtains and through them Sean saw her shadow move The Lamp went out.

  away.

  Sean went back through the orchard and the plantation.

  He was trembling with anger. From the lane he heard the music in the square and he quickened his pace. He turned the corner and saw the lights and movement. Silly little fool, he said out loud, anger still there but something else as well. Affection? Respect?

  Where have you been? I've waited nearly an hour Possessive Anna.

  logThere and back to see how far it is. Funny! Sean Courtney, where have you been? Do you want to dance? No. All right, don't then.

  Karl and some of the others were standing by the cooking pits. Sean started for them. Sean, Sean, I'm sorry. Penitent Anna. I'd love to dance, please They danced, jostled by other dancers, but neither of them spoke until the band stopped to wipe their brows and wet dry throats. I've got something for you, Sean. What is it? Come, I'll show you. She led him from the light among the wagons and stopped by a pile of saddles and blankets. She knelt and opened one of the blankets and stood up again with the coat in her hands. I made it for you. I hope you like it Sean took it from her. It was sheepskin, tanned and polished, stitched with love, the inside wool bleached snowy white. It's beautiful, Sean said. He recognized the Tabour that had gone into it. it made him feel guilty: gifts always made him feel guilty.

  Thank you verery much. Try it on, Sean. Warm, snug at the waist, room to move in the shoulders; it enhanced his considerable bulk. Anna stood close to him, the collar. You look nice in it, she said. Smug pleasure of the giver.

  He kissed her and the mood changed. She held him tight around the neck. Oh, Sean, I wish you weren't going. Let's say goodbye properly. Where? MY wagon. )What about your parents? They've gone back to the farm. Pa's coming in tomorrow morning.

  Garry and I are sleeping here No, Sean, there are too many people. We can't. 1You don't want to Sean whispered. It's a pity because it might be the last time ever. What do you mean? She was suddenly still and small in his arms. I'm going away tomorrow. You know what might happen? No. Don't talk like that. Don't even think itIt's true. No, Sean, don't. Please don't.

  Sean smiled in the darkness. So easy, so very easy.

  Let's go to my wagon- He took her hand.

  Breakfast in the dark, cooking fires around the square, voices quiet, men standing with their wives, holding the small children in farewell. The horses saddled, rifles in the scabbards and blanket rolls behind, four wagons drawn up in the centre of the square with the mules in the traces.

  To should be here any minute. It's ne
arly five o'clock, said Garry. They're all waiting for him, agreed Sean. He shrugged at the weight of the bandolier strapped over his shoulder. Mr Niewehuizen has made me one of the wagon drivers.

  I know, said Sean. Can you handle it? I think so.

  Jane Petersen came towards them. Hello, Jane. Is your brother ready yet? Nearly. He's just saddling up.

  She stopped in front of Sean and shyly held out a scrap of green-and-yellow silk. I've made you a cockade for your hat, Sean. Thanks, Jane. Won't you put it on for me? She pinned up the brim of Sean's hat; he took it back from her and set it at a jaunty angle on his head. I look like a general now, he said and she laughed at him. How about a goodbye kiss, Jane? You're terrible, said little Jane and went away quickly, blushing. Not so little, Sean noticed. There were so many of them you hardly knew where to start.

  Here's Pa, announced Garry, as Waite Courtney rode.

  into the square. Come on, said Sean and untied his horse. From all around the square, men were leading out their horses. See you later, said Garry and limped off towards one of the waiting mule wagons.

  Waite rode at the head of the column. Four troops of fifteen men in double file, four wagons behind them, and then the loose horses driven by black servants.

  They moved out across the square, through the litter of the night's festivities, and into the main street. The women watched them in silence, standing motionless with the children gathered around them. These women had seen men ride out before against the tribes; they did not cheer for they too were wise in the ways of death, they had learned that there is no room for glory in the grave.

  Anna waved to Sean. He did not see her for his horse was skittish and he was past her before he had it under control. She let her hand drop back to her side and watched him go. He wore the skeepskin coat.

  Sean did see the coppery flash and the swiftly-blown kiss from the upstairs window of Pye's store. He saw it because he was looking for it. He forgot his injured pride sufficiently to grin and wave his hat.

  Then they were out of the town, and at last even the small boys and dogs that ran beside them fell back and the column trotted out along the road to Zululand.

  The sun came up and dried the dew. The dust rose from under the hooves and drifted out at an angle from the road. The column lost its rigidity as men spurred ahead or dropped back to ride with their friends. They rode in groups and straggles, relaxed and cheerfully chatting, as informal as a party out for a day's shooting. Each man had taken to the field in clothing he considered most suitable. Steff Erasmus wore his church suit, but he was the most formally attired of the group. They had only one standard item of uniform among them: this was the green-and-yellow cockade. However, even here there was scope for individual taste: some wore them on their hats, some on their sleeves and others on their chests. They were farmers, not fighting men, but their rifle scabbards were battered with use, their bandoliers worn with easy familiarity and the wood of their gun butts was polished from the caress of their hands.

  It was middle afternoon before they reached the Tugela. My God, look at that! whistled Sean. I've never seen so many people in one place in my life before. They say there are four thousand, said Karl. I know there are four thousand. Sean ran his eyes over the camp. I didn't know four thousand was that many!

  The column was riding down the last slope to Rorke's Drift. The river was muddy brown and wide, rippling over the shallows of the crossing place. The banks were open and grassy with a cluster of stone-walled buildings on the near side. In a quarter-mile radius around the buildings Lord Chelmsford's army was encamped. The tents were laid out in meticulous lines, row upon row with the horses picketed between them. The wagons were marshalled by the drift, five hundred at least, and the whole area swarmed with men.

  The Lady-burg Mounted Rifles, in a solid bunch that overflowed the road behind their Colonel, came down to the perimeter of the camp and found their passage blocked by a sergeant in a dress coat and with a fixed bayonet. And who be you, may I ask? Colonel Courtney, and a detachment of the Lady-burg Mounted Rifles. What's that? Didn't catch it. Waite Courtney stood in his stirrups and turned to face his men. Hold on there, gentlemen. We can't all talk at once. The hubbub of conversation and comment behind him faded and this time the sergeant heard him. Ho! Beg your pardon, sir. I'll call the orderly officer.

  The orderly officer was an aristocrat and a gentleman.

  He came and looked at them. Colonel Courtney? There was a note of disbelief in his voice. Hello, said Waite with a friendly smile. I hope we are not too late for the fun. No, I don't believe you are. The officer's eyes fastened on Steff Erasmus. Steff lifted his top hat politely. More, Meneer. The bandoliers of ammunition looked a little out of place slung across his black frockcoat.

  The officer tore his eyes away from him. You have your own tents, Colonel? Yes, we've got everything we need. I'll get the sergeant here to show you where to make camp.

  Thank you, said Waite.

  The officer turned to the sergeant. So carried away was he that he took the man by the arm. Put them far away.

  Put them on the other side of the Engineers - he whispered frantically. If the General sees this lot..... He shuddered, but in a genteel fashion.

  Garrick first became conscious of the smell. Thinking about it served as a rallying point for his attention and he could start to creap out of the hiding-place in his mind.

  For Garrick, these returns to reality were always eightaccompanied by a feeling of light-headednessand a hid ening of the senses. Colours were vivid, skin sensitive to the touch, tastes and smells sharp and clear.

  He lay on a straw mattress. The sun was bright, but he was in shade. He lay on the veranda of the stone-walled hospital above Rorke's Drift. He thought about the smell that had brought him back. It was a blending of corruption and sweat and dung, the smell of ripped bowels and congeahng blood.

  He recognized it as the smell of death. Then his vision came into focus and he saw the dead. They were piled along the wall of the yard where the cross-fire from the store and the hospital had caught them; they were scattered between the, buildings, and the burial squads were busy loading them onto the wagons. They were lying down the slope to the drift, they were in the water and on the far bank. Dead Zulus, with their weapons and shields strewn about them. Hundreds of them, Garrick thought with astonishment: no, thousands of them.

  Then he was aware that there were two smells; but both of them were the smells of death. There was the stink of the black, balloon-bellied corpses swelling in the sun and there was the smell from his own body and the bodies of the men about him, the same smell of pain and putrefaction but mixed with the heaviness of disinfectant.

  Death wearing antiseptic, the way an unclean girl tries to cover her menstrual odour.

  Garrick looked at the men around him, They lay in a long row down the veranda, each on his own mattress.

  Some were dying and many were not but on all of them the bandages were stained with blood and iodine. Garrick looked at his own body. His left arm was strapped across his bare chest and he felt the ache start beating within him, slow and steady as a funeral drum. There were bandages around his head. I'm wounded, again he was astonished. How? But how? You've come back to us, Cocky, cheerful Cockney from beside him. We thought you'd gone clean bonkers Garrick turned his head and looked at the speaker; he was a small monkey-faced man in a pair of flannel underpants and a mummy suit of bandages.

  el)ac said it was shock. He said you'd come out of it soon enough The little man raised his voice, Hey, Doc, the hero is completely mentos again. The doctor came quickly, tired-looking, dark under the eyes, old with overwork. You'll do, he said, having groped and prodded. Get some rest. They're sending you back home tomorrow. He moved away for there were many wounded, but then he stopped and looked back. He smiled briefly at Garrick, I doubt it will ease the pain at all but you've been recommended for the Victoria Cross. The General endorsed your citation yesterday. I think you'll get it. Garrick sta
red at the doctor as memory come back patchily, There was fighting Garrick said. You're bloody well tooting there was! the little man beside him guffawed. Sean ! said Garrick. My, brother! What happened to my brother? There was silence then and Garrick saw the quick shadow of regret in the doctor's eyes. Garrick struggled into a sitting position. And my Pa. What happened to my father?