The Map of Bones, page 25
Suzanne felt uneasy at the thought that she might have betrayed her intentions, but she saw no reason to hide her purpose now.
‘I am searching for Louise,’ she said simply.
He recoiled as if he had been struck. ‘Louise . . .’ he repeated the name.
‘I thought you were Phillipe Vidal, but you are too young. I think you must be his son?’
‘I am Théodore Barenton.’ Then he gathered himself. ‘More to the point, who are you?’
‘Suzanne Joubert. Louise was my cousin. That’s to say, my first cousin twice removed.’
For a few moments, he was silent, then he spoke quietly: ‘You have the same eyes.’
Suzanne felt a spark of satisfaction. ‘So, you did know her.’ She paused. ‘It is not possible she is still alive, but—’
‘You need to rest,’ he said abruptly. ‘In the morning, we will talk.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
OLIFANTSHOEK VALLEY
The light was fading. It was that time of day when rider or horse might make a misjudgement, stumble or lose the pathway. Nevertheless, Adriaan van Dijk pressed forward, slapping his reins against the stallion’s neck to encourage the weary animal to go faster.
Time was snapping at his heels. He tried to balance the common sense of Pierre Jaubert with his own instinct that something was terribly wrong. Though Suzanne’s diversion to Drakenstein and Harrie’s injuries explained the delay to her journey, Adriaan could still not account for the fact that Suzanne had failed to return to the Colony since then. And the information about the splinter Cochoqua group was disturbing.
During the summer, there had been increasing rumours that Kmame was attempting to oust his father with the intention of causing unrest between the Cochoqua and the settlers. Perhaps even to provoke a third Khoi-Dutch War. Adriaan thought that was a real threat – and had written reports for Commander Van der Stel on the subject. And he knew himself well enough to realise that he felt guilty at having left Suzanne in the care of Odendaal, even though it had been at her request.
Adriaan dug his heels harder into the horse’s flank, determined to cover as much ground as possible before night fell. Though Harrie and Tia had three days’ advance on him, they were on foot. If he kept the pace up, he should catch them up by late afternoon tomorrow.
Harrie and Tia had undertaken to convert to Christianity when they started to work for the VOC. It was not mandatory, but those who became co-religionists received better terms of employment than those who did not. It made life easier. It was a matter of pragmatism not faith.
On the barren mountain pass, Harrie had said a Christian prayer over Khasso’s body. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he had spoken more ancient words of praise to Tsui-Goab, the supreme creator revered by his Khoi ancestors. He and Tia had covered Khasso’s body with rocks to keep predators at bay – a pointless exercise, in truth – and fashioned a wooden cross from two sticks to put at the guide’s head.
As darkness had fallen, Harrie and Tia had taken shelter. Leopards mostly hunted at night, particularly in the days of summer heat, and were a danger here. Harrie could just see the imposing blackness of the highest peak they still had to cross. Silently, he prayed that Kmame and his men were not there waiting to ambush any travellers who might come this way. Once through the mountains, they would have a better view over the plain and would be less vulnerable.
Harrie put his arm around his sister’s shoulder and felt her grow heavy against him as she fell into sleep. He was resolved to stay awake, keeping watch, his eyes anxiously scanning the dark horizon as he waited for dawn to come.
Adriaan stretched his arms and shoulders, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. He had never ridden into these mountains before and the vista in this early morning was magnificent. From his vantage point, he could see all the way down over the Olifantshoek valley.
The beauty of the day lifted his spirits. The grey and red rocks seemed to gleam in the gentle sunlight, as if they had been polished. In the air, the whistles and warbling of red-wing starlings were singing against a sky as blue as the first day on earth.
‘God’s creation,’ he said out loud, wishing Judith were here to share it with him.
Adriaan could see Pierre Jaubert was right. This would be a far better place to settle and to plant vines. Everything was lush and fertile, fed by the tributary from the Berg River. Whoever had allocated the land for the refugees in Drakenstein could not possibly have visited the place in person, or known anything about farming.
Then in the far distance, he saw something moving. Instantly, his senses were on the alert. Animal or human, he could not tell from this far away. Adriaan took out his eyeglass. He could pick out two people in the landscape. On foot, but moving fast. Fearing it might be an advance party sent by Kmame, he adjusted the scope and narrowed his eyes. Now he thought he could discern white shirts and breeches, rather than Khoi capes. He looked again, to be sure, then exhaled with relief.
Harrie and Tia. He had found them.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else moving. A knot of men, breaking cover and running from behind towards the brother and sister with spears poised at their shoulders.
Kmame and three of his men?
‘Let op!’ he shouted, trying to attract their attention. Watch out.
But he was too far distant and his warning spiralled unheard up into the air. He shouted again, then pulled his flintlock pistol from his belt, squeezed his finger and thumb, and fired.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Adriaan heard the clicking of the wheel, felt the tension of the mainspring, saw the sharp white-hot sparks of the fool’s gold as the pyrite hissed and the bullet left the pistol. He had no hope of hitting a target, but surely Harrie and Tia would hear the retort? It might buy them a little time.
Hearing the shot, Tia and Harrie both spun round. Tia screamed and threw herself at her brother just in time as a spear came whistling through the air. It hammered into the ground, sending up a puff of earth. Harrie yanked it free, and started running.
‘Head for the trees,’ he shouted.
There were four of them. He and Tia had no chance out in the open, but if they could get into the cover of the wood, then perhaps they could evade their attackers.
Tia kept pace with him. At their back, he recognised Kmame’s voice shouting an order. Moments later, Harrie felt the same rush of air and the heavy thud of another spear which impaled itself in the trunk of a tree, sending fragments of wood splintering. Tia felt something sharp slice into her arm, and she cried out, but did not falter.
Then, another shot from the gun. Behind them, Harrie heard another of the Cochoqua shout. Still running, he twisted to look over his shoulder and saw one of Kmame’s followers was down. Another shot, and a second warrior was hit in the back and fell forward.
‘Who is helping us?’ Tia shouted.
‘Don’t look back,’ he yelled in reply. ‘Run! Keep running.’
Adriaan was exhilarated. Two men down, two to go. If Harrie and his sister could stay out of Kmame’s reach, then all might yet be well.
He stretched out his arm wide, holding the flintlock pistol well away from his horse’s head, and fired again. He could get off three or four rounds before he had to reload.
This time his bullet went wide. His stallion reared. Adriaan dragged the reins savagely to the right, avoiding the spear flying through the air towards the animal’s flank by a hair’s breadth. He hung on, only just keeping his seat, circling the horse around until he had regained his balance.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’
But when he had calmed the horse and looked up, he saw to his horror that Kmame and the remaining warrior were gaining on Harrie and Tia.
‘Only a little bit further,’ he said in an urgent whisper, as if Harrie and Tia could hear him. He only needed one more clear shot. If he could kill Kmame, the other man would surely surrender.
‘Harrie, here!’ Tia cried, pointing to the hollowed-out trunk of a tree.
He shook his head. ‘No, we need to be higher. Their spears will be less effective if we are above them.’
They kept sprinting over the ground, never losing pace, breath burning in their chests. Tia could no longer feel any pain from her arm, but her shirt sleeve was damp and she could feel the blood trickling down to the inside of her wrist.
She spied a white stinkwood. The branches were low, but it had its summer foliage and there was plenty of cover at the top of the tree. Closing her eyes to the pain, Tia grasped hold of the lowest branch and swung herself up, with Harrie pushing from below. She looked up at the branches towering above her, then started to climb.
‘Harrie, come on,’ she cried, then suddenly realised what her brother intended to do.
Kmame and his lieutenant had entered the wood. From her vantage point, she could see them scanning left and right, looking for the path they had taken.
‘No,’ she whispered, now hidden in the leaves, as her brother ran away from the tree, ready to fight.
‘Come on, come on,’ Adriaan panted, urging his horse forward.
Kmame had entered the wood. Adriaan knew it would be harder to navigate the animal through the thicket and get a clear shot.
He went as far as he could, then dismounted, landing on the ground with both feet. He checked his gunpowder and primed the pistol again, then started to move forward through the trees. His blood was pounding in his ears but, over the sound of it, he could hear the occasional snap of a twig ahead.
Finding a gap between the trees, Adriaan suddenly saw them, like a painted tableau: Kmame standing with his spear raised, Harrie ahead of him with his spear in his hand, the other warrior circling behind. Of Tia, there was no sign.
Adriaan crept forward, knowing he had only a split second.
‘Verrader,’ Kmame spat. Collaborator.
The warrior pulled back his arm ready to throw, as Adriaan pressed his finger and thumb together, and fired. The bullet flew through the air and hit him in the chest. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth, his limbs twitched, then he fell still as Harrie and Kmame both threw their spears. Kmame’s glanced Harrie’s shoulder, causing Harrie’s own shot to go wide. Adriaan took aim again and fired. Kmame threw himself sideways, then scrambled to his feet and ran into the woods. Harrie tried to give chase, but was losing too much blood.
‘He’s gone,’ Harrie panted, then dropped to his knees.
Adriaan lowered his gun, suddenly spent. Never before had he killed a man. Today, he had taken three lives. He closed his eyes and prayed for God’s forgiveness.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
OLIFANTSHOEK
Thursday, 13th January
Suzanne realised two things: first, that she was hungry. Second, that a china bowl and jug had appeared on the table. Tentatively, she swung her feet to the ground and tried to stand up. A wave of dizziness sent her falling back to the bed. But she was determined to get dressed.
Like someone finding their sea legs for the first time, Suzanne slowly made her way across the room to the table. She reached out her hand for the back of the chair and sank down onto it to catch her breath. Grateful for Théodore’s thoughtfulness, she poured water from the jug into the bowl and, using the hem of her nightshirt as a sponge, began to wash. Only now did she realise she was wearing a man’s shirt and blushed: Théodore must have undressed her when she first arrived.
Suzanne washed her face and neck. She had a comb in her satchel, so she could brush out the worst of the knots in her hair. Soon she felt a little more like herself. Still light-headed, she exchanged the man’s shirt for her own clothes, fumbling over the hooks and eyes. She examined the puncture marks on her calf, two black spots where the fangs had managed to pierce the skin, but there was little redness or swelling there now.
Suzanne left her boots where they stood. It was already too hot to wear them and she didn’t want to aggravate the wound. Then, taking her satchel from the back of the door, she went to find Théodore. She was ready to rejoin the land of the living.
Straight away, she sensed that the house was empty. There was that feeling of stilled air, suspended, as if waiting for people to come to bring it back to life. Suzanne was both disappointed and a little relieved.
She found she was standing in a large single room that served as both kitchen and living space. There were two doors leading to the outside, one at the back and the other at the front, flanked by two large windows. The window shutters were pulled to, but unlatched.
In the middle stood a large wooden table with four chairs set around it, a dresser to the side on which hung several iron pots and cooking utensils. There was a stone fireplace and chimney, with a black pot hanging over the ashes. It was far more comfortable than any of the Huguenot farmsteads she had visited. A larder filled with shelves containing dried herbs, a loaf of bread and a covered plate of dried meat, had a small hatch that gave directly to the air outside for ventilation.
On the far side of the kitchen, opposite her room, was another door. It was ajar, so Suzanne quickly peeked in and saw a second sleeping chamber, the mirror of her own. She wrinkled her nose. Unmistakably it was a man’s room, smelling of sweat and leather. It was empty.
Making her way back through the kitchen, she went to the front door, lifted the latch and walked into the world. She had only seen the farmhouse from her vantage point on the hill whilst staking out the farm and blushed to think of how alarming her behaviour now seemed. Without knowing anything about her, Théodore had cared for her – a stranger – and nursed her back to life. How could she admit that she had come prepared to shoot him, perhaps even to kill him? It seemed absurd now.
Suzanne shook her head. She had to trust that she would know what to say when the time came. He knew Louise, his reaction had told her that, and he carried Gilles’ family name: Barenton. She had to be bold. She would ask him his story and she would tell him hers.
She stepped out from the shadow of the house and looked around, then murmured in delight when she saw her mare tethered comfortably in an enclosure with another horse.
‘Ma belle!’ she cooed, caressing her neck. She was delighted to see her coat was shining and her eyes bright. She had been well cared for while her own life had hung in the balance.
Suzanne gave the mare a final pat, then she continued exploring the rest of the farmstead. A wooden kraal for livestock stood nearby – sheep by the looks of the droppings on the ground – and three straw-thatched huts. Most impressive was the vegetable garden. Enclosed by thorn trees to protect against scavengers, it was much smaller than the VOC gardens in the Colony, but contained many of the same fruits and vegetables. Not everything was in season, but Suzanne could see cabbage, watermelon, broccoli growing. No doubt, turnips, carrots, beetroot, cauliflower and radish would come. Most surprising of all were the rows of vines stretched on the slope behind the kraal in neat rows.
There were also peach and pear trees growing against the north-facing wall of the house, as well as quince and cherry. As she walked, Suzanne realised that even though Théodore lived here alone, so far from anywhere, he must have traded regularly with VOC and foreign merchants to have created such a garden.
‘You are up.’
Suzanne started at the sound of Théodore’s voice behind her. He had come from the direction of the woods and was carrying a wicker basket full of branches, and an axe.
‘Good morning.’ She smiled, feeling strangely shy. ‘I am feeling much better.’
He did not return her smile and it seemed to her there was now a wariness in his eyes.
‘It is beautiful here,’ she said, confused by his change of mood.
‘It is,’ he said coldly. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I find I do have an appetite this morning, yes.’
‘In which case, I will prepare some food. And then you will tell me what you are really doing here, Mademoiselle Joubert.’
It was as if the sun had suddenly gone behind the clouds. The brightness of the day faded and Suzanne suddenly felt the precariousness of her situation.
‘Of course,’ she said, raising her chin. ‘I would be glad to, Monsieur Barenton.’
Suddenly, behind them, there was a sound of shouting coming from the woods. She turned to see two San dragging a third man between them.
‘We have him!’ one of them shouted.
Suzanne looked at Théodore. ‘What’s happening?’
Théodore fixed her with a stare. ‘I was rather expecting you to tell me. My men brought me a report that there was someone on my land. A man known to be a criminal and it seems you brought him here. You came here with a guide, did you not? You talked about it in your fever.’
‘But why would—’ Then she turned cold as the three men entered the compound. ‘Kmame . . .’
‘So, you do know him.’
‘No, I, at least— It is not what you think.’
He pointed to one of the huts. ‘Take him in there and secure him. I will speak to him presently.’
‘Théodore, please.’
Now Suzanne felt his hand on her arm and he steered her back towards the house.
‘Time to talk,’ he said, and now there was no warmth in his voice whatsoever.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Leading his horse by the reins, Adriaan looked down over the Olifantshoek Valley, shining green in the early morning light.
‘Where is he hiding her?’ Tia asked again.
After the skirmish with Kmame and his men, Adriaan, Tia and Harrie had spent the hours of darkness recovering in the woods. Adriaan had heard animals feasting on the bodies of the men he had killed and their souls pressed heavily on his conscience. But the night had passed peacefully. The wound on Tia’s arm was not deep, and Kmame’s spear had only grazed Harrie’s shoulder. They had taken it in turns to keep watch until dawn.
