Vengeance, page 34
NATIVITY BAY, 1837
A
nn looked down from the ridge into Nativity Bay. She had not wanted to come back here. And she knew that Andrew felt the same. ‘We have just finished one journey,’ he had told her after their audience with Dingane. ‘You and the children need some rest. I am sure the king will ensure your safety in Mgungundlovu.’
‘I would feel safer in the jaws of a crocodile,’ Ann had replied.
So they had inspanned the wagon and gone south – Andrew, Ann, Harry, Clara and Jack. Back to Nativity Bay, back to another piece of her past, as if Ann’s whole life was a thread that had unspooled to its end, and was now being wound back onto the bobbin.
‘Why did you come here?’ Clara asked. ‘The first time, I mean.’
‘I met Ralph.’ Ann glanced up, and saw that Andrew had ridden on to scout the way down to the lagoon. ‘My husband had died, our house washed away in a flood. I had nothing except a hungry child. Ralph had arranged passage on a ship to explore an unmapped stretch of wilderness.’ She swept her arm across the bay below them. ‘We came to this place.’
‘And he asked you to go with him?’
Ann shook her head. ‘He refused absolutely to consider the idea. I smuggled myself aboard his ship and came anyway.’
‘How brave you were,’ Clara marvelled.
‘I had nothing to lose. It was not brave . . . not the same thing, at all.’
‘You took your destiny into your own hands. How many women can say the same?’
I did it because I was desperate. Ann wanted to grab the front of Clara’s dress and shake the truth into her. So desperate that even running away with an escaped convict seemed better than what I had. And ever since, I have been following the dreams of one man or another, waiting for a moment that never comes.
But when she looked into Clara’s bright blue eyes, so innocent, so ripe with hope, she could not bring herself to say the words.
‘When destiny comes, you must be sure to seize it,’ was all she said.
‘Mama!’ A moment later, Harry’s face appeared from behind a tree trunk. His hair was full of leaves, and his shirt had three new holes in it. ‘Do you remember when Ralph used the old cannon to chase away the slavers?’ he asked excitedly.
Ann would never forget it. After the shipwreck, Ralph had gone to explore Zululand while Ann and Harry and their companions waited at Nativity Bay. An American slave ship had arrived. The crew had rounded up all the Africans who lived there, and locked them in a stockade, readying them for the journey to the new world. Ann and Harry had escaped to bring the news to Ralph.
He had been heavily outmanned and outmatched. But Ralph had used an old cannon that had once belonged to his ancestors in Nativity Bay to trick the slavers into thinking he could sink their ship. Rather than risk their vessel, they had fled in haste, leaving their cargo behind.
‘The cannon is still here,’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I found it!’
‘Really?’ Clara leaped down from the box seat. ‘Show me,’ she demanded.
Harry looked surprised. Then his face lit up with delight.
‘Follow me.’
Before Harry could lead Clara away, Jack stuck his head out of the wagon. The commotion must have interrupted his reading. ‘Can I see the cannon too?’
‘You’re too small.’ Before Jack could argue back, Harry grabbed Clara’s hand and pulled her into the trees.
Ann watched them go with misgiving. She was glad they were friends again, but she worried about what might come next. For all the innocence in Clara’s eyes, Ann still remembered what it was to be a passionate young woman of eighteen.
They are like a brother and sister, she told herself, but she could not be sure they would remain so. Andrew would have a fit if his daughter fell in love with such a wild young man. And he would be right. What sort of future could they have together?
Jack was tugging at her sleeve. ‘I’m not too small,’ he said indignantly. ‘Why can’t I go?’
‘You can go later.’ Ann pointed ahead to distract him. ‘Do you see the sea? I sailed on a ship there once, just like Midshipman Simple.’
Jack stared at the shimmering lagoon and the swelling ocean beyond. He had only seen the sea once in his life before, in Cape Town, but he had eagerly devoured all the novels of Captain Frederick Marryat.
‘Will we sail in a ship one day?’
Ann stroked his cheek and wondered why she felt like she was about to cry. ‘I hope so.’
The trees grew more thickly as they descended towards the bay, but a broad track that was wider than any path they had seen in Zululand had been cut through them. Already, the white settlers had begun shaping the land to their own measure.
Ann smelled woodsmoke. Gazing into the forest as they passed, she saw beehive huts built amongst the trees, and small gardens of maize planted in clearings. Children tended the gardens, while their mothers prepared food or wove baskets. By the way they dressed, Ann could see they were Zulus.
‘These must be the people who fled Dingane.’ They had made their homes in the safety of the forest, rather than on open ground where an army could fall upon them.
The track ended on the brow of a low hill, looking out over the river estuary and the flats beyond. A kraal had been built there – a thick thorn-brush fence surrounding a mix of beehive huts and thatched houses. A Union Jack hung limply from the topmost branch of a sapling in the compound.
‘Port Natal,’ Andrew said.
‘We call it D’Urban, now.’ A man had emerged from one of the huts, wearing nothing but a pair of buckskin trousers and a felt hat, with a lion-shaped amulet on a string around his neck. It must have been his usual attire, for his skin had been cured a deep, leathery ochre by constant exposure to the sun. A ragged beard ran under his chin, and a white clay pipe stuck out from between his thin lips.
‘John Henlow,’ he said, stalking towards the party. ‘I am the magistrate of this town.’
‘Andrew Ryder, missionary.’
‘Have you come to minister to us?’ Henlow chuckled. ‘You’ll find the men here have little use for religion, though I dare say you may find some blacks who’ll take your medicine.’
‘I have not come to preach,’ Andrew said stiffly. ‘Though no doubt there are men of all races whose souls would benefit from the Gospel. I have come with a message from King Dingane.’
Henlow took a step back. He eyed Andrew with a new wariness.
‘What does that rascal want?’
‘He says that you are harbouring fugitives from his kingdom.’
Henlow looked at the missionary questioningly. ‘And whose side are you on?’ he asked.
‘The side of the Lord.’
‘Well, unless the Lord has ivory or gold to trade, we have no business with him,’ Henlow said contemptuously.
Andrew gazed upwards, though whether he was looking at the limp flag or at the heavens beyond, Ann could not tell. ‘What would you do if he cut it off?’ he asked Henlow. ‘Your commerce, I mean. If Dingane refused to trade you hides and ivory.’
‘He would not do that.’ Henlow scratched his beard. ‘He likes our beads and cloth too much.’
‘He can get them from the Portuguese at Delagoa Bay if he truly wants them.’ A new passion entered Andrew’s voice, the way he spoke when he was in front of his congregation. ‘His patience is exhausted. If you will not honour your treaty, there will be consequences.’
Henlow chewed his lower lip. Ann became aware that an audience had started to gather: mostly young women and children who had come out of the huts in the forest to witness the exchange. Some of the children were almost as fair-skinned as Harry. Ann guessed that the traders had embraced the local custom of polygamy with enthusiasm.
‘What a turn of events,’ Henlow said at last. ‘A white missionary has become the mouthpiece of a heathen darkie king.’ He turned away. ‘I cannot make this decision myself.’ He shouted a few words to the children, who ran off in various directions to fetch the settlers. Some of the watching women went back in their huts, while others sat down and waited.
‘It will be some time,’ Henlow warned. ‘We roam freely here in D’Urban.’
‘I will wait,’ Andrew said.
A silence stretched between them.
‘Why D’Urban?’ Ann asked. ‘Why did you change the name from Port Natal?’
‘We renamed it for the governor in Cape Town, Sir Benjamin D’Urban. Thought it might encourage him to claim this country for England, if it had his name on it.’
‘And did he?’
Henlow spat out a wad of tobacco. ‘London has no interest in a scrap of land squeezed between bloodthirsty African tribes. They appointed me magistrate, and washed their hands of us.’
Andrew, who had been staring out over the lagoon, suddenly looked around. ‘Where are Harry and Clara?’
Clara followed Harry through the forest. Soon the rumble of wagon wheels faded behind them and they were alone. A branch snapped; the undergrowth rustled as some unseen animal pushed its way through. Clara reached out and put her hand in Harry’s.
‘Are we safe?’
Harry grinned. ‘I’ve got my knife. But keep close,’ he added quickly. ‘Just to be sure.’
Pulling her by the hand, he led her deeper into the woods.
‘Where is the cannon?’
‘Up here.’
Harry led her up the slope to a rise where the trees thinned out, and they could see down to the beach and the tranquil waters of the lagoon. The trees swayed lazily in the breeze.
‘I can’t see it.’
‘There.’
Harry went to a patch of bushes and crouched next to what looked like a fallen log amongst the leaves. ‘You see?’
Clara knelt beside him. She brushed it with her hand, feeling the coarse iron. The sun had left it warm to the touch, so she could imagine it had just been fired. She closed her eyes. She could feel the history in this place, the charge of adventure, as if all the books she had read as a girl were coming to life.
‘Tell me the story again. About how you were shipwrecked, and how you met the Zulus.’
So Harry told her, and though Clara had heard it before, it seemed to her that she was hearing it for the first time, that now it was no longer a children’s tale but something real. When Harry described the wreck, she could look down at the narrow entrance to the lagoon and imagine the ship run aground on the bar. When he talked about the Zulus and their cities, they were places she had actually been, wonders she had seen.
This is my story, too, she realised with delight, and the world seemed to open to her like a blossoming flower. Those years in the mission station, cooking and cleaning and praying, seemed almost as if they belonged to someone else.
In the trees above, a long-necked heron rose out of its nest. It spread its wings, beat them once and then lifted into the air to swoop out across the lagoon. Clara twisted around to follow its flight, turning until – with a shock – she found herself face to face with Harry.
Their eyes met. The world around them grew distant; all Clara could feel was the beat of her heart; she trembled at the thought of Harry’s body against hers.
Without thinking, she tipped her head back and moved her mouth towards Harry’s. Their lips brushed, then pressed together. A river of delight seemed to flow into her.
She did not know how long they stayed like that. Each time one of them drew apart for breath, the other would pull them hungrily back. With her eyes closed, the sunlight became a golden haze; she smelled the warm musk of Harry’s scent, woodsmoke in his tousled hair.
Everything was new and strange and wonderful. She didn’t want it to end. Yet – the more they kissed, the more she felt anxiety building in her chest. Her body stiffened.
Harry felt it. He pulled back.
‘Don’t you like it?’ he asked.
‘I did. But . . .’ She hardly wanted to say it, but the voice inside her – the voice that sounded so much like Elspeth – would not be silenced. ‘This is a sin.’
‘How can something that feels so good be a sin?’
Harry reached for her. He put his hand on her bodice, cupping it under her breast. ‘No,’ she moaned, pushing him away. It felt as if something was ready to burst inside her.
‘Yes,’ he insisted.
‘No.’ She held him back. ‘This is . . . I cannot do this.’
The hurt in his eyes was almost too much to bear. ‘Why?’
Because the last time we sinned together, when we drank the communion wine, Elspeth and Louis died. And now we are here, in so much danger. I cannot risk God’s wrath again. I am terrified of what will happen to the people I love. To you. A tangle of guilt and shame warred with the need that filled her veins. She wanted to explain, but could not find the words.
Frustration flashed in Harry’s eyes. Suddenly, Clara was aware of just how far into the forest they had come, how alone they were.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Are we not still friends?’
The fierce spark in Harry’s eyes flickered out, and Clara felt his disappointment reciprocated in her own body. She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.
‘I am sorry,’ she said.
‘We should go back,’ he said stiffly.
They trooped back through the forest, though now the colours seemed muted and the sounds dull. You did the right thing, Elspeth’s voice crowed. You preserved your virtue.
So why then did she feel so miserable?
They emerged into the clearing by the kraal where the Union Jack hung from its sapling. A large group of men had gathered, and appeared to be holding a meeting.
‘It is agreed, then,’ the man at the front said – he wore a felt hat and sported a scrawny beard. ‘We will send the blacks back to Dingane, and thus protect our trade.’
One of the men in front of him nodded. ‘Makes no difference to me if we have more blacks or less, so long as the ivory comes.’
‘What about them that was already here?’ said another voice. ‘Five of my wives came down from Zululand.’
That brought a great deal of ribald mockery. Harry took the opportunity to edge closer, in amongst the group, separating himself from Clara. He felt that every man must be staring at him, that the truth of what he had done – and more importantly, what he had wanted to do – was written across his face.
But no one paid him any attention. Even Andrew was too intent on the discussion to notice Harry and Clara’s arrival.
‘Those who were already here can stay,’ the man in the felt hat said. ‘But no more. I will spread the word in Zululand that any Zulus who flee here will not be accepted.’
‘They’ll come anyhow,’ one of the settlers said. ‘Dingane can’t lay that on us.’
‘If they come, you will have to send them back,’ Andrew said. ‘That is how you will prove your good faith.’
‘And how you prove that you’re his lackey,’ Henlow said. ‘I wonder who is paying a higher price.’
Andrew turned, saw Harry and frowned. ‘There you are. Fetch my writing desk from the wagon.’
At any other time, Harry would have bridled at being ordered about like a servant. But at that moment, he saw the sense in obliging. He pushed through the crowd and brought back the writing desk. Andrew set it on a tree stump and took out a pen and ink.
‘I will record what we have agreed for Dingane’s benefit. He values the written word greatly.’ He gave the assembled men a stern look. ‘He understands, as I believe we all do, that it binds a man to his commitments.’
The settlers crowded forward to watch Andrew write. Ann, whose eyes had missed nothing, worked her way around the group.
‘Where have you been all this time?’ she asked Clara as she clambered into the wagon.
‘Looking at the cannon.’ Clara shied away, but Ann reached forward and plucked something from under her bonnet.
‘You have a leaf caught in your hair.’
Clara blushed. ‘These clothes are not practical.’
‘No indeed.’ Ann looked her up and down. Clara was not used to lying: Ann could read the truth on her face as clearly as if it had been written with Andrew’s pen.
‘What have you done?’ she whispered. She knew she ought to be furious, and a part of her was, but mostly what she felt was an overwhelming weariness. She had tried to raise Clara to be respectable, just as she had tried with Harry. And now, at almost the first opportunity, they had succumbed to temptation.
I should have spoken to her more frankly. And to Harry. I have failed my duty as a mother.
But Harry had vanished, and all Ann saw in front of her was a girl whose normally spirited face was filled with terror.
‘It was only a kiss,’ Clara whispered, dispelling Ann’s worst fears. ‘And I repented of it immediately. Please do not tell my father.’
Only a kiss. I repented immediately. She believed Clara, yet her face said that in her mind it had been more than a kiss, and her repentance less than wholehearted.
However much you love him, you will always be alone in the end. But how could she say those words when the boy Clara loved was Ann’s own son?
But at least you have love, she thought, and was ashamed at the ache of jealousy she felt in her heart. And where there is love, there is hope. She glanced through the crowd, to where Andrew was putting his signature to the agreement he had drawn up with the settlers. He looked pleased with himself. No doubt he was thinking of the impressive church he would build when he took the treaty back to Dingane.
When was the last time I had either love or hope?
TRANSORANGIA, 1837
R
alph and Adam avoided Philippolis and continued north-east. The scrub gave way to grassland, shimmering waves that billowed in the breeze as far as the eye could see. The dread Ralph had felt in the Cape Colony had evaporated the moment they crossed the river. He felt alive with hope, a feeling he had almost forgotten. Though the slow pace of the wagons grated on him – the daily business of inspanning and outspanning the oxen, making and breaking camp – he was glad they had decided to travel with Andries. The highveld in winter was a harsh and unpredictable place. A storm could suddenly blow up out of blue skies, lashing their tents with hail as big as musket balls, forcing them to huddle under the wagons for shelter. Often, the night was so cold that in the mornings they had to chip ice off the axles.
