Assegai

They rode for an hour before they reached the spot where Percy had abandoned the blood spoor the previous evening. It was a bad place. The thorn bush was dense and grew low to the ground. There were narrow aisles through it that had been trodden by rhino, elephant and buffalo herds.

Percy’s tracker, who had been with him for thirty years, was named Ko’twa. He pointed out the stale spoor, which had been almost obliterated by the passing of other large animals during the night, and Manyoro and Loikot took it away at a jog trot.

The three hunters followed on horseback. Even though the bush was thick the ground was soft and sandy so they covered the first two miles quickly. Then the character of the soil changed, becoming hard gravel that resisted the prints of the buffalo’s hoofs. There was little blood and it had dried black so it was almost impossible to pick out the specks in the mulch of dead leaves and dried twigs under the bushes. The horsemen stayed well back to let the three trackers perform their small miracles of detection without interference. Within another hour the sun was well up and baking hot. There was no breeze and the air was stifling. Even the birds and insects were quiescent. The silence was brooding and ominous, and the thorn grew thicker, until it was almost solid. The trackers squeezed through the narrow openings and aisles between the fanged, clawing branches. Even from horseback the view ahead was severely curtailed.

At last Leon checked his mount and whispered to Percy, ‘We’re making too much noise. The buffalo will hear us coming from a mile off. We don’t want to push him and get him moving. That’ll loosen up his wound. We must leave the horses.’ They unsaddled and hobbled them, but gave them nosebags to keep them contented.

While they took a last drink from the water-bottles, Percy gave Eastmont a final briefing: ‘When the buff comes, and I mean when he comes, not if he comes, he will come with his nose held high in the air. He will probably be quartering across your front. You might think he’s moving slowly and that he’s not actually coming for you. Don’t delude yourself. He’s coming very fast, and he’s coming to get you. He’ll look so big that you might be confused about where to place your shot. You might be tempted to shoot into the middle of him. Don’t do it. There’s only one place to shoot if you’re going to stop him. You have to brain him. Remember, his nose is held high. Go for the end. It’ll be wet and shiny and give you a good aiming mark. Keep shooting at his nose until he goes down. If he doesn’t go down and just keeps coming, throw yourself to the left. I’ll be at your right elbow, and you must give me a clear shot. Left! Throw yourself left. Have you got that?’

‘I’m not a child, Phillips,’ said his lordship, stiffly. ‘Don’t speak to me like one.’

No, you’re not a child, Leon thought bitterly. You’re the gallant gentleman who left his platoon to be shot to bits by the jolly old Boer. I think we might have some fun with you today, my lord.

‘I beg your pardon,’ Percy replied. ‘Are you ready to move out?’ They fell into battle formation. Eastmont was on the point, with Percy close to his right elbow, and Leon brought up the rear. All their rifles were loaded and locked on safety. Leon had two spare .470 cartridges held between the fingers of his left hand ready for a quick reload. They followed the trackers, who knew exactly what to do without being told. This was all in a day’s work for them. As soon as the buffalo broke cover, their duty was to clear the front and leave Eastmont open ground in which to take on the animal. They went forward slowly and silently, communicating with each other by sign language.

The sun rose towards its zenith. The air was as hot as the breath of hell. The back of Eastmont’s shirt was running with sweat. Leon saw drops sliding down the nape of his neck from his hairline. He could hear him breathing in the silence, short, wheezing gasps like an asthmatic’s. They had covered no more than two hundred slow paces in the last hour, and tension seemed to crackle in the air around them, like static electricity.

Suddenly there was a sound from directly ahead, like two dry twigs tapped together. The trackers froze. Loikot was standing on one leg, the other stretched out to take the next step.

‘What was that?’ Eastmont asked. In the silence his voice sounded like a foghorn.

Percy seized his shoulder and squeezed hard to silence him. Then he leaned forward until his lips were almost touching Eastmont’s ear. ‘Buff heard us coming. He stood up from his couch. His horn touched a branch. He’s close. Keep very quiet.’

Nobody else spoke, and nobody moved. Loikot was still on one leg. They were all listening, standing still as waxwork dummies. It lasted for an eternity and an aeon. Then Loikot lowered his foot to the ground, and Manyoro turned his head to look back. He made a graceful and eloquent gesture with his right hand to Leon. ‘The buffalo has moved forward,’ said the hand. ‘We can follow.’

They went on cautiously but heard nothing and saw nothing. Now the tension was like the twanging of steel wires stretched to breaking point. Leon’s thumb was on the safety catch of the Holland, and the butt of the rifle was clamped under his right armpit. He could mount, aim and fire instantaneously. He heard it then, soft as rain in the grass, faint as a sleeping babe’s breath. He glanced left, and the buffalo was coming.

It had doubled back and waited in ambuscade, hidden in an impenetrable thicket of grey thorn. It had let the trackers pass and now it came out, black as charcoal and big as a granite mountain. The sweep of the great curved horns was polished and gleaming, wider than the full stretch of a tall man’s arms. The points were dagger sharp, and the boss between them was gnarled like the shell of a gigantic walnut, and massive as a monolith of obsidian.

‘Percy! On your left! He’s coming!’ Leon yelled with all the power of his lungs. He stepped out to give himself a clear field of fire, but as he lifted the rifle into his shoulder, the buffalo galloped behind an intervening clump of thorn scrub. He couldn’t get a bead on him.

‘Your bird, Percy! Get him!’ Leon yelled again, and from the corner of his eye he saw Percy turn left and shuffle to get into position. But his crippled leg dragged and slowed him down. He braced himself and leaned into his rifle, levelling it at the charging bull. Leon knew that Percy would brain him from that range. Percy was an old hand. He wouldn’t muck it up, not now, not ever.

But they had forgotten about Lord Eastmont. As Percy tightened his forefinger on the trigger, Eastmont’s nerve snapped. He dropped his rifle, spun around and ran for safety. His eyes were wild and his face was ash-white with panic as he lumbered back down the path. He seemed not even to see Percy as he crashed into him with all his weight. Percy went down and the rifle flew from his grip as he hit the ground on his shoulders and the back of his head. Eastmont did not even check his run, but bore straight down on Leon. The path was too narrow for Leon to avoid him. He reversed his rifle and used the butt in an effort to fend off Eastmont’s rush.

It was futile. Eastmont was an enormous man and he was mad with terror. Nothing could stop him. Leon hit him in the centre of the chest with the rifle butt. The walnut stock snapped cleanly at the pistol grip, but Eastmont did not even flinch. He came into Leon like an avalanche. Leon was flung aside by the collision. Eastmont kept going. Leon landed on his right shoulder on the side of the path. He had the stock of the broken rifle in his left hand and pushed himself up with the right. Desperately he looked along the path to where Percy had gone down.

Percy was struggling to his knees. He had lost his rifle and was dazed by the blow to the back of his head. Behind him Leon saw the buffalo burst out of the thorn scrub into the narrow pathway. Its little eyes were bloodshot and they fixed on Percy. It lowered its massive head and swerved towards him. Its off back leg was trailing and swinging limply on the shattered bone, but it came on the other three, swift and dark as a summer tornado.

Leon lifted the shattered rifle. The butt-stock was gone but he was going to fire single-handed. He knew that the recoil might break his wrist. ‘Percy, get down!’ he screamed. ‘Fall flat! Give me a chance.’ But Percy stood up to his full height, blocking his shot. He was shaking his head with confusion, staggering drunkenly and looking around vaguely. Leon tried to shout again but his throat seized with horror and he could not utter a sound. He watched the buffalo roll its head to one side, winding up for the hook, as it covered the last few yards to reach Percy. Its neck was as thick as a tree-trunk and bulging with muscle. It used all that pent-up power to swing the massive half-moon of horns.

The point of a horn caught Percy in the small of the back at the level of his kidneys. The buffalo tossed its head high and he was impaled. With disbelief Leon saw that the point of the long curved horn had emerged from Percy’s stomach. The buffalo shook its head in an effort to dislodge the limp body. Percy was whipped around and his arms and legs flailed slackly, but the horn still transfixed his belly. Leon could hear his skin and flesh parting with a sound like tearing silk. Percy dangled over the buffalo’s head and blindfolded it. Leon raced forward, slipping the safety catch off the broken rifle. Before he could reach them, the buffalo lowered its head and wiped Percy off against the ground. As soon as it was free it smashed its great boss into him and, standing over him, began to grind him into the earth. Leon heard Percy’s ribs snapping like dry twigs. He could not fire into the bull’s skull, for the bullet would have gone straight through and into Percy’s pinned body.

He dropped to one knee beside the buffalo’s shoulder and pressed the double muzzles of the Holland into the massive neck at the juncture of spine and body. He had expected the recoil of the rifle to snap his wrists, but such was his furious abandon that he barely felt it and thought that the cartridge had misfired. But the bull reeled away from the shot and dropped into a sitting position on its haunches, its forelegs braced in front of it. Its head was lowered, and at last Leon could reach the brain. He jumped up and ran forward again, careful to stay outside the sweep of those lethal horns. He thrust the muzzle of the unfired barrel into the back of the skull behind the horny boss and fired the second barrel. The bullet burst the beast’s brain asunder in its casket of bone. It flopped forward, then rolled on to its side. Its good rear leg kicked convulsively, and it let out a long, mournful death bellow, then lay still.

Leon dropped the shattered stock of his rifle and wheeled back to where Percy lay. He fell to his knees beside him. Percy was on his back with his arms thrown wide as a crucifix. His eyes were closed. The wound in his stomach was hideous. The violent movements of the bull had enlarged it so that the torn and tangled intestines bulged through the opening, the contents of the ripped intestines pouring from the wound. From the murky colour of the blood he saw that Percy was bleeding from his kidneys.

‘Percy!’ Leon called. He was reluctant to touch him, fearful of inflicting further pain and damage. ‘Percy?’

His partner opened his eyes and, with an effort, focused on Leon’s face. He smiled regretfully, sadly. ‘Well, I didn’t get away the second time. The first was just my old leg, but now they’ve done for me, good and truly.’

‘Don’t talk such rot.’ Leon’s voice was harsh, but his vision was blurring. He felt moisture on his cheeks and hoped it was only sweat. ‘As soon as I’ve patched you up, I’ll get you back to camp. You’re going to be all right.’ He stripped off his shirt and bundled it into a ball. ‘This might be a little uncomfortable, but we have to plug the leak you’ve got there.’ He stuffed the shirt into the hole in Percy’s abdomen. It went in easily, for the wound was wide and deep.

‘I can’t feel a thing,’ Percy told him. ‘This is going to be a lot easier than I ever imagined it would be.’

‘Do shut up, old man.’ Leon could not look into his eyes where the shadows were gathering. ‘Now. I’m going to pick you up and carry you back to your horse.’

‘No,’ Percy whispered. ‘Let it happen here. I’m ready for it, if you’ll help me over.’

‘Anything,’ Leon told him. ‘Anything you want, Percy. You know that.’

‘Then give me your hand.’ Percy groped for him, and Leon gripped his hand firmly. Percy closed his eyes. ‘I never had a son,’ he said softly. ‘I wanted one, but I never had one.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Leon said.

Percy opened his eyes. ‘I guess I’ll just have to settle for you instead.’ The old twinkle was in his eyes.

Leon tried to reply but his throat was choked. He coughed and turned his head away. It took him a moment to find his voice. ‘I’m not good enough for that job, Percy.’

‘No one ever wept for me before.’ There was wonderment in Percy’s voice.

‘Shit!’ said Leon.

‘Merde,’ Percy corrected him.

‘Merde,’ Leon echoed.

‘Now, listen.’ There was sudden urgency in Percy’s tone. ‘I knew this was going to happen. I had a dream, a premonition. I left something for you in the old tin cabin trunk under my bed at Tandala.’

‘I love you, Percy, you tough old bastard.’

‘Nobody ever said that either.’ The twinkle in the blue eyes began to fade. ‘Get ready. It’s going to happen now. Get ready to squeeze my hand to help me across.’ He closed his eyes tightly for a long minute, then opened them very wide. ‘Squeeze, my son. Squeeze hard!’ Leon squeezed and was startled by the power with which the old man squeezed back.

‘Oh, God, forgive me my sins. Oh, sweet, loving Father! Here I come.’ Percy took one last gulp of air. His body stiffened, and then his hand in Leon’s went slack.

Leon sat beside him for a long while. He was unaware that the trackers had come back and were squatting close behind him. When Leon reached out and gently closed Percy’s staring eyes, Ko’twa jumped up and raced back along the path brandishing his assegai.

Carefully Leon arranged Percy’s limbs and lifted him in his arms as if he was a sleeping child. He started back towards where they had tethered the horses, Percy’s head resting on his shoulder. He had not gone fifty paces before he heard wild shouts.

‘Bwana, come quickly! Ko’twa is killing Mjiguu!’ Leon recognized Manyoro’s voice in the uproar. Still carrying Percy, he broke into a run. As he came around the next bend in the narrow pathway he was presented with a scene of wild confusion.

Eastmont was curled in a foetal position in the middle of the path. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his huge hands covered his head defensively. Ko’twa danced over him with his stabbing assegai raised. He was screaming at the prostrate body. ‘Pig and son of pigs! You have killed Samawati! You thing that is no man! You left him to die. He was a man among men and you killed him, you worthless creature. Now I am going to kill you.’ He tried to thrust the bright assegai head into Eastmont’s back but Manyoro and Loikot were hanging on to his spear arm to prevent the thrust going home.

‘Ko’twa!’ Leon’s voice cracked like a rifle shot, and reached the tracker even in his excess of grief. He looked at Leon, but his eyes were sightless with rage and sorrow.

‘Ko’twa, your bwana needs you. Come, take him home.’ He offered him the lifeless body. Ko’twa stared at him. Slowly he came back from the far regions of his mind, and the red stains of rage faded from his eyes. He dropped his assegai, and shrugged off the restraining hands of the two Masai. He came to Leon, face bathed in tears, and Leon laid Percy in his arms. ‘Bear him gently, Ko’twa.’ He nodded wordlessly and carried Percy away, back to where the horses waited.

Leon went to where Eastmont lay and spurned him with the toe of his boot. ‘Get up. It’s all over. You’re safe. On your feet.’ Eastmont was sobbing softly. ‘Get up, damn you, you craven bastard!’ Leon repeated.

Eastmont uncurled his enormous frame and looked at him with incomprehension. ‘What happened?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘You bolted, my lord.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘That must be a great consolation to Percy Phillips and the troopers you left to die at Slang Nek. Or, for that matter, the wife you drowned in Ullswater.’

Eastmont did not seem to understand the accusations. ‘I didn’t want it to happen,’ he whimpered. ‘I wanted to prove myself. But I couldn’t help it happening again. Please try to understand, won’t you?’

‘No, my lord, I won’t. However, I have a piece of advice for you. Don’t speak to me again. Ever. I won’t be able to stop myself if I hear any more of your whining. I’ll wring that great grotesque head off your monstrously deformed carcass.’ Leon turned away and summoned Manyoro. ‘Take this man back to camp.’ He left them and went back to where the buffalo carcass lay. He found the pieces of his rifle in the bushes beside the path where he had thrown them. When he reached the horses Ko’twa was waiting for him. He was still holding Percy.

‘Brother, please let me take Samawati from you for he was my father.’ Leon took the body from his grieving tracker and carried Percy to his horse.