Conquest

Chapter 13

‘What are you waiting for? Kill him now!’

Renzi steeled himself but stood outwardly calm as the men made to seize him, hesitating for a moment in bafflement at his confidence. He smiled cynically. ‘A rising of the tribes? I rather think not. You’ve overlooked the one thing that makes it quite impossible.’

Thérèse held up her hand. The men clamped his arms with an iron grip and waited with a growl. ‘What do you mean?’ she bit.

‘Shall I remind you that I’m colonial secretary and few things are hidden from me? And what I know tells me your plan’s worthless. You’ve utterly ignored one vital matter.’

‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

‘You can’t see it? Then all I may conclude is that as a band of plotters you’re both incompetent and amateur.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she flared. ‘You’re bluffing, aren’t you?’

Renzi said nothing, his smile still in place.

‘Tell me!’

He remained mute.

‘Tell me, I said! Or I’ll have you crushed!’

‘I could say anything, which you must believe, and in the circumstances your threats are meaningless, Mam’selle.’

She bit her lip in frustration. ‘Don’t think you can be allowed to live!’

‘Oh? You’re going now to your leader to confess you destroyed the only one who can point out the fatal flaw in time to halt this misguided rising? I do pity you, dear lady.’

She stepped close and slapped his face twice, hard. ‘I’ll make you pay for this, Renzi. But not now. You’ve won yourself some time. You’re coming with us and then we’ll see what you’ve got to say before the patron.

‘Bind him.’

Renzi’s hands were tied behind him with rawhide thongs. Thérèse went to the string of horses and familiarly mounted one of them. ‘He goes first,’ she commanded, and Renzi was thrust ahead roughly to walk on the end of a rope lead, while Thérèse and the three men followed on horseback, the pack train strung out behind.

‘Move!’ she snapped. Renzi trudged forward, but after rounding another bend she ordered the party to stop and nodded to one of the men. ‘Here!’

He dismounted and took a trussed chicken from a wicker cage, crudely cut its throat and splattered the side of the road with blood.

‘Where you were taken by a leopard,’ she said acidly.

Renzi glanced at her for a moment, before returning his gaze to the dark, rust-coloured mountain scene. The little convoy got under way again, Renzi’s plodding progress setting the pace. After an hour she called a halt again. ‘You’re worse than useless, Renzi,’ she said harshly. ‘We’ll never make it at this rate. You two – get the mule for this fool.’

The animal was relieved of half its load and Renzi was hoisted on its back, a rope at the bridle leading to one of the men’s horses. It was bony and uncomfortable without a saddle and his arms restrained behind him made it near impossible to stay upright. After two tumbles Thérèse ordered his thumbs to be cut free and he was able to ride by holding on to the pack-straps.

They moved off at a brisker pace and, despite his discomfort, Renzi could not help but take in the grand panorama – the narrow trail rimming the spectacle of a great mountain range on one side and the trackless aridity of the legendary Great Karoo to the other. They had left the last farms and now were trekking into the unknown.

All Renzi could deduce was that by keeping the mountains to the south they were curving around to enter the wild Zuurveld well away from the habitations of white men. Thérèse kept up a punishing pace; with little idea where they were, there could be no estimate of how far they’d come, but it must be a considerable distance through the lonely, near silent landscape. There was no sign of Africa’s fabled wild beasts other than an occasional wheeling eagle – or was it a vulture? – and unknown scuttling as they passed along.

At one point there was the click and tapping of dislodged stones above them. Thérèse stopped the party, dismounted soundlessly and drew out a long Austrian rifle, swiftly circling the base of the scree slope to disappear ahead. The men sat quietly, expressionless, until there was the sound of a distant shot when one dropped to the ground and loped off in that direction.

They returned, a baby antelope over the man’s shoulders and Thérèse in the lead, cradling her rifle professionally. Then without pause the little group set off once more.

A small valley stippled with the green of some spiky plant provided welcome relief from the gunmetal greys, the ancient reds and orange, and a rivulet tinkled down its slopes. A halt was called to water the horses.

‘You,’ Thérèse threw at Renzi, who looked up wearily. ‘Since we’ve allowed no rations for useless mouths, you’ll find your own supper.

‘Show him some veldkos,’ she told one of her men, who got to his feet and beckoned Renzi.

Aching in every muscle, Renzi followed the man into the stony expanse. He searched about, kicking at a patch of vine with leaves like a bay-tree. ‘Camaru,’ he grunted, and pointed at the base.

Renzi scrabbled with his fingers and found a large tuber. He hacked at it with a jagged pebble until it was free, surprised by its weight, at least ten pounds. He found another, even bigger.

‘Very good,’ Thérèse said sarcastically, when they got back to her. ‘Then perhaps you will eat tonight, Mr Secretary.’

They remounted and pressed on relentlessly. Clearly she knew where she was going, moving from one water-source to another until, as evening drew in, they ended at a small fold in the ground overhung by several trees of outlandish size and shape.

The men began setting up a pair of tents while Renzi was put to gathering firewood. As the evening came, the surrounding mountains grew darker and more daunting, and all attention focused on the fire over which a well-used cooking pot hung from a tripod. The darkness quickly became complete and by the light of the fire Thérèse doled out portions of stew.

Aching and sore, Renzi tried to make himself comfortable on the stony ground as he hungrily fingered hot gobbets of meat and the tasteless camaru tuber into his mouth, a knife denied him. They ate quietly, finishing with rooibos tea. Stars were coming out in a profusion he had only seen before at sea, hanging close above in a spell-binding silence.

Thérèse’s face took on a demoniac cast as she stared moodily at the fire.

‘Mam’selle, should your rising be successful, even to the recapture of Cape Town, it will be to no account so long as we rule the seas,’ Renzi said, breaking the silence.

‘What should you care? You’ll be dead in three days.’ Was this how much of the journey remained?

She tossed her head. ‘Anyway, that’s a matter for the patron.’

‘Ah, yes. Is he a great man at all, learned in the military arts and—’

‘He’s my father,’ she said flatly.

‘The baron! Surely he—’

‘He will know how to deal with vermin like you, Renzi.’

An expatriate royalist, plotting with the regicides? Incredible, but it had to be true – unless it was a double-bluff of some extraordinary complexity that he couldn’t fathom.

‘I look forward to the meeting,’ he replied.

He sipped his rooibos and then ventured, ‘Thomas Kydd – may I ask what he is to you?’

‘Kydd? That’s no business of yours.’

‘I was simply curious.’

‘Well, since you ask it – not as useful as I’d thought. A simple matelot who kept his mouth tight shut on anything to do with his precious navy.’ Her face softened for a moment. ‘But as a man he was . . . diverting.’

‘Just that?’

‘Who are you to quiz me?’ she blazed, and stood up. ‘Enough of this talking – don’t think it will save you, Mr Secretary.’

She stalked off to her tent, the others following to theirs, leaving Renzi on his own at the fire.

It was quite impossible to think of flight. Prowling lions and other beasts would make short work of him, and even if he was still alive in the morning, on foot he would not last long in this oppressive wasteland.

Feeling chilled as the night took hold, he made his way to the horses and the pile of offloaded gear. They whinnied in surprise as he rummaged through, found some canvas covers and carried them back to the fire, spreading out a bed as best he could, a roped bag of clothing for a pillow.

At least now he had peace to think. How quickly his horizons had narrowed from the survival of Cape Colony to his own mortal existence. He turned his mind to the coming confrontation with the baron. It was a bluff that had saved his life; in reality, he had no idea what he could say that would turn the tables, for what kind of man would he be talking to? A royalist or a revolutionary? In any event, when he was seen to have nothing to reveal, he would be dealt with summarily.

His only chance would be to make a move before they arrived at the base. Unarmed, he wouldn’t stand a chance against the three men, and there was then the question of what to do with Thérèse. There was nothing for it but a course of action that, in his very being, he despised: he would find a heavy rock and silently crush her skull where she lay, trusting that, the deed done, her men would see it in their best interests to lead him to safety.

He waited for an hour or so, then stealthily eased back his covers, raised his head and looked around. It was a dark night but brilliant with stars, the light just sufficient to make out the primeval terrain, the inky shadows of the tents and trees. The firelight was a problem so he got up, stretched and went out into the darkness with the obvious intent of relieving himself.

Careful to keep the glow between him and the tents, he felt around until he found a weighty piece of rock, then began painstakingly to circle towards her tent. A sound startled him. Ready for some terrible beast preparing to spring, he then realised it was just a snore from the men’s tent.

He was coming close, but all it needed was for him to trip over a root or step on some nocturnal creature and he would be finished. The tent was hidden in blackness – he remembered there were ropes on all sides except the entrance, which would be laced up. That left the other end. He must work at raising the edge carefully and then, in the shadows, strike without seeing. To achieve a killing, silencing hammer blow on a woman.

Judging he’d nearly reached the end of the tent, he closed in, heart pounding. It loomed huge and he could hear no sound from within. All he had to do now was to get close, ease up the edge and do the deed quickly before the cold night air woke her. Crouching low, he moved forward – and froze, for the star-field had just been blotted out. For long minutes he kept motionless. Then he saw it was one of the men on guard and cursed himself; of course, they’d be taking it in spells through the night to watch for wild animals.

In a wash of disappointment he skulked back to his bed-place.

Days of soreness and tedium followed, as they progressed over endless miles of scrubby bare red plains between the ranges until at last they began to descend into the green-clad downlands. They reached a river and Renzi sensed tension after they had splashed the horses across and made the low scrub the other side. This must be the actual frontier and they were now within the Zuurveld before Xhosa territory – and therefore near the end of their journey. Picking up another, smaller, river, they followed its banks as it wound through ever-flattening terrain.

Where the scrub thickened to light woods, they stopped. ‘Tie him,’ Thérèse snapped. He was made to dismount and the thongs tightly reapplied. A rope led from them to one of the men on horseback and they set off, Renzi plodding on in the lead.

They wound down a track into a shallow valley, dark green shrubbery thick on each side. His eyes cast down as he trudged on, Renzi saw that underfoot the trail was turning from the usual red and ochre to a paler hue, with the addition of white sand. Somewhere ahead they were nearing the sea. The blessed, limitless, friendly sea. It caught him unawares, bringing a sudden lump to his throat. Out there – somewhere – was Kydd, still in the first flush of glory of his frigate command, going about his duty with no idea that his friend could have been brought to such a pass. It was as if—

In a shocking flash, dozens of dark shapes shot up into view each side. They resolved into tall warriors, each with an assegai and a shield, clad in nothing but a loin-cloth with decorative tufts around their ankles and a tall headdress. Their fierce eyes glittered as they brandished their weapons.

Thérèse and her men immediately threw their arms wide, palms open and upwards in a gesture of peace, and one of her men spoke in a short, strangely guttural clicking language. The assegais were withdrawn but the warriors did not fall back; this was now an escort and they took position on each side as the trek resumed.

Renzi felt their eyes as they loped along next to him, their arrogance of manhood and ferocity of purpose fearsome. These were quite different from the harmless Khoikhoi of Cape Town, and if they were enabled to sweep in on the settlements, they would stir up an appalling tide of war. Baird could then do no other than send every soldier he possessed to stem the flood.

The river was now a broad, barely moving calm expanse, curving among the flat scrub and an occasional tree. They passed a rise, along its top many more warriors watching their progress. From somewhere in the interior rose an immense ululation, a swelling sound of tribal song that could only have come from countless thousands of throats. It beat in on Renzi.

Then, abruptly, they rounded a bend and ahead Renzi saw a sizeable native-style kraal stockade fronting the river, the roofs of huts inside visible and around it patrols of Xhosa warriors. Thérèse spurred on eagerly past Renzi and gave a shout, which was answered from inside. Several men came out swiftly from a far entrance. She threw herself at one whose reaction could only have been that of a fond father.

Renzi straightened, trying to ignore his aching limbs as he went forward.

‘Good God, Thérèse! Who’s this?’ The man was tall, with a neatly clipped beard, and carried himself with effortless dignity. The eyes were intelligent but concerned.

‘I’ll tell you about it later, Father. First there’s—’

‘No. You’ll tell me about it now, my child.’

She sighed. ‘He saw me at the Reinke farmstead. I found out he knew too much and thought to bring him to you. He says he knows why the rising will fail.’

‘Cut him loose,’ he said firmly. ‘Here we may fear no one man.’

He turned to Renzi. ‘Why, sir, my daughter failing in her duty of politeness, therefore I must ask you to introduce yourself, if you will.’

Renzi returned his gaze with composure. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing the Baron de Caradeuc? Then, sir, be introduced to Nicholas Renzi, colonial secretary of Cape Colony.’ His elegant bow would not have been out of place in the court of the late king and was returned instinctively.

‘An . . . unexpected honour, M’sieur.’ Clearly taken aback, he flashed a troubled glance at Thérèse. ‘However, it does leave me in some degree of perplexity as being how to . . . entertain such a notable personage.’

‘He can’t be set free now, Father.’

‘And as we have not the means to ensure his, er, security while in the process of setting our plan in train, it does rather set us a problem.’ His apologetic smile might have been seen on a parson regretting upset picnic plans.

Renzi knew he had to get through to the baron if he had any hope of getting out alive. But the man was a mystery – he was known to be a royalist, a refugee from the chaos of revolution, and here he was, patently of noble birth, with the delicacy of manners and graces of the ancien régime, in Africa fomenting a native rebellion.

‘Sir, it would gratify me much to understand how a gentleman of courtliness and discernment is to be found in such distant parts as this. Do you not pine after the salons and civilities of la belle France? The home of Voltaire and Montesquieu both – the mists on the Seine from the Pont Marie, the bookshops on the rue St Honoré even?’

‘Why, I do believe you are acquainted with Paris, sir!’

‘Not so long since I had the felicity of attending the Institut as guest of M’sieur La Place.’

‘Then you are a scholar indeed!’ the baron exclaimed, in wonderment.

‘In the meanest way, sir. I have pretensions at a theory of the human condition that require extensive travel of which—’

‘He lies!’ Thérèse spat. ‘I know him for a certainty as a humble clerk of sorts from off one of the navy boats. He must have bribed his way to the attention of their ruling general to get his grand post.’

‘Possibly. A gentleman of learning certainly,’ the baron mused, stroking his chin.

‘And one who is in some mystification as to the meaning of your present actions, sir,’ Renzi said civilly.

‘I believe, Mr Secretary, you are referring to this current enterprise. There is no mystery, sir. I’m engaged in the raising of the Xhosa tribe to fall upon the eastern frontier, thereby attracting the military forces of the English occupier while Cape Town is retaken. As you may imagine, I have some considerable interest in what you have to say concerning why it must fail.’

Renzi swallowed. ‘None the less it exercises me considerably why a distinguished member of the noblesse does so support the Emperor Bonaparte in such a forward manner.’

The baron winced. ‘I abhor the upstart Corsican. Probably more than you do! He has the manners of the banditti and the instincts of a wolf and while he tears down the old order he replaces it with his own aristocracy. A vainglorious and contemptible creature.’

‘Then why—’

‘There are principles of honour and destiny that must rise above all else. At the present time the country is ruled by that scoundrel but will not be always. There will come a time when we emerge from this state of eternal war into a bounteous peace. Then, sir, the age of empires will begin and undoubtedly whosoever has possession of the fulcrums of trade will inevitably accrue the most glorious and enduring dominion.

‘France shall no longer be denied her place as queen of nations, her right by virtue of culture and civilisation! No more in the shadow of other more thrusting realms, she shall step forward to take her role as leader and exemplar, ruling over the greatest empire the world has yet seen.’

‘And for this you—’

‘For this I abjure my title and honours, for what are they compared to the glory of one’s country? For this, too, I have invested my entire fortune in the equipping of the expedition, for nothing but celerity and swiftness of purpose will secure the prize.’

‘I honour you for it, sir,’ Renzi said sincerely. The baron was a patriot of the highest order and had dedicated himself and his wealth to the service of his motherland. And he was impeccably correct in his logic: whoever ended the war with the most possessions would dominate trade and world empires – and he must be aware that the British were at that moment, thanks to their navy, beginning to detach French possessions and adding more of their own. A strike back now, before military reinforcements and the apparatus of permanent rule could arrive from England, was their only chance. He was privately funding the uprising to overcome delay and bureaucracy, yet had been able to arrange in time the necessary deadly counter-stroke – a direct assault by some powerful squadron already at sea.

The baron gave Renzi a curious look. ‘And now you will infinitely oblige me with your views on why we must inevitably fail.’

‘I vow I shall tell you everything I know, but find it necessary to learn further of your preparations, sir, it bearing so on the elements of success.’ What was he reading of the man? The stakes were higher now by far than his personal survival.

The baron beckoned graciously. ‘Then I shall be your guide and show you our little enterprise.’

Walking side by side they began their tour within the kraal. ‘A contemptible little fortification, you’ll agree, but then it’s for a temporary purpose and, besides, what have we to fear, no one knowing of our existence?’

It enclosed a wide area: to one side were numerous thatched huts in the native style and, set apart, others with a small stoep that resembled a Dutch country dwelling. ‘Our living quarters. And over there those of our closest warriors.’ There were many such men nearby, some standing on one leg with the other crooked against the knee while balancing with the assegai. ‘The main band numbers some ten thousand, four paramount chiefs and their Nguni followers. A formidable force to unleash, I’m persuaded.’

‘And there?’ Renzi indicated directly across to the other side. It was a long, low thatched structure away from other huts covered by canvas and well guarded.

‘Ah. That is where our muskets and powder are stored. Dear me, you have no conception of the pother and vexation it has been to mount this uprising. The Xhosa are not to be trusted in the article of muskets – if they got hold of them before time they’d turn them on their brothers to seek some petty vengeance or other. No, the only way for me has been to send first for the weapons, useless, of course, without powder. This was to attract the avaricious attention of the warriors to flock to me and, as you can see, has succeeded handsomely.

‘Then the recent shipment of powder. To prevent its looting and ransacking, I have made my selection of those who will bear my arms and they have every interest in guarding the store. Tomorrow is the final move, which will set match to fuse.’

‘What is that, pray?’

‘I had hoped to have the services of fifty soldiers of France to aid us but their vessel seems to have been delayed. I can wait no longer – the warriors are hot with blood-lust to begin and I risk my standing with them should I attempt to hold them back. Therefore I’ve given orders that the arms will be issued. Tomorrow.’

Renzi felt numb at the sheer impossibility of stopping the tidal wave of savagery about to engulf the frontier. And shortly he would be asked to reveal the fatal flaw.

‘Out of the gates here, we have but a short walk to the landing jetty.’

A rickety but strong pier jutted out from the riverbank. Two cargo-loading boats lay alongside and Renzi estimated that there was at least four feet of water available. Was the river tidal, he wondered.

‘It is made from what the local people so quaintly term stinkwood. Now, is there anything else you wish to assess before you share with me your objections?’

Renzi looked about him. There were above a hundred warriors in sight and Thérèse and her men were paces away: he would be chopped down before he had gone yards if he tried to run.

He drew himself up and said quietly, ‘Sir, I promised to tell you everything I know. And I have to say to you now, that I know . . . nothing. Nothing at all. There is no reason I can think of that might halt your scheme.’

‘I don’t understand you, sir.’

‘The claim was a subterfuge only, practised on your daughter to enable me to gain the satisfaction of learning who it was that is about to set the frontier ablaze. That has now been achieved.’

The baron stared at him, then laughed. ‘Upon my word, sir, that is rich! You’re a man of courage and spirit such as few I know.’ He chuckled again.

‘Father!’ Thérèse snarled.

‘Ah, yes.’ A shadow passed across his features. ‘It grieves me more than I can say that such a noble soul shall pay for his knowledge with his life, but with what you know, sir, you will see that it is beyond my power to preserve it. Let me assure you, however, that when the time comes it shall be done swiftly and with mercy shown.’

Renzi went cold.

‘Yet the very least we can do is offer you the pleasures of our table this night. It does pain me to observe, however, that on the morrow I expect the ship to arrive with the soldiers – no doubt it has been lately delayed by the poor weather we have been having. Or in its absence we must shift for ourselves. We shall then be very busy, as you will understand, and therefore, most regrettably, I beg you will think of this night as your last.’

True to his word, the evening passed in a blaze of colour and feasting, lines of Xhosa women dancing in the firelight, the glitter of their bangles vying with flashing eyes amid the hypnotic thunder of drums. Gourds of drink followed the devouring of roasted ox and umngqusho, a maize and bean delicacy. Tribal choirs sang full-throated melodies, lithe solo dancers writhed and gyrated, but the honours of the night went to the warrior dance – countless numbers arrayed in the full panoply of war, by their hoarse shouts and brandished weapons leaving no doubt about what was to come.

Renzi saw it only through a haze of distraction. There was no conceivable escape: two of Thérèse’s men stayed constantly within a few feet of him and the Xhosa knew full well his status – should he make a break for it, they would instantly skewer him with assegais for the kudos of bringing him down. At least the baron had promised a merciful end.

In the early hours the festivities waned and the participants streamed back to their encampment. Visibly embarrassed, the baron bade him goodnight. Renzi was escorted to a hut and guards posted. He was left alone on a rush bed with his thoughts for the time that remained to him.

In the last hour of the night a small line of grave-featured witnesses called for him: the baron, Thérèse, and the inevitable heavy-set brutes, each carrying a flaming torch that illuminated the scene pitilessly.

‘It is time, sir. Are you ready?’ The baron carried a small, ornately chased box, which Renzi recognised. So it was to be a pistol.

He looked up at the vast profusion of stars. In such a short while they would fade as the day stole in – one that he would never see. ‘As ready as any mortal can be,’ he said, without emotion.

‘Er, most would wish that it be carried out privily, away from prurient eyes. Do you have any preference, Mr Secretary?’

‘Yes, Baron. I have a yen that my last sight shall be of the sea. Is this at all possible?’

‘I’m desolated to have to refuse you – that’s over a mile or so away. Perhaps a fine view of the river – it does join with the sea, after all.’

‘Then that must suffice.’

The little party started out down a path by the barbarous light of the torches and then the baron paused, turned, and said firmly, ‘Not for your eyes, my dear. I shall be back presently.’

‘A pity,’ she said callously. ‘I’d hoped to hear him beg for his life.’