Conquest Page 25

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  ‘Over the ridge only, Secretary,’ Stoll said encouragingly.

  Renzi grunted testily. That was at least another mile ahead in this heated, iron-hued and barren landscape, and he was tired and saddle-sore after days on the trail.

  Quickly moving inland from Stellenbosch, he’d crossed the mountains to descend on remote settlements without warning, then reached Swellendam, a pretty town set among forbidding mountains of the Langeberg range and the last that might be thought civilised. In other circumstances the grand scenery would have been diverting: colossal rock formations, black ramparts of mountains stretching away endlessly, but Renzi was not of a mind to take it in. There were still no tell-tale indications of undeclared movement of provisions hinting at the rapid gathering of a secret army.

  After Swellendam, he’d insisted they press on into the fringes of settlement, shifting to horses and a small country wagon to make best time, in a fever of anxiety that he would be too late.

  Stoll, not informed of the real purpose of the mission, no doubt thought him some form of administrative maniac. Arriving in small hamlets unannounced, he’d demand of the honoured but mystified landdrost or field cornet that he inspect their books that very minute – and then, refusing all hospitality, leave for the next.

  It was now getting to the end of what was possible for he had travelled through the entire settled area of the colony without detecting anything suggestive of a concealed army. But nothing else fitted: if it was not to be a mass landing from seaward and the onslaught was to be within a month, there simply had to be an army building up in the interior.

  Over the ridge there was no landdrost and comfortable drostdy, only an out-country farmhouse of the kind that took in weary travellers. It was the furthest he could think to go: beyond was the Great Karoo, a vast, sun-blasted and treeless upland wilderness inhabited only by nomadic Bushmen. The very edge of the frontier. If nothing turned up here, it had to be accepted that he had been wrong in his logic, for although there were Boers right out to Graaf Reinet, even Napoleon’s famed soldiers could never cover such distances over this kind of terrain. In that case he would simply drop down to the coast and take ship from Mossel Bay back to Cape Town and ignominy.

  But for now, ahead on the winding stony track, the kraal and scatter of outhouses at least promised surcease from the jolting, monotonous driving. They could be sure of something – there were only Stoll and himself; their two servants would be found other accommodation. As they approached, the house-slaves came out in curiosity, each with a shapeless animal skin over the shoulder and wearing a traditional conical straw hat. Behind them was the Boer, in broad-brimmed hat and blue shirt.

  ‘Ons wil graag’n kamer vir die nag he, Mijnheer,’ Stoll said politely.

  The Boer looked at them shrewdly, taking in Renzi’s travel-stained but finely cut clothing and demanded, ‘En wie is jy?’

  Renzi nodded wearily at Stoll, who explained that he was the colonial secretary.

  The Boer stiffened and glared at Renzi. ‘Vir jou is daar geen ruimte hier!’ he spat, folding his arms.

  There was no need to translate. ‘Tell him we’re tired, it’s late, and I’m not to be trifled with. If there’s no lodging his gastehuis licence will be revoked – here and now.’

  The farmhouse was large but of homespun simplicity, no tiled floor, just hard-packed smoothed mud. In the main room, hams and strings of vegetables hung from the solid beams overhead; a long table and benches occupied the centre. At this altitude a fire was welcome, but with the scarcity of wood it was stoked with dried dung. A giant pot simmered over the hearth.

  ‘Secretary Renzi, this farmer is named Reinke,’ Stoll said patiently. ‘Do you have questions for him?’

  Renzi regretted his first words with the man. He should have put aside bodily weariness for the greater cause. ‘I should be happy were he to join us for some brandy,’ he said encouragingly.

  Reinke sat on the other side of the table, his expression closed and suspicious. Renzi managed to sip the rough aniseed spirit. ‘How is his farm – does it prosper?’

  It was tough going. If the Boer had any curiosity as to why the colonial secretary was visiting he showed no sign and answered readily enough, but after an hour’s questioning, Renzi had found only that the farm was in a small way of sheep, corn and the usual up-country side occupations. It was a way of life that was hard and, judging from the scrappy accounts, almost devoid of profit. He tried more questions but there was no undue change in the pattern of ox-wagon deliveries or sheep drives to the nearest market to the south, no variation in the hard daily round. Renzi had little reason to doubt the Boer, who in any case would not know what he was looking for. In essence this was the finality of his search.

  A cheerful woman bustled in to attend to the pot, smiling at Renzi.

  Reinke grunted something. ‘The Vrouw Reinke,’ offered Stoll.

  Renzi nodded politely.

  ‘Ah – plissed to meet!’ she said shyly.

  ‘You have fine English, Mevrouw.’

  She dimpled and fingered her pleated cotton garment. ‘I at Meester Dogwood school when a girl,’ she said. ‘Come – we fin’ you a sleep room, but not s’ great as castle.’

  Ignoring her husband’s sullen glare, she picked up a lamp and led Renzi into the gathering gloom to an outhouse. ‘Here!’

  It was small but adequate. The stretched bull-hide bed would probably have fewer fleas if spread with his bedding from the wagon, Renzi thought wryly. A capacious clothes chest at one end and two amateurish paintings of the dramatic ranges around them completed the décor.

  ‘Excellent, my dear. This will do.’ Knowing that his striving must now cease, Renzi gave in to his fatigue. ‘If it does not inconvenience, I should like to rest before the evening meal. Pray be good enough to tell my assistant.’

  ‘Yiss.’ She smiled and, leaving the lamp, departed quietly.

  Renzi flopped on to the bed, which creaked loudly, and stared up at the shadowy recesses. He refused to let his brain dwell on his failure and surrendered his aching bones to rest. Soon he dozed off into a light sleep. At one point he awoke to the sound of voices and a distant jingling of harness. A returning work party? More travellers? It didn’t matter any more and he drifted off again.

  Some time later a house-boy arrived with a bowl of water and towel. ‘Din-nah,’ he said, patting his stomach gleefully. Still feeling muzzy, Renzi went with him to the main house, his own stomach growling. The long table was set simply with several dishes, and Reinke sat, frowning, at one end. Renzi was placed apart from him with Stoll opposite, and a lithe young lad, scolded by Mevrouw Reinke – obviously a son.

  ‘Pens en pootjies, Meester,’ she said encouragingly.

  Stoll raised an eyebrow. ‘Tripe and trotters, Mr Secretary,’ he said drily.

  Renzi gave a polite smile.

  There was one place not yet taken at the opposite end of the table. Then voices came from outside and a woman stepped into the room. Astonished, Renzi recognised her immediately. It was Thérèse.

  But she was not the elegant lady he remembered from the castle reception. This woman was dressed in smart but practical bush clothes – a mannish tunic, leather gaiters, boots, her hair tightly gathered.

  She stood for a moment in shock. ‘Why, Mr Secretary!’ she said in French. ‘I – I hadn’t thought to see you here.’

  Renzi stood and bowed politely. ‘Nor I you, Mam’selle.’

  There was a sudden tension in the room and conversation stilled. She tossed her head, avoiding his eye, and took her place at table.

  ‘Wine?’ Mevrouw Reinke said, holding out a jug. There were no takers, except her husband, who sat glowering, unable to understand what was going on.

  Renzi turned to Thérèse. ‘A most interesting country, I’m persuaded. Have you had time to see much of it?’ He was intrigued by her transformation – and seeing her so far into the border lands.

>   Her expression tightened. ‘No. And yourself, Mr Secretary?’ Her voice was hard, commanding.

  Renzi gave a saintly smile and pointedly looked around the gathering, sitting with varying degrees of bafflement. All had Dutch, none had French, and only one spoke English. She picked up on it and rattled off some Dutch, which eased the atmosphere and muttered exchanges began among them. Stoll did not translate but looked troubled.

  ‘Cabbage bredie, sir?’ Mevrouw Reinke said brightly, looking at Renzi.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and faced Thérèse again, adopting a tone of light conversation. ‘If I might remark it, do you not miss the life in la belle France – the fashions, the salons?’

  ‘Some things must be borne,’ she answered flatly.

  The meal went forward awkwardly. Then Reinke pushed away his plate and growled something, daring comment.

  ‘He hopes that all present enjoyed their meal,’ murmured Stoll.

  Mevrouw Reinke began clearing the table, saying apologetically, ‘He not himself, Meester. He’s worry the Xhosa will cross the Zuurveld.’

  Renzi stiffened. An incursion? ‘Please tell me more, Mevrouw.’

  She smiled. ‘Reinke don’ want me talking, but we hearing a crazy man live wi’ them, givin’ out muskets. They has guns – there’s to be no stopping of ’em.’

  The Boer snapped at her harshly and she fled.

  Could this be the real secret army, an unstoppable flood of savages? No – it was weeks of travel across the mountains before they were a danger to Cape Town and the tribe would soon tire of it. None the less it should be attended to as soon as possible. Renzi lifted his head thoughtfully and saw Thérèse staring at him with a set face.

  ‘Your pardon, Mam’selle, but I do find your presence here somewhat curious.’ There was more than a little about her that was unsettling – known to be aloof and seldom to be seen in Cape Town, keeping to herself and now to be found familiarly in the furthest reaches of the colony, presumably far from her family estate. And what lay behind the brittle defensiveness?

  She stood suddenly. ‘I find the question impertinent. It’s no business of yours, M’sieur, and I shall bid you goodnight.’ She turned and left quickly.

  ‘A strange lady,’ Stoll murmured.

  Renzi nodded.

  At breakfast Thérèse was composed and icily calm. ‘Did you sleep well, M’sieur Renzi?’ she asked, over the corn and bean porridge.

  ‘I did – but the dismal howling in the night was not to my liking.’

  ‘The hyenas? You will be used to them.’ One of her servants entered and whispered something. She nodded, replying briefly, and he left, a remarkably huge man, Renzi noted, with fingers like bananas.

  ‘We will be leaving directly and I must now say adieu.’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Bon voyage, M’sieur.’

  Renzi felt the fingers move slightly and became aware that a small piece of paper was being transferred into his hand. He bowed elegantly. ‘A safe journey, Mam’selle.’

  He wandered over to the mantelpiece and discreetly read the note. It was brief and to the point: I have information concerning the Xhosa. I do not want to be seen by others talking with you. I shall stop my horses beyond the first bend and wait.

  Renzi lingered a short time, then told his secretary, ‘I do think I’ll take a walk in the morning air for an hour, Mr Stoll. When you’ve finished, please prepare our wagon – we’re returning.’

  The freshness of the new day was bracing and he stepped out along the gritty track, careful to look right and left as though admiring the grand scene. Near the bend around the mountain flank, he stopped to inspect a pretty montane flower, taking the opportunity to look back whence he’d come. No one was watching.

  The track wound sharply around. Thérèse was standing beside a string of horses with three hard-looking men.

  ‘Did anyone see you?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘No. I’m expected back in an hour.’

  Her tense manner eased fractionally. ‘That’s good. Now – why are you here?’

  Renzi was taken aback by her question and its tone of blunt grimness. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘So high in government, trekking this far up-country – there’s more to you than it seems, Mr Secretary.’

  He drew himself up. ‘Mam’selle, if you have some information for me concerning—’

  ‘I’ll ask you again. What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Which in course is confidential government business and not of your concern. Now, if you have something to tell me, do so, or I shall—’

  ‘You’re frightened, searching out something. Now, what would it be that it brings the colonial secretary himself out here?’

  ‘If it’s of that much interest to you, then I can say it’s simple administrative matters concerning the form of mandatory returns for—’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘That might fool your flunkeys but not me. And now you’ve heard of the Xhosa.’

  ‘This discussion is to no account,’ Renzi said stiffly. ‘Therefore I shall bid you—’

  She snapped something at her men. Two swiftly took position behind him, so close he could smell them.

  ‘Now. Tell me what you’re going to do about the Xhosa. Quickly!’

  Renzi stood mute. He had no idea what he had come upon but it was rapidly getting out of hand.

  ‘You’re going south to raise an alarm, aren’t you? And you’re the only one in these parts with the authority to do so.’ She bit her lip. ‘And now I’ve to think what to do.’

  ‘Mam’selle, I can only suggest you do nothing reckless to jeopardise your standing in this colony.’

  She ignored it, looking at him for a long moment, then made up her mind. ‘I can’t take the risk. It would ruin everything. I think this means you must disappear, Mr Secretary.’

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but she showed every sign of going through with it.

  ‘You’re aware I’m expected.’

  ‘It has to be done.’ There was no cruelty in her expression, neither was there compassion – simply the finality of a concluded decision.

  He tried bluster. ‘The colonial secretary? This is absurd! It will result in such a searching of the country as you must be found out!’ With the two guards just behind him, any thought of making a break for it was out of the question.

  ‘Then it must be an accident. I believe it will answer should you be taken by a leopard.’

  Renzi gaped.

  ‘Why, yes. They have the useful habit of dragging away their kill to devour in hiding. This will occupy your men for many days in hunting for your corpse – they wouldn’t dare return to Cape Town without proof.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘So foolish of Mr Colonial Secretary to wander abroad at this hour in wild country such as here . . .’

  The man next to her flexed his hands, his dark eyes unreadable. There was only the breathy silence of the hot slopes, broken occasionally by the distant harsh call of a wheeling buzzard and the clink of harness as the horses fidgeted.

  In a detached way, Renzi was in admiration of her quick thinking to come up with such a workable plan. His neck would be broken here and the body rapidly conveyed to the nearest precipice and thrown down, to be torn apart by roaming wild beasts. And it would achieve the delay that would ensure she was not suspected.

  ‘I see. Out of curiosity, might I be granted knowledge of what you’re . . . involved with, at all?’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘You want to drag things out, hein? Better for you it was quick.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it would gratify me to find out before . . .’

  ‘You deserve to know, I suppose. It’s simple enough – the Xhosa are being given muskets. With these in their hands the balance of power on the frontier is changed. They will push the Khoikhoi and Boers aside to flood in to take the land for themselves.’

  ‘Is this by chance connected with any threat to Cape Town?’

  ‘I knew it! You’v
e heard something and have come to seek it out. Well, it’s too late. As soon as this happens, your governor must send every soldier he has to stop them – and while Cape Town lies unprotected, a signal will be sent to our fleet to begin their assault.’

  So no secret army – but a far better plan, one that needed only a few shipments of muskets and traditional African tribal enmity to bring about what otherwise would have taken a large army in the field to achieve.

  ‘Then you have some kind of harbour, perhaps a hidden base to receive your shipments?’

  ‘Of course, but this cannot concern you.’ She was growing impatient – at any moment someone might appear. He had moments to think of something – but he had to know—

  ‘How far advanced are your plans, may I ask?’

  ‘Within five days it will begin,’ she snapped. ‘And no one can stop us!’

  ‘But how will you—’

  ‘Enough of this!’ she flared, then stepped back and gestured angrily to the men. ‘Kill him.’

  Quartered by the winds, L’Aurore gathered speed, the distant sails and grumble of guns gradually fading astern as she closed with the land once more. It would be easy enough to pick up the island by progressing down the coast but what if the brig turned out to be simply an innocent that had happened to take shelter at the same time as Africaine? Kydd realised that not only would he have to answer for it before a court-martial but – which would hurt infinitely more – he would earn the contempt of the ship’s company of L’Aurore.

  His thoughts turned to Renzi, no doubt lording it as a high panjandrum in the Castle of Good Hope. This was a much more elevated situation than confidential secretary to a junior frigate captain and now his friend had a bright future. Who knew? At this very moment he might well be entertaining Thérèse at some high event or other.

  He went below to avoid the accusing glances on deck and took refuge in carefully drafting the first part of the report to go in to the commodore, outlining his case for breaking off the action. Thank the Lord he had not been signalled to close action or received a direct order from Honyman, disobeying either of which would be very difficult to explain.