Julian Stockwin - Conquest

‘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’ve 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.’