Insisted Sean. They're here, said Steff, and we'll find them. He

turned his head towards Sean. You've got the first watch, keep your

eyes open. He tilted his top hat forward over his face, groped with his

right hand to make sure his rifle lay beside him and then spoke from

under the hat, Goodnight The others settled down into their blankets:

fully dressed, boots on, guns at hand. Sean moved out into the darkness

to check the Nongaai pickets.

There was no moon, but the stars were fat and close to earth; they lit

the land so that the four grazing horses were dark blobs against the

pale grass. Sean circled the camp and found two of his sentries awake

and attentive.

He had posted Mbejane on the north side and now he went there. Fifty

yards in front of him he picked up the shape of the small bush beside

which he had left Mbejane.

Suddenly Sean smiled and sank down onto his hands and knees, he cradled

his rifle across the crooks of his elbows and began his stalk. Moving

flat along the ground silently, slowly he closed in on the bush. Ten

paces from it he stopped and lifted his head, careful to keep the

movement inchingly slow. He stared, trying to find the shape of the

Zulu among the scraggy branches and bunches of leaves.

The point of a stabbing spear pricked him below the ear in the soft of

his neck behind the jaw bone. Sean froze but his eyes rolled sideways

and in the starlight he saw Mbejane kneeling over him holding the spear.

Does the Nkosi seek me? asked Mbejane solemnly, but there was laughter

deep down in his voice. Sean sat up and rubbed the place where the spear

had stung him.

only a night ape sees in the dark, Sean protested. And only a fresh

caught catfish flops on its belly, chuckled Mbejane, You are Zulu, Sean

stated, recognizing the arrogance, although he had known immediately

from the man's face and body that he was not one of the bastard Natal

tribes who spoke the Zulu language but were no more Zulu than a

tabby-cat is a leopard. Of Chaka's blood, agreed Mbejane, reverence in

his voice as he said the old king's name. And now you carry the spear

against Cetewayo, your king? My king? The laughter was gone from

Mbejane's voice. My king? he repeated scornfully.

There was silence and Sean waited. Out in the darkness a jackal barked

twice and one of the horses whickered softly. There was another who

should have been king, but he died with a sharpened stick thrust up into

the secret opening of his body, until it pierced his gut and touched his

heart. That man was my father, said Mbejane. He stood up and went back

Into the shelter of the bush and Sean followed him. They squatted side

by side, silent but watchful. The jackal cried again up above the camp

and Mbejane's head turned towards the sound.

Some jackals have two legs, he whispered thoughtfully. Sean felt the

tingle along his forearms.

Zulus? he asked. Mbejane shrugged, a small movement in the darkness.

Even if it is, they will not come for us in the night. In the dawn,

yes, but never in the night Mbejane shifted the spear in his lap. The

old one with the tan hat and grey beard understands this. Years have

made him wise, that's why he sleeps so sweetly now but mounts up and

moves in the darkness before each dawn Sean relaxed slightly. He

glanced sideways at Mbejane. The old one thinks that some of the herds

are hidden near here. Years have made him wise, repeated Mbejane.

Tomorrow we will find the land more broken, there are hills and thick

Thorn bush. The cattle will be hidden among themDo you think we'll find

them? Cattle are difficult to hide from a man who knows where to look.

Will there be many guards with the herds? I hope so answered Mbejane,

his voice a purr.

His hand crept to the shaft of his assegai and caressed it. I hope

there will be very many. -You would kill your own people, your

brothers, your cousins? asked Sean. I would kill them as they killed

my father. Mbejane's voice was savage now. They are not my people. I

have no people. i have no brothers, I have nothing. Silence settled

between them again, but slowly the ughness of Mbejane's mood evaporated

and in its place came a sense of companionship. Each of them felt

comforted by the other's presence. They sat on into the night.

Mbejane reminded Sean of Tinker working a bird, he had the same

half-crouched gait and the same air of complete absorption. The white

men sat their horses in silence watching him. The sun was well up

already and Sean unbuttoned his sheepskin coat and pulled it off. He

strapped it onto the blanket roll behind him.

Mbejane had moved out about fifty yards from them and now he was working

slowly back towards them. He stopped and minutely inspected a wet pat

of cow dung. Hierdie Kaffir verstaan wat by doen, opined Steff Erasmus

approvingly, but no one else spoke. Bester Klein fidgeted with the

hammer of his carbine; his red face was already sweaty in the rising

heat.

Mbejane had proved right, they were in hilly country.

Not the smoothly rounded hills of Natal but bills with rocky crests,

deeply gullied and ravined between. There was thorn forest and

euphorbia. covering the sides of the hills with a lattice work of

reptile grey trunks, and the grass was coarse and tall. I could use a

drink, said Frikkie Van Essen and wiped his knuckles across his lips.

Chee peep, chee peep, a barbet called stridently in the branches of the

kaffir boom tree under which they waited.

Sean looked up; the bird was brown and red among the scarlet flowers

which covered the tree. How many? asked Steff and Mbejane came to

stand at his horse's head.

Fifty, no more, he answered. When? Yesterday, after the heat of the

day they moved slowly down the valley. They were grazing. They cannot

be more than half an hour's ride ahead of us.

Steff nodded. Fifty head only, but there would be more. How many men

with them? Mbejane clucked his tongue disgustedly. Two umfaans. He

pointed with his spear at a dusty place where the print of a half grown

boy's bare foot showed clearly. There are no men. Good said Steff.

Follow them. They told us that if we found anything we must go back and

report, protested Bester Klein quickly. They said we shouldn't start

anything on our own. , Steff turned in his saddle, Are you frightened

of two umfaans? he asked coldly. I'm not frightened of anything, it's

just what they told us. Klein flushed redder in his already red face.

i know what they told us, thank you, said Steff. I'm not going to start

anything, we're just going to have a look. I know you burst out Klein.

If you see cattle you'll go mad for them. All of you, you're greedy for

cattle like some men are for drink. Once you see them you won't stop

Klein was a railway ganger.

Steff turned away from him. Come on, let's go. They rode out of the

shade of the kaffir boom tree into the sunlight, Klein muttering softly

to himself and Mbejane leading them down the valley.

The floor of the valley sloped gradually and on each side of them the

ground rose steep and rocky. They travelled quickly with Mbejane and

the other Nongaai thrown out as a screen and the horsemen cantering in a

fine with their stirrups almost touching.

Sean levered open the breech of his rifle and drew out the cartridge.

He changed it for another from the bandoher across his chest.

Fifty head is only ten apiece, complained Frikkie. That's a hundred

quid, as much as you earn in six months. Sean laughed with excitement

and Frikkie laughed with him. You two keep your mouths shut and your

eyes open. Steff's voice was phlegmatic, but he couldn't stop the

excitement from sparkling in his eyes. I knew you were going to raid,

sulked Klein. I knew it, sure as fate. You shut up also, said Steff

and grinned at Sean.

They rode for ten minutes; then Steff called softly to the Nongaai and

the patrol halted. No one spoke and every man stood with his head alert

and his ears straining. Nothing, said Steff at last. How close are we?

Very close, Mbejane answered. We should have heard them from here.

Mbejane's exquisitely muscled body was shiny with sweat and the pride of

his stance set him apart from the other Nongaai. There was a restrained

eagerness about him, for the excitement was irifectious. All right,

follow them, said Steff. Mbejane settled the rawhide shield securely on

Ins shoulder and started forward i , Twice more they stopped to listen

and each time Sean and Frikkie were more restless and Inpatient. Sit

still, snapped Steff. How can we hear anything with you moving aboutV

Sean opened Ins -mouth, but before he could answer they all heard an ox

low mournfully ahead of them among the trees.

That's it! We've got them! Come on! No, wait! Steff ordered. Sean,

take my farlookers; and climb up that tree. Tell me what you can see.

We're wasting time, argued Sean. We should We should learn to do as

we're damn well told said Steff. Get up that tree With the binoculars

slung around his neck, Sean climbed upwards until he sat high in a

crotch of two branches. He reached out and broke off a twig which

obscured his vision, then exclaimed immediately, There they are, right

ahead of us!

How many? Steff called up to him. A small herd, two herdboys with

them. Are they among the trees? No, said Sean, they're in the open.

Looks like a patch of swamp. Make sure there aren't any other Zulus

with them No - Sean started to answer but Steff cut him short. Use the

glasses, dammit. They'll be hiding if they're there. Sean brought up

the glasses and focused them. The cattle were fat and sleek skinned,

big homed and bodies dappled black on white. A cloud of white

tick-birds hovered over them. The two herdboys were completely naked,

youngsters with the thin legs and the disproportionately large genitals

of the Africans. Sean turned the glasses slowly back and forth

searching the patch of swamp and the surrounding bush. At last he

lowered them.

only the two herdboys, he said.

Come down then, Steff told him.

The herdboys fled as soon as the patrol rode out into the open. They

disappeared among the fever trees on the far side of the swamp.

Let them go laughed Steff. The poor little buggers are going to be in

enough trouble as it is. He spurred his horse forward into the vivid

green patch of swamp grass. It was lush: thick and tall enough to reach

his saddle.

The others followed him in with the mud squelching and sucking at the

hooves of the horses. They could see the backs of the cattle showing

above the grass a hundred yards ahead of them. The tick-birds circled

squawking. you and Frikkie cut around to the left! Steff spoke over

his shoulder and before he could finish the grass around them was full

of Zulus, at least a hundred of them in full war dress. Ambush! yelled

Steff. Don't try and fight, too many of them. Get out! and they

dragged him off his horse.

Horses panicked in the mud, whinnying as they reared.

The bang of Klein's rifle was almost drowned in the triumphant roar of

the warriors. Mbejane jumped to catch the bridle of Sean's horse; he

dragged its head around.

, Ride, Nkosi, quickly. Do not wait Klein was dead, an assegai in his

throat and the blood bursting brightly from the corners of his mouth as

he fen backwards. Hold on to my stirrup leather. Sean felt

surprisingly calm. A Zulu came at him from the side; Sean held his rifle

across his lap and fired with the muzzle almost in the Tn:an's face. It

cut the top off his head. Sean ejected the cartridge case and reloaded.

Ride, NkosiI, Mbejane shouted again. He had made no effort to obey Sean:

his shield held high he barged into two of the attackers and knocked

them down into the mud. His assegai rose and fell, rose and fell.

Ngi Dhla! howled Mbejane. I have eaten. Fighting madness on him, he

jumped over the bodies and charged.

A man stood to meet him and Mbejane hooked the edge of his shield under

his and jerked it aside, exposing the man's left flank to his blade.

Ngi Dhla, Mbejane howled He had torn an opening in the ring of attackers

and Sean rode for it, his horse churning heavily through the mud. A

Zulu caught at his reins and Sean fired with his muzzle touching the

man's chest. The Zulu screamed. Mbejane, shouted Sean. Take my

stirrupp Frikkie Van Essen was finished; his horse was down and Zulus

swarmed over him with red spears.

Leaning out of the saddle Sean circled Mbejane's waist with his arm and

plucked him out of the mud. He struggled wildly but Sean held him. The

ground firmed under his horse's hooves, they were moving faster. Another

Zulu stood in their way with his assegai ready. With Mbejane kicking

indignantly under one arm and Ins empty rifle in his other hand Sean was

helpless to defend himself. He shouted an obscenity at the Zulu as he

rode down on him. The Zulu dodged to one side and darted in again. Sean

felt the sting of the blade across his shin and then the shock as it

went on into his horse's chest. They were through, out of the swamp and

into the trees.

Sean's horse carried him another mile before it fell. The assegai had

gone in deep. It fell heavily but Sean was able to kick his feet out of

the irons and jump clear. He and Mbejane stood looking down at the

carcass, both of them were panting.

Can you run in those boots? asked Mbejane urgently.

Yes They were light veldschoen. Those breeches will hold your legs,

Mbejane knelt swiftly and with his assegai cut away the cloth until

Sean's legs were bare from the thighs down. He stood up again and

listened for the first sounds of pursuit. NotHing.

Leave your rifle, it is too heavy. Leave your hat and your bandolier I

must take my rifle, protested Sean. Take it then, Mbejane flashed

Unpatiently. Take it and die. If you carry that they'll catch you

before noon Sean hesitated a second longer and then he changed his grip,

holding the rifle by the barrel like an axe. He swung it against the

trunk of the nearest tree. The butt shattered and he threw it from him.

Now we must go, said Mbejane.

Sean glanced quickly across at his dead horse, the leather thongs held

his sheepskin coat onto the saddle.

All Anna's hard work wasted, he thought wryly. Then following Mbejane

he started to run.

The first hour was bad; Sean had difficulty matching his step to that of

Mbejane. He ran with his body tensed and soon had a stabbing stitch in

his side. Mbejane saw his pain and they stopped for a few minutes while

Mbejane showed him how to relax it away. Then they went on with Sean

running smoothly. Another hour went by and Sean had found his second

wind. How long will it take us to get back to the main army?

grunted Sean.

Two days perhaps. . . . don't talk, answered Mbejane.

The land changed slowly about them as they ran. The hills not so steep

and jagged, the forest thinned and again they were into the rolling

grassland. It seems we are not being followed. It was half an hour

since Sean had last spoken. Perhaps, Mbejane was non-committal. It is

too soon yet to tell. They ran on side by side, in step so their feet

slapped in unison on the hard-baked earth.

Christ, I'm thirsty, said Sean. No water, said Mbejane, but we'll stop

to rest a while at the top of the next rise. They looked back from the

crest. Sean's shirt was soaked with sweat and he was breathing deeply

but easily. No one following us, Sean's voice was relieved.

We can slow down a bit now. Mbejane did not answer. He also was

sweating heavily but the way he moved and held his head showed he was

not yet beginning to tire. He carried his shield on his shoulder and

the blade of the assegai in his other hand was caked with black, dry

blood. He stared out along the way they had come for fully five minutes

before he growled angrily and pointed with his assegai. There! Close

to that clump of trees. Can you see them? Oh, hell! Sean saw them:

about four miles behind, on the edge of the forest where it thinned out,

a black pencil line drawn on the brown parchment of grassland. But the

line was moving.

How many of them? asked Sean. Fifty, hazarded Mbejane. Too many. I

wish I had brought my rifle, muttered Sean. If you had they would be

much closer now, and one gun against fifty! Mbejane left it unfinished.

all right, let's get going again, said Sean. We must rest a little

longer. This is the last time we can stop before nightfall. Their

breathing had slowed. Sean took stock of himself: he was aching a

little in the legs, but it would he hours yet before he was really

tired. He hawked a glob of the thick gummy saliva out of his throat and

spat it into the grass. He wanted a drink but knew that would be fatal

folly. Oh! exclaimed Mbejane. They have seen us. How do you know?

asked Sean. Look, they are sending out their chasers From the head of

the line a trio of specks had detached themselves and were drawing

ahead.

What do you mean? Sean scratched the side of his nose uneasily. For

the first time he was feeling the fear of the hunted, vulnerable,

unarmed, with the pack closing in. They are sending their best runners

ahead to force us beyond our strength. They know that if they push us

hard enough, even though they break their own wind while they do it, we

will fall easily to the others that follow Good God! Sean was now truly

alarmed. What are we going to do about it? For every trick, there is a

trick, said Mbejane. But now we have rested enough, let us go. Sean

took off down the hill like a startled duiker, but Mbejane pulled him up

sharply. That is what they want. Run as before. And once again they

fell into the steady lope, swinging long-legged and relaxed. They're

closer, said Sean when they reached the top of the next hill. Three

specks were now well ahead of the others. Yes. Mbejane's voice was

expressionless. They went over the crest and down the other side, the

slap-slap-slap of their feet together and their breathing an unaltering

rhythm: suck blow, suck blow.

There was a tiny stream in the bottom of the valley, clean water

rippling over white sand. Sean jumped it with only a single longing

glance and they started up the far slope. They were just short of the

crest when behind them they heard a thin distant shout. He and Mbejane

looked round. on the top of the hill they had just left, only a half a

mile away, were the three Zulu runners, and as Sean watched they plunged

down the slope towards him with their tall feather head-dresses bobbing

and their leopardtail kilts swirling about their legs. They had thrown

aside their shields, but each man carried an assegai. Look at their

legs, exulted Mbejane. Sean saw that they ran with the slack,

blundering steps of exhaustion. They are finished, they have run too

hard MbeJane laughed. Now we must show them how afraid we are: we must

run like the wind, run as though a hundred Tokoloshe* breathe on our

necks. It was only twenty paces to the crest of the slope and they

pelted panic-stricken up and over the top. But the instant they were

out of sight Mbejane caught Sean's arm and held him. Get down, he

whispered. They sank into the grass and then crawled back on their

stomachs until they lay just below the crest.

Mbejane held his assegai pointed forward, his legs were gathered up

under him and his lips were drawn back in a half grin.

Sean searched in the grass and found a rock the size of an orange. It

fitted neatly into his right hand.

A chimera of Zulu mythology.

They heard the Zulus coming, their horny bare feet pounding up the hill

and then their breathing, hoarse hissing gasps, closer and closer until

suddenly they came up over the crest. Their momentum carried them down

to where Sean and Mbejane stood up out of the grass to meet them. Their

fatigue-grey faces crumbled into expressions of complete disbelief; they

had expected to find their quarry half a mile ahead of them. Mbejane

killed one with his assegai, the man did not even lift his arms to parry

the thrust; the point came out between his shoulders.

Sean hurled the rock into the face of another. It made a sound like a

ripe pumpkin dropped on a stone floor; he fell backwards with his

assegai spinning from his hand.

The third man turned to run and Mbejane landed heavily on his back, bore

him down and then sat astride his chest, pushed his chin back and cut

his throat.

Sean looked down at the man he had hit; he had lost his head-dress an

his face had changed shape. His jaw hung lopsided, he was still moving

feebly.