The Shangani Patrol by John Wilcox Read Free Book Online

the ground.
     
    ‘He say that the man has caused king to lose honour with white visitors by bringing you here without horses, wagon and clothes,’ translated Mzingeli quietly. ‘I think they take him away to kill him now.’
     
    ‘Oh no. Tell him that we were so anxious to meet the king, about whom we had heard so much, that we were happy to leave our things behind. The inDuna must not be blamed.’
     
    Hearing this, Lobengula’s face lightened and he waved his assegai to the inDuna in what appeared to a gesture of forgiveness. The man sat up slowly and shot a quick glance of thanks at Fonthill. But the king was speaking again.
     
    ‘He want to know if you have met Queen Victoria.’
     
    Simon smiled. ‘Tell him yes. I met her at her palace in Windsor. So too did Mr Jenkins here.’ Fonthill was not lying. Both he and Jenkins had attended investiture ceremonies at Windsor Castle when they had received the order of Companion of the Bath and the Distinguished Conduct Medal, respectively, for their services on General Wolseley’s abortive expedition to relieve General Gordon at Khartoum. The king gave an expansive smile.
     
    ‘He say he has written to Queen Victoria and she has written to him.’
     
    ‘Ah. How . . . er . . . very interesting.’
     
    Lobengula now broke off to give a string of orders to his attendants and then turned back to his visitors.
     
    ‘King say that he will send people to my father’s village to bring horses and wagon here. He also give hut for you to live in and send food. He want you to stay a while as his guest. He say he have other white people here but they have not met Queen Victoria. He say that he don’t think big man in south, Nkosi Rhodes, has met queen either. But you have. He like to talk to you later.’
     
    ‘Oh blimey,’ muttered Jenkins. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
     
    ‘Neither do I,’ whispered Alice. ‘I wonder what’s wrong with his foot?’ For the first time, Fonthill noticed that the king’s right foot seemed swollen around the big toe, and remembered that he had limped as he had come towards them. ‘I would say he’s got gout,’ Alice continued. ‘Too much champagne and brandy, I would think.’
     
    Lobengula rose slowly to his feet to indicate that the audience was at an end, and Simon and the others rose too. Fonthill bowed his head in acknowledgement.
     
    ‘The king is very kind,’ he said as Mzingeli interpreted, ‘and my wife, servants and I would be honoured to stay for a short time as his guests. But we must return to the south soon, for we have urgent business in Cape Town. In the meantime, however, we are at the service of your majesty to give you whatever assistance we can.’
     
    With that, the king gave a cheery smile, barked further commands to his attendants and then limped back into his house. The inDuna leaped to his feet and beckoned the visitors to follow him. They all walked out of the king’s enclosure towards where a party of Matabele women were hurrying in and out of a large beehive hut set apart from the rest, crawling agilely on their hands and knees through the narrow opening carrying blankets, drinking vessels and other domestic utensils.
     
    At the entrance, Fonthill paused and, with one restraining hand on the inDuna ’s shoulder, addressed Mzingeli. ‘Tell him,’ he said, ‘that I would like proper accommodation also to be given to you and your boys.’
     
    The tracker shook his head. ‘Thank you, but is not right here, Nkosi. We just slaves here.’
     
    ‘No you are not. The British abolished slavery in 1807 and I don’t recognise it anywhere. Go on, tell him. The man owes me a favour, dammit.’
     
    Hesitantly Mzingeli translated. Simon’s request was treated with a frown but the Matabele shrugged his shoulders and then nodded his head in acquiescence.
     
    Once inside the hut, Alice spread a sleeping mat, laid a blanket upon it and sat down. ‘Well, my darling,’ she said with a warm