The Stricken Land

Book 5: Retallick Saga

by E.V. Thompson

Genres: General Fiction; Historical Fiction

Synopsis

It is 1899. A new generation has inherited the Rhodesian birthright that Dan Retallick won from the legendary king of Matabeleland. Once again, the dark clouds of conflict loom on the horizon as the blood-streaked bayonets of the Boer War encircle the sons of Dan Retallick. Nat, with one eye on the wilful wife of an English colonel, joins the colours as a 'guide' for the British army. But his younger brother Adam follows a rebel star and a farmer's daughter to enlist with a Boer commando. The tides of history have set Retallick brother against brother in the savage struggle of the South African war.

Release date: July 5, 2012

Publisher: Sphere

Print pages: 431

Sample

News that the simmering quarrel between the two Boer republics and Great Britain had flared into war reached Elvira Retallick
forty-eight hours before it was forced upon her eldest son.

The message was brought to the remote Insimo valley by a British South Africa Company policeman, sent from Fort Victoria,
more than fifty miles away. He rode for the last few miles through a torrential rainstorm, the first in Matabeleland for two
years, and was lucky to reach the house alive.

At the entrance to the valley was a river bed. Rock-strewn and dry, water had not flowed here for as long as anyone could
remember, but only seconds after the company policeman reached the far, crumbling bank a flash-flood roared down from the
nearby hills. The awesome torrent of water carried with it hundreds of tons of mud and boulders, carving new gullies and straightening
the ancient course of the river, devastating all before it on its route to the lowveld.

Battered and blinded by rain, the sodden rider found the Insimo farmhouse more by chance than any sense of direction and he
needed to hammer at the door for a full minute before his desperate efforts were heard above the fury of the storm.

Helped into the kitchen by Elvira Retallick and Ben, her fifteen-year-old youngest son, the protesting policeman was rapidly
stripped of his dripping clothing and, while Elvira fetched clothes from her eldest son’s room, a servant braved the rain
to lead the exhausted horse to the stables behind the house.

Not until the unexpected visitor had downed a tumbler of brandy and stopped shaking did Elvira allow him to tell why he had defied the storm to reach Insimo.

‘It’s war, Mrs Retallick …’ The shaking began again, but it owed much to excitement now. ‘We received the news on the telegraph.
Great Britain has been at war with the Boer republics since five o’clock last night.’

Elvira saw the excitement mirrored on her son’s face and it frightened her. ‘News of war should be greeted with sorrow, not
rejoicing. Men will die. Good men … on both sides.’

The policeman looked at her with unfeigned surprise. Sadly, Elvira realised it shocked him to know not everyone welcomed the
outbreak of war between Great Britain and the Boers. For many years it had seemed that war was inevitable, but the two sides
had been quarrelling for so long Elvira had begun to hope it would never develop into anything more. She should have known
better. Cecil Rhodes had always been possessed of a burning ambition to unite all of southern Africa under the flag of Great
Britain. He was not a man to rest until he realised his ambitions – or until they killed him.

‘We didn’t start the war, Mrs Retallick – it was the Boers.’ The young policeman spoke defensively.

‘In thousands of Boer homes they’ll be saying, “It isn’t us who started the war, but the British.” What does it matter who begins a war? Whoever it is, you can be quite certain they are not the ones who will need to fight it.’

Elvira Retallick had been brought to the Insimo valley from the neighbouring Portuguese province of Mozambique as a bride
thirty years before, yet she still spoke with a Portuguese accent. There was a great bitterness in her voice as she said to
Ben. ‘Your father and your eldest brother were both killed in a war that was not of their making. In fact, your father did more than any man to try to prevent it happening. That was six years ago … Six long years …’

For a few moments Elvira lost herself in reminiscing, but she did not miss the apologetic look that passed from Ben to the
other man. Suddenly brusque, she said to the policeman, ‘You didn’t ride all this way to listen to my views on war, or to
tell us what is happening in the world. What is your business at Insimo?’

The company policeman looked suddenly ill-at-ease. ‘I have a message for Mr Retallick … Nat Retallick.’

‘Nat is my eldest son … the eldest surviving son. What is your business with him?’

‘My message is for him, Mrs Retallick. From Colonel Plumer.’

‘Nat is not at home. Either you tell me, or your soaking will have been for nothing. What business has this Colonel Plumer
with Nat? Does he wish to buy cattle?’

‘No. Er … when will Mr Retallick return?’

‘Who can say? A week. Two weeks. A month …’

The policeman came to a rapid decision. ‘Colonel Plumer is raising a force to protect our border with Transvaal. Mr Retallick
knows the country better than anyone else. Colonel Plumer would like him to join his force, as a scout.’

‘Would he, indeed? Nat runs a farm – a farm of two hundred square miles. He has no time to play at being one of this Colonel
Plumer’s soldiers. You can tell him so.’

‘If it’s all the same to you I would rather hear it from Mr Retallick himself, ma’am. This is war. His country needs him …’

‘His country? Matabeleland is his country. Not England. Not even Rhodesia. Matabeleland. Nat was born here when the land was ruled by King Lobengula of the Matabele tribe. The valley was given to Nat’s father
by the king. Not even that robber Rhodes dared try to take it from him – although he took everything else. Insimo is the Retallicks’ land. Our country. Nat is needed here.’

‘I’ll go with Colonel Plumer, Ma. I know the country as well as Nat. I’ll go and scout in his place …’

Ben’s enthusiastic outburst ceased abruptly as his mother turned her gaze upon him.

‘You are barely fifteen. If you want to behave as a man go out and check the animals and outbuildings. The rain is easing
off now.’

The clouds had split wide open above Insimo. Rain still fell on the house, but farther along the valley sunshine sliced to
the ground, its heat raising steam from the sodden earth. Beyond the valley, where the land dropped away to the lowveld, the
rain had washed the undulating hills sparkling clean and they displayed all the colours that only Africa can produce.

Elvira walked to the window and looked out. It was a view she had first seen as a young woman, standing here with her husband’s arms about her. In this house she had given Daniel four fine sons and the valley had prospered. When Daniel and
their eldest son, Wyatt, had died at the hands of Matabele tribesmen during the war of 1893, she had raised the three surviving
sons, Nat, Adam and Ben, and the valley had continued to flourish. Further native risings had not touched them. While settlers
and tribesmen died in the land that stretched between the Zambezi and Limpopo rivers – now named ‘Rhodesia’, in honour of
Cecil Rhodes – Insimo remained at peace.

Now there was another war. A war between white men whose quarrel was about lands beyond the borders of this infant country.
Yet Elvira feared this conflagration threatened life at Insimo more than anything that had gone before.

‘Where is Mr Retallick, ma’am? I was told to deliver my message to him personally. Is there some place where I might look
for him?’

Elvira turned from the window. She had been lost in her thoughts for far longer than was polite. ‘Not unless you’re prepared
to ride all the way to Mafeking. Nat and his brother Adam have taken five hundred head of cattle there. To Colonel Baden-Powell.
He bought them, unseen, when he and Nat met in Bulawayo a month or so ago … Why, what’s the matter?’

Elvira was suddenly concerned by the expression of consternation on the face of the young company policeman.

‘To Colonel Baden-Powell, at Mafeking …? We had a message from Mafeking during the night. Just before the lines were cut.
The Boers have attacked Baden-Powell. Mafeking is under siege …’

For two days the train carrying five hundred head of cattle from the Insimo valley coughed its way southwards through Bechuanaland,
along the railway line that linked Rhodesia with the Cape Colony. It was an uncomfortable journey for man and beast alike
as the line flirted with the Kalahari desert for much of the five hundred miles between Bulawayo and Mafeking. Although heavy
thunderclouds were gathering in the east and would soon fill the sky, it was oppressively hot.

Crowded together in high-sided, open trucks, the cattle suffered noisily, bellowing their discomfort to an uncaring world,
until heat and dust reduced them to silence. It was a hard journey for them. Nat had expected to be able to stop at night
and put the cows out to graze, but there was a serious outbreak of rinderpest in Bechuanaland and he could not risk infecting the herd. All that could be done was to water the animals whenever the train
stopped.

Perched precariously on the sides of the trucks, the Matabele herdsmen called excitedly to each other for every mile of the
way. Used to calling from hilltop to hilltop, across the wide valleys of Matabeleland, their voices carried easily above the
complaints of the cattle and the noise of the train.

At the rear of the train, travelling in a roofed truck that had many windows but no glass, Nat rode with two other white men
and the guard. The heat was oppressive in here, but at least they had some shelter from the fierce October sun.

‘How much longer do we have to put up with this?’ The peevish question came from Adam Retallick. Sixteen years of age, he
was almost four years younger than Nat, and not the most patient of young men.

He had asked a similar question at least a dozen times during the past few hours. Nat, sitting on the floor of the jolting
guard’s van with his eyes closed and his head resting against the side, made no answer.

‘Another three or four hours and we should be in sight of Mafeking. By the look of that sky you’ll be cursing the rain by
then.’

The speaker was the grizzle-bearded Jaconus Van Eyck. He was seated on the floor beside Nat, a grease-stained, soft-brimmed
leather hat tilted forward, hiding his eyes, and he spoke past a pipe clenched tightly between his teeth.

Jaconus Van Eyck had been around the Insimo valley for as long as the Retallick boys could remember. A friend of their father,
he had been a witness to Daniel and Wyatt’s murders by Matabele tribesmen. To him had gone the sad task of bringing in the
bodies of father and son and burying them at Insimo, where Jaconus’s own son was buried.

Jaconus Van Eyck was an Afrikaner. A Boer. In his younger days he had been a true voortrekker, a man to whom all artificial frontiers were anathema and settled communities places to be avoided. During the course of
his life he had fought and killed natives in half-a-dozen tribal wars. He had also fought and killed white men, both English
and Afrikaner. Jaconus Van Eyck was the product of a violent age, raised on the veld, where death was as constant a companion
as a man’s own shadow. In spite of this, the bearded Boer was a soft-spoken man, his manner deceptively gentle. His loyalty
to his friends was beyond question. When Daniel Retallick was killed Jaconus Van Eyck had taken on the burden of running the
Insimo valley. Gradually, over the years, the burden had passed to Nat, but Jaconus Van Eyck stayed on in the valley, a loved
and trusted friend and adviser to the Retallick family.

‘You been to Mafeking before, Jaconus?’

It was the first time Nat had spoken for more than an hour.

‘Not for some years.’ Jaconus Van Eyck removed his pipe and knocked ash out of the nearest window. ‘It’s just a collection
of tin-roofed houses. Knee-deep in mud when it rains. Dust enough to choke you when it’s dry. Not the sort of place a man
needs to see more than once.’

Nat grinned. Jaconus Van Eyck would have been no more enthusiastic about Cape Town, or even London. Jaconus would always remain
a voortrekker at heart. The sight of more than two houses placed close together pained him.

Not so Adam. Having lived in the lonely Insimo valley for the whole of his young life, there was a magical quality about even
the smallest of towns. He was about to reply heatedly to Jaconus Van Eyck’s derogatory remark when the occupants of the guard’s
van were suddenly thrown off balance as the engine driver applied his brakes violently. Truck slammed against truck as the
heavy chains joining them together sagged.

Cursing the engine-driver’s unexpected action, the guard dived upon the huge wheel mounted on a drive shaft at the back of
the van and began turning it with some difficulty. The wheels beneath the floor of the guard’s van squealed in protest as
the heavy leather pads of the brakes began to bite.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

Nat struggled to his feet, bracing himself against the violent movement of the train. Clinging to the edge of the window,
he peered ahead, beyond the curving length of the train.

‘There’s someone waving us down.’

A hundred yards ahead of the engine a horseman sat waving a dark-coloured cloak, at the same time trying to control his horse.
The animal became more unmanageable with every yard that the hissing, squealing locomotive skidded along the tracks towards
it. Finally the horseman was forced to drop the cloak and use both hands to bring his prancing horse under control. But his
signalling had served its purpose. The train juddered to a halt when there were still a dozen yards of clear track between
train and rider.

From the rear of the train, passengers and guard could see the train-driver and the mounted man in animated conversation,
while the African fireman took advantage of the welcome respite to squat wearily on the footplate. As they spoke, the horseman
frequently pointed ahead to where the tracks disappeared beyond a slight rise in the hazy distance.

‘It seems something’s happened at Mafeking. We’d better go and find out what it is.’ Jaconus Van Eyck dropped from the guard’s
van to the ground and started towards the locomotive. Nat, Adam and the guard followed suit.

By the time the men reached the locomotive there was already a crowd of inquisitive Matabele herdsmen around the horseman.

‘What’s happening?’ Nat called out the question as he reached the circle of herdsmen and pushed his way through them.

‘War’s started between the Boers and the British. The Boers have torn up the track and put Mafeking under siege.’ The engine
driver could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Had we carried on we’d have gone clear off the end of the track and ended up
dead – or maybe prisoners of the Boers.’

‘Is this true?’

The horseman was not certain whether he needed to repeat his information to the young man standing before him. Dressed for
herding cattle, and with a bandolier of Mauser cartridges slung across one shoulder, Nat looked no different from the hordes
of Boer horsemen who had swooped upon Mafeking from across the Transvaal border, only a few miles away.

‘My name’s Retallick.’ Nat could see the man’s reluctance to speak. ‘These are my cattle in the trucks. I’m taking them to
Colonel Baden-Powell.’

All doubt left the mounted man’s face. ‘I’m Trooper Ducket, of Nesbitt’s Horse …’ The speaker hesitated. When speaking to
the engine-driver he had exaggerated the dangers of the situation. Now he thought the occasion demanded the full truth. ‘The
line is cut, about seven miles on – and Mafeking is besieged, but the only Boers I’ve seen on the way here were in the distance, heading south. They appeared to be going around Mafeking. When the war started we were waiting for a train to reach us from the Cape, bringing guns and ammunition. Rumour
has it that General De la Rey intends capturing it for the Boers. He’ll get a shock if he tries. The train is armoured, with
British troops on board …’

‘De la Rey? I wonder if that’s Koos De la Rey?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is he’s a Boer general.’ The horseman looked at Jaconus Van Eyck suspiciously. ‘Do you know him?’

Jaconus Van Eyck met the other man’s eyes. ‘I know him well. Koos De la Rey is one of the finest men I’ve ever met – British
or Boer. I also know he’s always been against this war. If he’s finally chosen to fight then the British have a fight on their
hands, by God – and God is the only one who Koos De la Rey fears.’

‘Is there going to be fighting? Are we going to see a battle between the Boers and the English?’ Adam asked the question eagerly.

‘Not if I can help it. We will deliver the cattle and then clear out for home.’

Nat spoke to the horseman again. ‘How far is it to Mafeking from the spot where the rail is cut?’

The soldier shrugged his shoulders. ‘Four miles. Five, maybe.’

‘And no Boers to talk of …’ Nat was thinking. He looked at the bank of black storm-clouds towering high in the sky to the
east of the railway line and turned to Jaconus Van Eyck. ‘When do you think that storm will break?’

The bearded Boer looked up at the bank of dark cloud, his finger absent-mindedly tamping tobacco in the large bowl of his
thornwood pipe. ‘Hour or two, maybe. But it won’t be much. Might even miss us altogether.’

‘We’ll take that chance.’ Nat made up his mind. Returning his attentions to the mounted man, he said, ‘I’ll take the cattle
as far as the line goes, then try to run them into Mafeking. Will you act as our guide?’

The soldier looked startled. ‘You’ll never succeed. One man on a horse … perhaps. A herd of cattle and half a tribe of natives
…? No chance. Besides, my orders are to ride northwards until I meet up with Colonel Plumer’s men and report on what’s happening
in Mafeking.’

Dismissing the uncooperative horseman from his scheme, Nat appealed to the engine-driver. ‘Will you go on towards Mafeking?’

‘I’ll go as far as there’s track to run on – but one of you will need to sit up on top of the engine and give me plenty of
warning when we’re nearing the end of the line.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Adam volunteered eagerly. After a moment’s hesitation, Nat nodded.

Ten minutes later the train moved off slowly and cautiously. Adam was balanced precariously on a small platform at the front,
his arm crooked about the handrail which ran the full length of the engine. He was smarting because Nat had refused to allow
him to carry his rifle. Nat was taking no chances with his impetuous younger brother. A Boer marksman was likely to shoot an armed man and query his age afterwards.

They had been travelling for an hour when Adam suddenly shouted and pointed ahead of the slow moving train. The engine driver
tugged at the great brake handle, and with locked wheels screeching in protest the cattle train came to a sliding, rattling
halt.

Fifty yards further on the railway line came to an abrupt end and only the heavy wooden sleepers showed the direction the
railway line had once taken. The rails had been unbolted and moved away. Some of the lines lay nearby on the veld. Others
had been dragged far away and buried.

The dark storm-clouds had lowered now and visibility to the south was no more than a half-mile, but the rain had not yet arrived.
Neither had the Boers, and Nat decided to go ahead with his plan, such as it was. He intended driving the cattle along the
line to Mafeking. If they met up with any Boers along the way he would stampede the cattle and hope to escape in the ensuing
confusion. However, Nat hoped the rain would arrive before then and drive any Boers in the vicinity to shelter.

At first Nat’s plan went smoothly as the rain moved in a mighty wall of water towards them. All three men had waterproof coats
in their bags and they donned them just before the rainstorm reached them.

The first heavy drops gave the riders warning to pull their hats down low over their faces before the main belt of rain struck
them with brutal force. For about ten minutes they rode on blindly. Then, as suddenly as the rain had begun, there was a lull
as a break appeared in the clouds overhead.

To Nat’s alarm he discovered they were not alone on the veld. About twenty mounted men were riding towards them. Heavily bearded,
they wore crossed ammunition bandoliers over their coats and each man carried a rifle. Nat did not need to be told he was
looking at a Boer commando.

The commando changed direction and headed for Jaconus Van Eyck, who was riding on the right flank of the scattered cattle.

Nat’s heart sank. It was the sheerest bad luck. Another few minutes and they would have passed the commando unnoticed in the
noise and darkness of the storm.

The Boer commando gathered about Jaconus Van Eyck and Nat turned his horse towards them. He wondered what the Boers would
do with the men from Insimo. They would confiscate the cattle, certainly. They might also make the three Insimo men their
prisoners.

As Nat neared the group one of the Boers said something to Jaconus Van Eyck and pointed to the south-east, away from the line
of the rails. Then, with a cheery wave in Nat’s direction, the Boer turned his horse and led his men away, riding hunched
in the saddle, his head turned away from the rain which was moving in once more.

Nat kneed his horse forward to Jaconus Van Eyck’s side. ‘What’s happening? I thought we’d lost the cattle, at least.’ Nat
needed to shout as the wind snatched at his words.

‘I said we were delivering these mombies to Koos De la Rey. They told me he was farther to the east.’

There was a twinkle of amusement in Jaconus Van Eyck’s eyes, but when he spoke it was with great seriousness. ‘We were lucky,
Nat. Very lucky. If it hadn’t been for the rain they wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to move on. As it is, they’re likely to run
across the train and guess the truth. We’d better get into Mafeking as quickly as we can.’

Nat nodded – rain was coming down hard again now. ‘Keep them moving … I’ll tell Adam …’

Most of his words were snatched away by the wind, but detailed instructions were unnecessary. Jaconus Van Eyck knew what needed
to be done.

It was not easy to keep the cattle together in the storm, but they managed somehow, and quite suddenly the three men and the
herd from Insimo rode out of the rain into brilliant sunshine. The veld was not even damp here. It was a phenomenon all three
men had experienced before on the vast plains of Africa.

‘Keep them moving.’ Jaconus Van Eyck shouted the words as the cattle began to slow. He pointed to the horizon, to one side
of the dark cliff of rain. A couple of miles away a long file of horsemen was cantering towards them. From the way they rode
it was apparent they were armed burghers, citizens of the nearby Boer republic of Transvaal.

But the cattle drive was almost over. Close as were the Boers, Mafeking was closer. An untidy, dusty cluster of tin-roofed houses, it looked as though it had suddenly sprung, mushroom-fashion,
from the ground on which it stood. There was a network of railway lines to one side of the town, silent evidence that this
had once been an important railway centre.

Between the Insimo men and the town were a great many African huts, loosely grouped into two untidy villages. Nat drove the
cattle towards the gap between the villages, forcing the reluctant animals to a trot.

He had scant time to notice the consternation in the villages. He could hear a new sound above the drumming of the hooves
now, as though someone was firing at them – but the sound seemed to be coming from Mafeking! This belief was confirmed when
Nat saw a couple of the leading cattle pitch to the ground, the remaining animals forking past their bodies.

Then they were among houses and men were waving and gesticulating in front of the tiring cattle. The stampede came to an end
as cattle turned back upon cattle, and minutes later the whole herd was milling about in bemused confusion.

‘We did it!’ Nat shouted his delight, but his jubilation was short-lived. Even as he swung down from his horse and removed
his waterproof coat, a thick-set, red-faced man in a khaki uniform, with the insignia of a captain on his sleeve, ran past,
a number of soldiers carrying rifles close behind him.

The soldiers dropped to one knee in the gap between the huts and began firing at the Boer horsemen who had stopped about a
half-mile away. Declining to return the fire, the Boers rode off without suffering any casualties and the uniformed captain
hurried back to the men from Insimo.

Puffing heavily, he stopped before Jaconus Van Eyck. ‘Are you in charge of … of these?’

The captain raised an arm in the direction of the cattle and Nat glimpsed a wide stain of damp perspiration spreading out
from his armpit.

‘The cattle are mine. I’ve just brought them from the Insimo valley, in Matabeleland.’

Nat might have said the cattle had been shifted from adjacent grazing-land for all the impact his words made on the perspiring
captain.

‘Do you realise you’ve just driven your cattle through a minefield? It took us three days to lay those mines and map the area. Three wasted days! Not to mention the gap you’ve created
in the town’s defences.’

‘I think that what the captain is trying to say is, “Thank you for bringing your cattle more than five hundred miles by rail,
then running them through the lines of a besieging army, in order that Mafeking might hold out for another week or two.” Isn’t
this what you’re trying to say?’ Adam looked angrily at the British officer.

‘It doesn’t matter, Adam. See if you can find some water for the cattle.’

Turning back to the red-faced British captain, Nat said, ‘Perhaps you’ll get word to Colonel Baden-Powell that Nat Retallick
has delivered his order. When we’ve got a receipt we’ll see about going home again.’

His anger seeping away, the British army captain watched Nat walk away and his mind recalled what had been said. ‘Nat Retallick
… from Matabeleland?’

‘That’s right, Captain. Too far away to be involved in your little war down here. As Nat said, we’ll leave you to it just
as soon as we’ve handed over responsibility for five hundred head of prime cattle – and we’re including those shot by your
sharpshooters,’ said Adam.

Colonel Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell called the three men from Insimo to his headquarters later that evening. A dapper,
military-looking man, Baden-Powell sported a heavy black moustache that was immaculately trimmed. No more enthusiastic than
his captain, he casually thanked the three men for delivering the cattle to him. He might have been a city householder accepting
a delivery from a butcher’s boy.

The attitude of the military commander of Mafeking incensed Adam in particular. He was particularly indignant that no one
had expressed a word of gratitude for their resourcefulness in running cattle through the Boer lines to a ‘starving’ and beleaguered
township.

Jaconus Van Eyck was more philosophical. ‘At least the colonel didn’t make us pay for the mines we exploded on the way in.’

A hotel room had been allocated to the three men by Baden-Powell’s adjutant, who also informed them they were to eat in the officers’ mess that evening. Unfortunately Colonel Baden-Powell would
not be there. He always dined privately in another hotel with a few of his staff officers. Among these were Major Lord Edward
Cecil and Captain Gordon Wilson – whose wife, Lady Sarah, one of the Churchill family, had been ordered from Mafeking immediately
before the siege had commenced.

Nat was astonished at the size of the meal set before him in the officers’ mess and served by uniformed African waiters. There
was no hint of a food shortage, neither was there any attempt at economy. It was a sumptuous and varied meal such as none
of the three had eaten for a very long time, and was washed down with wine or champagne, depending upon the whim of the diner.

When Nat commented on the apparent abundance of food, one of the British officers explained that Colonel Baden-Powell had
anticipated the siege. He had stocked the town’s warehouses with everything the town might need to sustain them during the
weeks ahead.

‘So I needn’t have bothered to bring my cattle into Mafeking? I might as well have taken them back to Insimo?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, old chap,’ said an officer of the Mafeking Town Guard, waving for an African servant to refill his glass.
‘We’d have found ourselves damn short of fresh meat had you not brought them in. Mind you, I doubt if Captain Nelley will
ever forgive you for showing up the weakness of his precious minefield. It was his boast that it would kill the whole Boer
army if they tried to take Mafeking!’

Walking back to the hotel with Jaconus Van Eyck and Adam after the meal, Nat repeated what he had said to the Mafeking Town
Guard officer. ‘We’d have been better taking our cattle home again as soon as we learned the line was cut. Baden-Powell doesn’t
need them. We took too many risks for nothing. Now we have to try to return home having stirred up the Boers.’

‘Mafeking will need those mombies, you mark my words. Everyone here is talking as though Koos De la Rey’s burghers will pack up and go home in a week or two.
That’s not going to happen. Koos and his men will stay until they’re driven off – and whoever tries that will have one hell of a fight on his hands. All the same, don’t expect Colonel Baden-Powell to acknowledge
that Insimo cattle might have tipped the scales in his favour. He’s sending out reports filled with stories of how he and
his brave men are holding out against a strong enemy that has him trapped inside Mafeking. He’d look pretty foolish if word
got out that three men drove a herd of five hundred cattle into Mafeking without a shot being fired – by the Boers, that is.’

‘As far as I’m concerned they can play at war as much as