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Hervey was unfastening the bit to give his mare a peck of corn. ‘Fairbrother, neither of us has had any sleep, so I beg you to be brief.’

Fairbrother lowered his telescope. ‘I thought at first the Zulu might have killed a bull – the sort of thing I believe they do to fortify themselves – but observe the distribution of the birds. They’re not circling with apparent intent to come down on a particular spot; they’re patrolling a wide area. Which I presume is that occupied by the Zulu bivouac.’

‘Why aren’t they all at yesterday’s feast?’ asked Hervey as he took out his own telescope again.

‘You have your answer: it was yesterday’s feast.’

‘So quick?’

Fairbrother nodded.

Hervey peered at them for a good while. Their line of patrol was a full mile to the troop’s front, and the same in length: much as he imagined the impi to occupy in bivouac – or else in the advance. ‘If it is so – their watching the Zulu, I mean – then they’re worth a couple of dozen scouts. I wonder shall they tell us when they advance?’

‘I shall endeavour to read the signs,’ said Fairbrother airily.

Hervey nodded, and smiled. He put back the telescope in its holster and took a handful of corn from the feedbag on the saddle. His mare ate it greedily.

‘May I make a suggestion?’ asked Fairbrother.

‘By all means.’

‘You’ll send out scouts?’

‘They’re making ready this moment. It is the usual drill.’

‘I should like to ride to that little hill yonder.’ He pointed out what appeared to be the merest anthill on the green veld. ‘I’ve a notion I might see things better.’

‘I have no objection,’ said Hervey, but warily. ‘Take with you Corporal Byrne.’

‘If I may, I’d rather go unaccompanied.’

Hervey was reluctant to accede; it took only his horse to lame itself and Fairbrother would be at the mercy of the spear. But then, he had crawled about the bush at night and dealt singly with three Xhosa … ‘Very well.’


With the scouts forward, Hervey was able to stand down both troop and company to make a proper feed for the horses and breakfast for themselves. For over forty hours neither dragoon nor rifleman had eaten but what they carried in their haversacks: corn cakes, and dried meat which without slaking was like chewing bridle leather. Hervey sat on the ground holding his mare’s reins, letting her pull at the rough veld grass. It would have no goodness in it (except, he supposed, for the game – the antelope and such) but a little bulk inside would do her no harm.

He looked up at the vultures. Had they picked clean Gilbert’s bones yet? He hated the death of a horse without ceremony, without proper disposal, leaving it to the pecking and tearing of crows and ravening dogs, and then to the ants and maggots and worms … He grieved separately for Corporal Dilke.

‘All well, sir?’ came a voice of the Tyne.

‘Passing well, Sarn’t-major,’ he replied, without looking up.

‘A close shave wi’ Gilbert, I understand.’ ‘

Ay. How’s the troop?’

It was not rightly ‘procedure’ for the troop serjeant-major to speak above the head of the troop leader (and Hervey had placed his lieutenant squarely in command); but with Armstrong ‘right procedure’ was an aid, like spurs or a whip, not an end in itself. Hervey would ever welcome his counsel, or even, as now, simply his company.

‘They’re in good fettle. Them greenheads did all right yesterday. Not one unseated. And not a horse lame this morning.’

Hervey had had the parade states already, but Armstrong’s assurance was welcome nonetheless. As it had been for a dozen years and more. Indeed, he had almost begun to think of Armstrong and the army – certainly the regiment – as one and the same. ‘We made a deal of vulture meat yesterday.’

‘We did an’ all, sir. But I doubt they’ll be caught like that again. Not the way they kept coming on when the rifles began dropping ‘em. An’ if they can learn to form square with them spears… ‘

Hervey agreed. They had fought men under discipline yesterday, strict discipline; well-trained men, and brave too.

Suddenly Armstrong braced. ‘Cap’n Fairbrother’s coming in at a fair lick, sir!’

Hervey got to his feet. Fairbrother was a furlong off, his horse flattening. ‘Stand to, Sarn’t-major. Trumpeter!’

Armstrong was gone in an instant, barking words of command like a jack-corporal at his first picket. Trumpeter Roddis came running, bugle in hand, ready. He halted at attention and saluted. ‘Sir?’

‘Stand to your horses.’

‘Sir!’

It was a simple call: triplets and a minim repeated, all on C. As well, since Roddis was still unpractised.

Fairbrother galloped straight at them, reining back only in the last few yards. ‘Call in your scouts, Hervey: there’re Zulu on both flanks!’

Hervey didn’t hesitate. ‘Skirmishers in, Roddis!’

It took a second or so for the trumpeter to recollect the call, and then he began blowing for all he was worth.

‘Zulu on both flanks?’

‘Ay,’ said Fairbrother, slipping from the saddle and catching his breath. ‘Crawling so flat you’d have to run into them to see. That’s why the scouts didn’t.’

‘How—’

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Company Of Spears
Company Of Spears

The eighth novel in the acclaimed and bestselling series finds Hervey on his way to South Africa where he is preparing to form a new body of cavalry, the Cape Mounted Rifles.All looks set fair for Major Matthew Hervey: news of a handsome legacy should allow him to purchase command of his beloved regiment, the 6th Light Dragoons. He is resolved to marry, and rather to his surprise, the object of his affections — the widow of the late Sir Ivo Lankester — has readily consented. But he has reckoned without the opportunism of a fellow officer with ready cash to hand; and before too long, he is on the lookout for a new posting. However, Hervey has always been well-served by old and loyal friends, and Eyre Somervile comes to his aid with the means of promotion: there is need of a man to help reorganize the local forces at the Cape Colony, and in particular to form a new body of horse.At the Cape, Hervey is at once thrown into frontier skirmishes with the Xhosa and Bushmen, but it is Eyre Somervile's instruction to range deep across the frontier, into the territory of the Zulus, that is his greatest test. Accompanied by the charming, cultured, but dissipated Edward Fairbrother, a black captain from the disbanded Royal African Corps and bastard son of a Jamaican planter, he makes contact with the legendary King Shaka, and thereafter warns Somervile of the danger that the expanding Zulu nation poses to the Cape Colony.The climax of the novel is the battle of Umtata River (August 1828), in which Hervey has to fight as he has never fought before, and in so doing saves the life of the nephew of one of the Duke of Wellington's closest friends.

Allan Mallinson

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