Company Of Spears

He would have to admit, however, just a certain unease here in Cape Colony. If the British – and before them the Dutch – had taken land from the native tribes in the belief that there was plenty of land for them to have instead, then where was the evil in that? If, however, they had taken the best land, and the tribes now suffered because of it, then that was an offence against the most fundamental instinct of right and wrong. In which case there would be no end of trouble on the frontier until the Xhosa, and any other of the aggrieved tribes, were comprehensively beaten into submission. That meant, quite simply, the slaughter of so many of them that those remaining feared extinction if they continued to resist. It was not a prospect that appealed to any part of him. But he had read, as was only expedient to a soldier of tender conscience, the doctors of the Church, Augustine and Aquinas. He could take some comfort from the knowledge that as a soldier he was not obliged to consider jus ad bellum. That was a matter for the lawful authorities of the nation. His concern must be jus in bello. And yet had he himself not said to Lord John Howard, ‘On becoming a soldier I have not ceased to be a citizen’? He smiled to himself. ‘Do not Cromwell me, Hervey!’, Lord John had replied, ever practical. The trouble was, Lord John Howard, far from the field, was so busy about the commander-in-chief’s business that thinking was an indulgence. He, Hervey, on the other hand, between bouts of intense action frequently had a great deal of time to think. It was a cruel sort of irony.

‘Do you consider the Xhosa might be pacified other than by military means?’ he asked, in an absent sort of way.

Fairbrother detected the change of tone. ‘Not as long as there are men in Cape-town like the Somersets.’

Hervey understood the response, but it was not enough. ‘I mean, are they susceptible to making peace at all?’

‘Ah, Colonel Hervey, you declare yourself not a poet, but you are evidently something of a philosopher! You really must read the Wordsworth.’

Hervey scowled. ‘Fairbrother, do not try me. There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.’

Fairbrother thought a while before answering. ‘The Xhosa are not a warlike people, for all that they may fight savagely. But they have begun to speak of a deliverer; they say kukuza kuka Nxele – the coming of Nxele. Makana Nxele was a warrior, and a fine one. Before Nxele, the Xhosa had been mere herdsmen, and Gaika a grey-haired old chief whom both tribesmen and Somerset treated kindly but otherwise ignored. Nxele was their leader in the frontier war. He led the attack on Graham’s-town, and believe me, Hervey – I saw it with my own eyes – it was not for want of courage that they failed. Afterwards, Colonel Willshire’s punitive raids on the kraals were – I speak my mind in this – brutal. Your Duke of Cumberland could have done no worse.’

‘Why do you say my Duke of Cumberland?’ demanded Hervey, a shade impatiently. ‘He was no more mine than yours.’

Fairbrother thought to leave explanation to another day. ‘A mere lapse of speech. But hear me continue. Nxele gave himself up to Willshire rather than have his people subjected to greater hardship, and Somerset dealt with him very ill. He put him on Robben Island, a damnable place, and he died the following year trying to escape. The Xhosa have begun speaking as if he’s immortal, which is a sign to beware. They are as a rule a level-headed people, for all their superstition.’

Hervey thought for a while. ‘I did not ask before: how did you come to speak their language?’

‘I took a fundisa, a munshi as you say in India, when the Corps first came here. It seemed a perfectly natural thing to do.’

‘Though not, I imagine, to everyone.’

‘Decidedly not. But you know, Hervey, it was far from an unpleasant labour. The Xhosa are not without their charms.’

Hervey frowned, unseen, though the tone of his voice betrayed it. ‘I confess I saw no charm today. That was a deuced near-run thing at the river. I shall ever be grateful to you.’

Hervey heard the smile in the reply: ‘My dear Hervey, think nothing of it.’

And there was just something, too, that convinced him of Fairbrother’s utter sincerity in the dismissal. His courage had been so matter of fact, his manner afterwards unassuming, retiring even. ‘Nevertheless, I would commend your valuable service when we return. I would have you meet Eyre Somervile; you and he will get on famously. And you should know that it was in Somerset’s papers that he found you recommended. Somerset may have had his faults in your regard, but on this occasion he had been keen to set the record straight.’

Fairbrother smiled again, part unbelieving. ‘As you wish.’ He finished the brandy.