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were given back only
inferior beasts, the old and barren cows and scrub
bulls.’
    ‘Damn it, Ballantyne, the volunteers earned the right to
first pick from the herds. Quite naturally, they chose the prime
stock.’ He shot out his right fist with the forefinger
aimed like a pistol at Zouga’s heart. ‘They do say
that our own herds, chosen from the captured cattle, are the
finest in Matabeleland.’
    ‘The indunas don’t understand that,’ Zouga
answered.
    ‘Well then, the least they should understand is that
they are a conquered nation. Their welfare depends on the
goodwill of the victors. They extended no such consideration to
the tribes that they conquered when they lorded it across the
continent. Mzilikazi slew a million defenceless souls when he
devastated the land south of the Limpopo, and Lobengula, his son,
called the lesser tribes his dogs, to kill or cast into slavery
as the whim took him. They must not whine now at the bitter taste
of defeat.’
    Even gentle Jordan, at the end of the table, nodded at this.
‘To protect the Mashona tribes from Lobengula’s
depredations was one of the reasons why we marched on
GuBulawayo,’ he murmured.
    ‘I said that they had grievances,’ Zouga pointed
out. ‘I did not say that they were justified.’
    ‘Then what else do they have to complain of?’
Rhodes demanded.
    ‘The Company police. The young Matabele bucks whom
General St John has recruited and armed are strutting through the
kraals, usurping the power of the indunas, taking their pick of
the young girls—’
    Again Rhodes interrupted. ‘Better that than a
resurrection of the fighting impis under the indunas. Can you
imagine twenty thousand warriors in impi under Babiaan and
Gandang and Bazo? No, St John was right to break the power of the
indunas. As Native Commissioner, it is his duty to guard against
resurgence of the Matabele fighting tradition.’
    ‘Especially in view of the events that are in train
south of where we now sit.’ Dr Leander Starr Jameson spoke
for the first time since he had greeted Ralph, and Rhodes turned
to him swiftly.
    ‘I wonder if this is the time to speak of that, Doctor
Jim.’
    ‘Why not? Every man here is trustworthy and discreet. We
are all committed to the same bright vision of Empire, and the
Lord knows, we are in no danger of being overheard. Not in this
wilderness. What better time than now to explain why the Company
police must be made even stronger, must be better armed and
trained to the highest degree of readiness?’ Jameson
demanded.
    Instinctively Rhodes glanced at Ralph Ballantyne, and Ralph
raised one eyebrow, a cynical and mildly challenging gesture that
seemed to decide Rhodes.
    ‘No, Doctor Jim,’ he spoke decisively.
‘There will be another time for that.’ And when
Jameson shrugged and capitulated, Rhodes turned to Jordan.
‘The sun is setting,’ he said, and Jordan rose
obediently to charge the glasses. The sundowner whisky was
already a traditional ending to the day in this land north of the
Limpopo.
    T he brilliant
white gems of the Southern Cross hung over Ralph’s camp,
dimming the lesser stars, and sprinkling the bald domes of the
granite kopjes with a pearly light as Ralph picked his way
towards his tent. He had inherited his father’s head for
liquor, so that his step was even and steady. It was ideas, not
whisky, which had inebriated him.
    He stooped through the fly of the darkened tent and sat down
on the edge of the cot. He touched Cathy’s cheek.
    ‘I am awake,’ she said softly. ‘What time is
it?’
    ‘After midnight.’
    ‘What kept you so long?’ she whispered, for
Jonathan slept just beyond the canvas screen.
    ‘The dreams and boasts of men drunk with power and
success.’ He grinned in the dark and dragged off his boots.
‘And by God, I did my fair share of dreaming and
boasting.’ He stood to strip off his breeches. ‘What
do you think of Harry Mellow?’