

ACACIA

# Secrets of an African Painting

#

# By

# Paul Bondsfield

#

#

# Copyright November 2013 Paul Bondsfield

# Smashwords Edition

# All rights reserved

### Acacia on Facebook

#

#

#

#

# This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

#

#  **ISBN:** 9781310682834

#

For

Tris, Josh, Amelie and Eden

# The Chapters

THE PAST - PROLOGUE – CHASE

CHAPTER ONE – THE FUNERAL

CHAPTER TWO – MBOKU'S JOURNEY STARTS

CHAPTER THREE – MUM TELLS A STORY

CHAPTER FOUR – PROPHECY

CHAPTER FIVE – FREDERICK'S ARRIVAL IN AFRICA

CHAPTER SIX – INHERITANCE

CHAPTER SEVEN – MBOKU GROWS

CHAPTER EIGHT – FREDERICK IN MATABELELAND

CHAPTER NINE – THE SEARCH BEGINS

CHAPTER TEN – MBOKU BECOMES A MAN

CHAPTER ELEVEN – FREDERICK'S DIARY

CHAPTER TWELVE – CONSPIRACY

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THE SEARCH GOES ON

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – OLD LOVERS

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SO TO AFRICA

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – CAPE TOWN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – COMING HOME

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - GATSHENI

CHAPTER NINETEEN - LEOPARD'S LEAP

CHAPTER TWENTY - THABAS INDUNAS

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - MORE SECRETS

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO - DEFENDING THE STONES

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE - TO THE LUPANE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR - GATSHENI HURRIES TO THE LUPANE

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE - FEVER

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX - AMASSING THE WARRIORS

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN - IN THE BUSH

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT - ON THE TRAIL

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE - CLOSER

CHAPTER THIRTY - THE SCENT OF BLOOD

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE - CHANGE OF PLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO - GATSHENI TELLS HIS STORY

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE - PROPOSAL

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR - THE PLAN IN ACTION

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE - THE KOPJE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX - FOLLOW THE CROSS

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN - CONFRONTATION

EPILOGUE - THE PRESENT

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

# THE PAST

# PROLOGUE – CHASE

The man was near exhaustion as he staggered the final few feet towards the riverbank. The pain that coursed through his body was real enough, but to him it seemed to be a separate thing with a life of its own and with no true heart.

At the river's edge, swift flowing, brown water surged before him, tempting him down into its chocolaty murk. The horrors he had witnessed had long since turned his mind in on itself and he didn't stop to think about the consequence of throwing himself into the churning torrent; a primal instinct for escape was all that drove him on. As he hit the water, he was instantly swept away and simultaneously dragged under the surface so that the blood flowing from his body had only the briefest of moments to tinge the water a muddy pink before it was assimilated and diluted into nothingness.

The group of warriors, who had until this moment, pursued the man for many days, stopped at the water's edge and watched his body disappear rapidly. They leant on their spears in silence, hardly out of breath despite the chase, until the tallest of them gestured with a quick movement of his head to turn and start the long run back home. The white man was dead; there was no need to go further. They had their vengeance and would soon find the hiding place and would return the treasure to its rightful owners. Within moments, the group had broken into a loping trot and the spot by the river was again deserted and silent, save for the rushing of the water.

It might have been more merciful if he had perished at that moment and those who knew him in later years would wonder if death might have been kinder. As it was, the spot at which he had flung himself into the rushing Limpopo was close to a long, slow bend where an ox-bow had been created; a loop of the river that had closed in on itself to create a separate section of still water.

His body was swept into the loop. The force of the flow pushed him up onto the mud on the opposite bank. In all, he had spent less than two minutes in the water and was still holding onto life as he lay in the mud, blood dripping from his wounds.

Next to him lay a small bag of oiled canvas and animal skin, bound tightly with leather thongs. Just before he lapsed into a long and tortured unconsciousness, his hand reached out and gripped it tightly to his chest.

# THE PRESENT

# CHAPTER ONE – THE FUNERAL

A squall raced through the graveyard like an avenging spirit and I hugged down into my thick coat while trying not to think about the cold, wet and windy weather that encircled the small group there to say their final farewells to Great Aunt Nellie. Not that Nellie had any worries about the miserable conditions. I figured she was a prime candidate for eternal happiness if there ever was one, although I did have to pause to reconsider that thought in the ensuing weeks.

The freshly dug hole was rapidly filling with water as the heavens opened once more and the mahogany coffin, with its solid brass fittings, was lowered. We could all see that the bottom couple of inches would be sitting in a muddy, cold puddle. It didn't seem right somehow that such a vibrant, warm person should end up this way. Nellie was surely worth more than this. She had lived to a ripe old age and had a great and full life. I knew that no one around me would believe for a second that she would suffer in any way from now on. I was equally sure that this select little gathering didn't give any credence to the idea of an afterlife as they were all family in one way or another and this particular family was about as down to earth as they come.

I looked across at Tara, a distant cousin with whom I had shared so much in the past and a brief smile flitted across her face. Her normally smoky complexion looked pale in this cold autumnal weather, her dark locks tied back and hidden in the realms of an enormous hood, surrounded by fur.

For an instant, I had an absurd thought about Eskimo Nell and I had to bite my lip hard to keep back the giggle that nearly escaped. She must have sensed something as she gave me a disapproving look from under her furrowed brow. This made things worse and I feigned a coughing fit to cover the laugh. Several heads turned my way, all with the same dark brows, shaped like diving V's, and I rapidly came back to my senses.

I wouldn't like you to think I was being disrespectful in any way to Nellie. She would probably have been the first to welcome a bit of levity at her own funeral. After all, her life had been polarised between laughter and tragedy, but it was always laughter she would turn to no matter how hard oppression struck. I had loved her probably more than anyone else in the family. More than that I, respected her enormous sense of responsibility to the family, which to her included anyone with whom she had but the briefest contact. As long as she had met and liked you, she was a friend and supporter for life, no matter how daft you might be or how many mistakes you might make. She always said that she could tell if someone was essentially a good soul within a scant few minutes of meeting them. She was like a family pet in that way; if you were approved, she would immediately warm to you and treat you as one of 'us'. The flipside of course was that if you 'weren't quite the full ticket', you would feel the cooler side of her personality. If she didn't quite growl and bare her teeth, you might be forgiven for thinking that's what had happened.

As the vicar finished his seemingly interminable service, everyone turned away, keen to be inside and away from the bitter cold of this bleak, grey day. I stood a moment longer however, silently saying my own farewells to the person with whom I had spent so much time and who had taught me so much.

'Not a bad old stick was she.'

Tara had stayed too and now hooked her arm in mine and looked into my eyes with a concerned look on her face.

'You okay?' She asked.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking how much I'm going to miss her, that's all.'

'I know. I feel the same way. She was just one in a million.' Tara stared down at the now rapidly filling hole in the ground as both water from the heavens and earth from the gravedigger's shovels sealed Nellie into the ground.

'Come on,' she gently pulled me away from the spot where I had taken root, 'let's get into the dry before we catch our death.' She grimaced as she realised what she had said. I smiled to reassure her and we hurried toward the line of cars parked in the lane by the ancient churchyard.

'Where's Eden by the way?' she asked as we ran.

'She couldn't make it.' I brushed the question aside, not willing to get into a discussion on the current state of my love life, about which I was perpetually confused and mystified.

There was no good reason for confusion in the case of Eden to be honest. She was a tall, dark haired stunner, with olive skin and piercing green eyes. Her looks were only eclipsed by her wit, intelligence, and sense of humour. The only real mystery was what she was doing with someone like me, leaving me thinking that it could all go wrong at any time. I had decided that crunch time had been reached in this particular relationship. I had to either open myself up to the risk of a spectacular amount of hurt by committing properly to 'us' or I had to do what came more naturally and run like hell. I know we had to talk, but it always seemed easier not to, to be honest; the path of least resistance, which is the path I generally preferred.

Tara gave me a look that said tell me more, but luckily as I folded my six-foot frame into her tiny car, the rain suddenly stopped, and incredibly, a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, illuminating the graveyard like a spotlight. As the light hit the puddles of water around the graves, it was reflected with such brilliance that we had to blink and turn away. We both stopped at the sudden beauty of the moment, which was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived. There was silence for a moment or two before either of us could speak.

'My God!' Exclaimed Tara, 'Wouldn't you know she'd get the last word in?'

I looked at her wondering if her Braughton common sense had deserted her at long last. She smiled at me though and I realised that she wasn't serious. Not totally, anyway.

'Yeah, right.' I scoffed. 'Come on; let's get back to the booze-up before they finish all the prawn vol-au-vents.'

We grinned at each other, partly in denial of even the possibility that Nellie had given us her final, dramatic farewell. However, underneath the grins, I detected a doubt in both of us. On the way back to Nellie's house, I dwelt upon the fact that the golden light, which had shone down from between the clouds, had reflected from the water like the sparkle of a thousand diamonds. Funny what the atmosphere of a funeral can do to your mind. Mind you, the sparkle of a thousand of diamonds was an image central to the great family myth. A myth that was discussed with smiles and jokes, but which I am sure each and every Braughton secretly dreamt of on occasion.

The story goes that somewhere in Africa there is hidden a great treasure. From where no one knows, but that hidden within the family are clues to the treasure's whereabouts. Apparently a distant ancestor, I think he must be a great, great something or other, stole this treasure from an African king, but then promptly lost it again. If you think about it, it's not very likely is it? If you were to stumble across a fortune, you are probably going to remember where the hell you put it, or at the least you would have a map or something so you could find it again. Anyway, it all sounds like a wonderful story for a Hollywood movie with Harrison Ford, but I always maintained that the chances were pretty slim. Like I say though, I am sure that every member of the family wishes it were true and I'm equally sure that they would all like to be the one to find it. Some have tried over the years too, but for some reason nobody really speaks about those attempts. It's almost as if a collective veil has been drawn over that side of the story. Maybe it is believed that if you are mad enough to look for it then you are probably just mad. No family likes to air its problems like hereditary 'loony-tunes', especially the Braughtons.

These thoughts rushed through my head as we drove in silence to 'Acacia', Nellie's wonderful bungalow, the scene of so many family gatherings over the years. It was a place where I always felt at total peace, no matter what was happening in my life. When I was young, not so long ago I might add, I spent as much time here as I could, just Nellie and me and her stories of Africa. She made the place seem so romantic, filled with improbable characters, adventures out in the bush which stretched for hundreds of miles and where you only had the slightest chance of ever meeting another living soul.

Her home of as many years as I could remember, 'Acacia', was as close as I thought I would ever get to the times she described. Although redecorated from time-to-time, the colours never changed from the natural hues that reminded her of her African home. These colours always made it seem warm, cosy, and inviting no matter how inclement the weather outside. It is filled with wonderful mementoes of her previous life; wooden carvings that were rough hewn, but absolutely brimming with life. The wood so dried over the years that small cracks and splits had appeared that only served to increase their beauty.

Nellie used to bring out blankets made of animal furs, called karosses, one of several African words I had learnt over the years, which she would throw over our knees late at night when the English weather closed in. The kaross was a magic carpet, instantly transporting us to places with exotic sounding names like Bulawayo, Mutare, Great Zimbabwe, or to the farms deep in the bush where she grew up. There are small soapstone carvings of animals, birds, and people; paintings, amateur watercolours framed in dark wood, which, like the carvings had cracked and warped over time.

There is one painting in particular, which to me sums up Africa, and which I have stared at for millennia, dreaming of far away people and places. Its scene is a small African village of thatched mud huts, their roofs soaring above low, dark doors in conical perfection. There are several people in the scene and although most are in the background, two main characters are closer to the artist. One is an old man sitting outside his hut, cross-legged on the ground, smoking a long stemmed clay pipe. His hair is white and his face has the traces of humour of someone, I have always thought may have lived so long as to have seen and done everything there was to do or see, and who was now simply content to sit and wait to die. The other character is a young girl, walking towards the artist carrying a large basket on her head. She is bare breasted, with colourful, patterned cloth wrapped around her waist. One arm is crooked with the hand on hip and the other hand is raised to support her load. She is standing in the shade of an acacia tree, its spreading, flat-topped form typifying the African scene. In the far distance are purple mountains, distinctively in a 'W' shape as they stride across the landscape. The whole composition, including those two people, to me is everything I imagined Africa to be.

My favourite room in the place is the verandah where in summer the sun shines and provides the sort of warmth I imagined one would find in deepest Africa. In the winter it's cosy with gas stoves inside while the rain batters the transparent Perspex roof panels. Fully enclosed its wooden floor is covered with rugs of all shapes and descriptions, all threadbare and lived in. The walls are composed from floor to ceiling glass, mostly hinged like French-doors, so that on particularly fine days Nellie would open up the entire room to the outside. There are huge armchairs and an enormous overstuffed antique leather sofa covered with the skins of animals hunted by Nellie's father and grandfather. The leather is cracked and worn, but the frame is made from solid chunks of timber hewn from the African bush and held together with massive iron struts and stays. Nellie told me of the trouble it caused when she decided to bring it to England as it took four or five burly men to lift it and negotiating it through the doors of 'Acacia' had caused the injury of two removal men; one from a torn back muscle and the other from a broken bone when it dropped on his foot. They had manoeuvred it into place in 1932 and it hadn't moved since; the original paint is on the wall behind it and the original varnish on the floor underneath.

The centrepiece of the verandah is a great coffee table, made from a section cut through the trunk of a baobab tree and then polished and varnished until it shone. The wood seems to glow from the inside with deep amber shades and hues; the cups, plates, feet and games of generations haven't so much as dented the surface because, as Nellie had once told me, there were over twenty coats of varnish applied to the wood, each of which had been polished to a high sheen.

It was in this room that the family now gathered to eat and drink to the memory of a great matriarch. Over the years she had been the font of all family wisdom and had unstintingly provided equal measures of advice, comfort, and common sense to anyone who requested it of her. She really would be missed, but her legacy would at least continue through the words of advice and encouragement given to each member of the family who would then hopefully pass on the same to future generations of the Braughton clan.

By the time Tara and I arrived, the rest of them were well into the event and the sounds of murmured respect were already starting to elevate to something a little more raucous. The adults were exchanging regards, words of condolence, and greetings as the younger members of the family started to make more and more noise as boredom set in. I moved to the vicar's side, whose ancient, furrowed face showed just the right amount of humour and respect, practiced over years at similar events, I imagine.

'Thank you for the service John' I said. 'It was perfect and I know that everyone here appreciated your personal words.'

'It was my privilege to perform at her farewell,' he replied, 'Such a wonderful woman despite...' He stopped there, and frowned as if not sure whether to go on or not. Then he seemed to come to a decision and continued.

'Apologies, I mean to say, she had a full life didn't she.'

I wasn't sure if this last comment was a question or a statement, but before I had chance to ask him, he put his hand on my shoulder.

'She always had a good word for you, you know James. I mean she spoke well of many, many people, but you were something very special to her. I hope you know that.'

'I always loved and respected her and hoped she approved of me, but I didn't really think about favourites. She seemed to treat everyone pretty much equally, didn't she?' I was a little embarrassed about this revelation of my status, and within hearing of other family members too, but was secretly glad he had told me.

'How long have you actually known Nellie?' I asked him.

'Since she first arrived in Bishop's Down in 1932,' he said. 'I was in my first month as vicar of this parish back then and was perhaps overly keen to impress my new congregation. I was having problems however, as the previous chap had been in the role for a long time too, and everyone was a little suspicious of this young upstart who thought he could replace such an institution in the village. Nellie was the making of me though. As I say, she arrived in the village very soon after I started here and when I went to see her, she immediately knew that I wasn't happy. She forced me to tell her about my problems with the local folk and told me not to worry. To this day I don't know how she did it, but within days, the village rallied behind me and I have enjoyed their support ever since.'

I was amazed by this revelation, not because of what Nellie had done, but by the age that would make him now. If he had been around twenty in that first year, he must be into his eighties by now.

'I thought vicars retired earlier than this,' I blurted out rather bluntly, realising how abrupt it sounded as I said it. 'I'm sorry, that was a little rude of me.' I rushed to apologise.

He chuckled and sought to calm my fears.

'My boy, I did retire some years ago now, but nothing would have stopped me being here for this. I felt I owed her a happy and fulfilling life and today was but little to pay in return for the gift she gave me.'

I smiled at him, thankful for his understanding of my little faux pas.

'You were going to say something a moment ago though,' I ventured, "and then you stopped.' Can I ask what it was?'

He looked troubled, and I immediately wished I hadn't asked.

'I'm sorry; I don't want to pry into your private thoughts.' I tried desperately to back-peddle.

He looked at me closely for a moment and then took my arm, leading me to one side.

'I will tell you,' he almost whispered, 'because I know how close you were and to be honest, it's something I never really got to the bottom of. Maybe you know more of it than I and could help fill in the gaps.'

By now I was intrigued as he continued. 'When Nellie first arrived, she seemed bright, busy, and confident, as she has been for all the rest of her life.' He paused as if unsure how, or if to go on. Then he took a deep breath and continued, 'She was busy of course, what with moving in here, organising everything, redecorating, and getting this verandah built. Not to mention smoothing the way in the village for a rather nervous and overwhelmed young vicar.' He smiled at the memory, but just fleetingly before the frown returned to his brow. 'But, I sensed something was troubling her, something had happened in her recent past which was causing her great pain and I never found out what it might have been.'

He looked at me, asking the question without speaking.

'I don't know anything about that,' I answered, 'maybe it was just the stress of leaving her beloved Africa. Homesickness can be an awful thing for some people.'

He pondered this, but didn't seem convinced.

'No, I thought about that too, and even asked her once. She shrugged it off though and I've always believed that moving to England was a positive move for her and not one to be mourned. No, there was something more, something deep within her that she could never seem to let out.'

He gripped my arm tightly as he said this with a slightly wild look in his eyes and I started to think that perhaps these were just the musings of an old man who had lived and worked in one place for a long, long time. It all sounded a bit melodramatic. I had certainly never sensed anything like this from her, and as the vicar had said, I had been one of her favourites. Surely I would have picked up something over the years.

I smiled at John to lighten the mood a little, as he had become quiet and looked saddened by his memories.

'I'm sure it would have been the stress at the time," I assured him. 'After all, she had left a lot behind. All those things combined would have been very hard for a young woman to take back then, wouldn't it? The uncertainty of not knowing how she was going to be able to afford to live the same life she had been used to, saying goodbye to friends and family to move to a strange country. It would be hard on anyone. As you said, she lived a long and full life and I for one can't ever remember her being sad or down at all.'

'Yes, I suppose you could be right.' He didn't look convinced, but his features brightened and after a surprisingly firm handshake, moved on to the next group in the room.

Tara sidled up to me as I stood, pondered, and then asked, 'What was all that about then? You and the vicar looked as if you were deep in some secret conversation. Anything you want to share?'

'Ah, it was nothing, just an old fellow remembering old times. I'll tell you about it later if you like.'

The party continued in the way that these things do, with old acquaintances being re-forged; promises to 'keep in touch more often' made and then promptly regretted or simply forgotten; kids running amok, not really understanding the significance of the gathering; older family members frowning at the young and then fretting on the possibility that they may be the next honoured guest. Tara and I sat quietly in the corner, chatting about everything and nothing, remembering times gone by.

I can remember distinctly the first time I met Tara, or more accurately, the first time I can remember anything at all, as she made up my earliest recollection of life. I was just four years old and she, a newly born, noisy, squealing package that was deposited under my rather mucky nose for approval. I remember being at once disgusted by the smell of dirty nappy, and fascinated by the scale of her. Fingers and toes were tiny replicas of my own and her eyes, nose and mouth were squashed together in a round pink face with a thick mop of fine, dark hair positioned in the centre of her crown. She looked up at me from her bundle of blankets on the floor and was immediately quiet. Her eyes seemed to focus on mine, with an intensity that made me stop still too. They were, and still are, a deep, dark amber, almost orange in places, with depths into which many a young and ambitious suitor has fallen, never to be seen again. When she truly gazed into your eyes, only a move by her allowed you freedom again. You were as much in a trap as if you were tied, bound, and trussed inside a cage of solid iron. I remember this first meeting, then because of those eyes and the connection we made in some out-of-this world way that I will never even come close to explaining. With even as limited a vocabulary as I then possessed and without the knowledge needed to bind into real human relationship, I vowed that this person would be part of me forever and that I would love her as deeply as any person could ever love another. That was the gist of it anyway, something inside me said keep close to this one and so I have tried ever since.

She was there for me during the lowest point of my life thus far. After falling headlong and completely in love with a beautiful and wonderful woman, to whom I (and most everyone I knew) had never thought I would stand a chance of getting close and who, after a two year relationship, had run off with another bloke. He was older, richer, and more successful than I and even I had to admit he was more suited to her than I was. However, the whole episode crushed me and I spent many weeks afterwards moping, which spiralled into depression, the like of which I hope never to experience again. If not for Tara, I don't know where I would have ended up. It sounds almost trite to say so now, but at the time, the thought of ending it all really didn't seem like a bad option. Tara shook me out of it though, with a mixture of gentle love, tough love, commonsense, and friendship that further sealed the bond between us.

After that initial kiddie meeting between us though, I didn't see her again until I was nearly ten and she was a six-year-old tomboy who loved to challenge and beat any boy with whom she came into contact. Her hair was as thick as it had been as a baby, but had now spread to the sides and back of her head and was cut short in what looked to be a very DIY style. The round pink face was now olive-dark, longer and thinner, without any trace of baby shape to it. Her eyes were as they had been before, pools of infinite darkness, into which I again fell headlong.

I was staying with Nellie at the time at 'Acacia', as my parents were overseas taking a well-deserved holiday 'sans kids'. Tara's parents were also overseas, although working on an archaeological dig somewhere in deepest Africa. Her folks were the sort of people every kid wishes for their own, but who for Tara were just Mum and Dad. When she was growing up, the family was constantly on the move from one exotic destination to another: South America, Egypt, Asia, all over Europe, and now the depths of the African continent. They had become fixated with stories of great wealth secreted away in great burial sites all over the continent, which was kind of strange as they had always been fairly serious-minded when it came to archaeology. The sites they normally worked on were more about uncovering the treasure of knowledge rather than material wealth of any kind, but then all of a sudden, they started to search for gold and diamonds and anything associated with "loads of money".

This treasure hunting started with a long period spent in southern Africa, where according to family sources, they were trying to find the mysterious Braughton hoard. The period also coincided with the time that Tara and her brother were more often left at home with relatives rather than being taken to learn onsite from history's archives. Rumours flew through the family that their parents had both gone a little mad and that "no good would come of it". It was almost as if they had contracted gold fever like the prospectors of old, who would go anywhere and do anything to find just a few paltry grains of the stuff.

After a couple of years of this, Nellie went overseas too, the only time I can ever remember her being away from Acacia. Then after they had all returned, Tara's folks stopped travelling for a while staying in England for several years before once again resuming their archaeological wanderings in the way they always had. That was what I remembered of that episode anyway, and that mostly from overheard conversations and a lively mind filling in the gaps. At the time, it didn't seem very important, and as it meant that I spent a lot of time with Tara, I was actually quite glad about it. Later though, Tara and I talked about that time and wondered if her parents really had experienced some kind of madness. She remembers vividly that their usual relaxed but inquisitive style changed and they both became more withdrawn, even argumentative on occasion. It was a period that Tara looked back on with mixed feelings of bewilderment at being left at home so often; sadness at the arguments, even more worry at the silences, but mingled with happiness at the time they had managed to spend together.

Now though, she was good old Tara, solid as a rock with a wicked sense of humour and an adventurous spirit struggling to get out.

'So, what was it you and the vicar were whispering about earlier then?' Tara asked, fixing me with one of her more penetrating gazes.

I hesitated, much as John had earlier, unsure of the best way to start and not really sure if there was anything to tell.

'He said that when he first met Nellie, he had the feeling that she was deeply troubled by something.'

'By what exactly?' she asked.

'I don't know, and I'm not really sure he does either. As I said, it was probably just the memories of an old man coming back to him at the time of a friend's death.'

Tara was not one to let a story lie half told, so she insisted I recount the whole conversation. 'Come on James, don't stop there, I can tell you're troubled by it, so spill the beans.'

She was right too. I was troubled, although for what reason I really couldn't tell. It was just very odd that John had brought the subject up in the way that he had, almost secretively. After all, it was decades ago, so why did he feel the need to offload his story now?

'He felt she was worried about more than just the move and what the future held. I said to him it was more than likely just the move to a new country, but I got the feeling that even though he agreed with me, he knows more about it than he's letting on.'

Tara's eyes lit up with the possibility of a mystery in the unfolding.

'God, it sounds like Nellie may have had some secrets we don't know about.' She enthused. 'I wonder who we could ask about it.'

'I don't think we should jump to conclusions you know. It is probably completely innocent. If Nellie had had any secrets, don't you think one of us would have had some inkling by now? After all, we were both very close to her and have spent a lot of time with her over the years. She has told us all sorts of things that we know she hasn't told to even our parents for instance.'

Her face fell a little as the sense of what I was saying sunk in. Unfortunately, Dotty Hanshaw picked that precise moment to come over and sit with us.

Dotty had been Nellie's best friend for many years and had lived across the road from her since she first moved in all those years ago. She was a tall, thin, birdlike woman with incredible amounts of energy who matched Nellie's verve almost point for point. With a sense of humour to match, she was truly a member of the old school to whom the modern world threw up far too much rudeness and bad manners, but who would laugh like a drain at the goings on of friends, family, politicians, and celebrities who got themselves into trouble through their own stupidity.

As she sat down next to Tara she sighed. 'It never ceases to amaze me how silly some people are you know. Old Mrs. Bartholomew from down the road is here and pretends to be devastated by Nellie's passing, whilst everyone knows that she was constantly jealous of her and tried to get one up on her at every opportunity. She looked down on Nellie's colonial roots you know: believes to be of better standing because her nephew is a minor bod in parliament. He's only marginally better than a clerk up there, yet she would have everyone believe he is akin to the 'Speaker of the House' himself.'

We all laughed as we had met and understood Mrs. Bartholomew's views on the world and her over-inflated opinion of herself.

'So, how are you two bearing up then?' She gave us both a clear gaze of compassion and understanding whilst clasping Tara's hand in both of hers.

'We're fine thanks Dot,' said Tara, 'but there is something that I want to ask you about Nellie from when she first arrived at 'Acacia'.'

'Oh, sounds intriguing.' replied Dotty, who immediately straightened up, alert and ready.

I wasn't sure that Tara should be questioning Dotty so soon and placed a restraining hand on her arm. 'Do you think we should be discussing this now, of all times?' I said through clenched teeth.

Dotty was really intrigued now. 'Oh, don't be such an old stick in the mud Jamie. Do go on Tara, you couldn't possibly not ask me now. I should never be able to sleep tonight for wondering about it.'

Knowing when I was beaten, I decided to do a bit of circulating so I made my apologies and headed off to get another drink and catch up with the rest of the family.

As I made my way around various aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, I glanced across to where Tara and Dotty were sitting. Tara was obviously quizzing the older woman very carefully and she was using her penetrating gaze to her best effect. Dotty looked a little uncomfortable under such intense interrogation, but was weathering the storm and eventually leant back a little whilst looking into space, as if in deep thought. All of a sudden, she grasped Tara's arm with one hand and with an excited little flutter of her other hand at her chest, started speaking quickly as if something had just occurred to her which may be forgotten again if she didn't get it out. Tara's eyes widened and she became more and more animated. The conversation between the two was now flowing fast and furious, both questions and answers flitting back and forth at seemingly the same time. Only women can converse in this manner, both able to hear and understand everything whilst simultaneously firing off their own questions and comments. I always thought men were distinctly lacking in this regard.

By now my own mind was racing, wondering what on earth had caused such a flurry between the two of them. As I was about to go over and rejoin the fray, a particularly elderly and somewhat confused relative grabbed my arm and asked me whose funeral we were at. By the time I had managed to explain and convince her that no, Nellie hadn't been in the car in front on the way back to the house, the party was breaking up with people saying their farewells and moving towards the door. Tara would be heading off back to London where she had lived and worked for the last five years and I was staying here to help with all the arrangements. With no chance to really talk, I had to make do with an agreement to meet again the following weekend. When I tried to get the story out of her, she just laughed and said I should have stayed around when it was being told. Now I would just have to wait until the weekend wouldn't I! She could be infuriating sometimes.

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER TWO – MBOKU'S JOURNEY STARTS

My name is Mboku. My story begins when I was young; at the time I was due to become a man. My father taught me many things and had prepared me well for the ritual I would have to endure that would end my boyhood years. When we said our farewells before I left the village he was not to know the path my life was to take. Nothing he had done could have readied me for what was to come.

I remember the Great Cross shone brightly above, although the moon had long set so the path was barely lit. No matter, I could have navigated my way along this track blindfold. I had taken it so many times before as it lead to the scrubby flat land where I grazed my goats. I held my place in the line. All around the same age as me, we boys were young and fit, but terrified of what was to come, not that any of us showed it. I made jokes with the others as young boys do, about the size of our umthondos, our strength and of course ntombazane. That was one thing that I was so looking forward to after the coming trials. Back then I had no idea that those rewards were so far away. Then, I thought in a few days girls would look at me differently. They would see me as a man and not a boy anymore. Malinka, then my best friend, had told me of the glories of being with a girl. I didn't believe he had actually done it though, or even really knew what he was talking about. Us boys had all dreamed of what it would be like and talked endlessly about the first time, about the softness of a girl's skin, what her breasts would feel like and what it would feel like to put our assegais into the basket at last.

Underlying the jokes and false bravado though, there was fear. Sweat trickled down my brow, despite the coolness of the night. I remember my hand shook as I reached up to brush away an overhanging branch. My legs were jelly and my stomach churned over and over as if a snake had got in there and was coiling and uncoiling in frantic attempts to escape. I broke wind loudly and the tension in all the boys dissolved for a few seconds into loud and raucous laughter. The hilarity stopped as soon as it had began though as monsters stepped from the bush at the side of the path. They had faces from hell on shoulders of great hairy animals, the like of which I had never seen. I knew these were men dressed to scare and test us but right then the knowledge didn't mean a thing. Spears were stabbed at us and we were instantly surrounded. Some of the boys fell to the ground in terror and one boy started to cry, screaming for his mother. There was no laughing now. We all wanted our mothers and we all wanted to go home or anywhere as far from there as possible.

The monsters gestured at us to leave the path; some moved in front of our line and others behind. They started to run through the bush faster and faster, leaves and branches tearing at us as we went, cutting our skin and bruising our faces. We couldn't stop as the monsters formed a wall all around us. We tripped on roots and fell, instantly dragged to our feet by one of our tormentors and pushed ever onward. I had lost my bearings now; tears from pain, fear, and pure exhaustion blinded me. I tripped and my ankle immediately felt as if it had been beaten with a huge stick. I wanted to just lie there and die. All thoughts of soft breasts had long since fled my mind; I just wanted to stop. My arm was nearly wrenched from its socket as I was set on my way again; my ankle became the full focus of this nightmare as the pain increased with every step.

It seemed like many hours, but I think in reality was less than half an hour before we eventually came to a halt in a clearing deep in the thick bush. I didn't recognise this place at all, but shivered with a superstitious dread as our captors seemed to simply vanish into thin air. There was silence amongst the little group as we gasped and moaned, trying to recover from the ordeal. No one sat or lay down though. All remained standing as if by command, despite there being no one there to give any such instruction. A sudden chanting and rustling came from the deepest and darkest part of the bush to one side of our group and we stiffened and stood straight, all facing the source of the disturbance. A glow seemed to emanate from the tree line and then the glow solidified into the form of a face, although none the like of which I had seen before. It was at once as old as the ancient baobab trees on the plains, but with the energy of the leopard waiting to pounce. Its features were as beautiful as the young girls' in the village, but as ugly as a warthog.

I was fascinated and repulsed at the same time as I followed the beckoning finger of the witchdoctor into the shadows.

# CHAPTER THREE – MUM TELLS A STORY

The gathering drew to a close in the early evening with only a few of us left to clear up and share personal memories of Nellie. Mum helped me with the washing up and as we swung into action over the big old ceramic sink in the kitchen, she asked me how I was feeling.

'Oh, pretty good considering.' I replied, not really sure how I was feeling at this point. Nellie's passing was no great shock as she had reached a ripe old age and then some. Her life had been so full and happy that I felt as if we had been celebrating that rather than mourning her death.

'I am going to really miss her of course, but I feel as if she will still be around. It's hard to imagine death isn't it.' I searched for the right words to express what I felt. 'I mean, you can see someone's body and know in your head that they are dead and gone, but your heart says that they've just popped away for a while and will be back. You can almost believe their spirit will live on.' It sounded daft, a bit new-agey, which wasn't how I had hoped it would come out.

I needn't have worried with Mum though. She slipped her arm around my waist and gave me a hug that told me she understood exactly what I was trying to say. Then she surprised me with her next statement.

'I think Nellie will always be there for this family you know: you especially.

Whether you call it her spirit or just her memory, everything she ever did for anyone during her life will always be there and can't be changed now.'

At that point, I am ashamed to say that I lost it totally. My eyes filled with tears and grief packed my body with a sense of total helplessness, which was like a huge plunging surge of all the feelings inside me. I must have sagged a little too as Mum dropped her tea towel and sprang forward as if to catch me.

'It's okay.' I rushed to reassure her. 'I just felt a little weak there for a second. I haven't had the chance to cry yet and now seems as good a time as any I suppose.'

She held my head between her hands and looked at me with concern for a moment before giving a brief smile of encouragement.

'Better out than in you know.' She hesitated before asking; 'What was that little discussion you were having with the vicar earlier? It all looked a bit deep there for a while.'

Mum didn't miss a trick; she is always able to keep track of whatever is going on in her family's lives no matter where they are. I had no doubt that she had been keeping an eye on everyone in the room today, just to make sure her able assistance wasn't required anywhere.

'Oh, he was rambling on a bit about Nellie's arrival in Bishop's Down. Said she was hiding something, but never revealed what it was. I think he was just reminiscing a bit and getting things a little muddled.'

I looked at Mum and could see that she knew something, as she started to rub furiously at a dish that seemed to be dry already.

'Mum? Do you know something about it?'

'No, what makes you think that?' She rushed a reply, giving it all away as if she had a neon sign flashing away on top of her head.

'Come on, I know you're hiding something. What is it?'

She stopped her frantic drying and looked at me carefully, as if to assess whether or not to tell me something important. I started to worry that there was something seriously wrong as Mum normally shared everything with us. Her philosophy was that everyone should be able to make up their own minds and take responsibility for their own actions in life, but they should have all the facts at their disposal. So this reticence at sharing information about something that happened fifty years ago was a little disturbing to say the least.

'There was something that I've never told anyone before because Nellie swore me to secrecy.'

Another surprise: Nellie's philosophies on telling the truth were a carbon copy of Mum's. Or perhaps it was the other way round as Nellie had shared nearly as much with Mum as much as she had shared with me over the years.

'It was before you were born, before I even met your dad actually. I remember it as clearly as if it happened only yesterday.'

She was still a little unsure about this I could tell. I urged her on with a silent nod.

'Nellie came to stay with my family once, just for a few days. We kids were delighted, as we all loved seeing her, although this was the first time she had come to us, it was always the other way round.

I remember when she arrived though that something didn't seem quite right. She was quiet, although she hid it fairly well. I don't think the others thought anything of it, but I knew there was something wrong. She had been there for a day or two and things seemed fine, except at night when I heard her crying in her room. I wasn't sure how to handle it, as I couldn't remember ever seeing an adult cry before. I wanted to go in and find out what was wrong, but couldn't quite summon up enough courage.

On the third day she was there, everyone else went into town. I decided to stay at home and Nellie said she would too as she felt a little tired. Your Grandmother told me to be quiet and keep out of Nellie's way if she wanted to get some sleep, so I went up to my room to read for a while. Then I heard the crying again from Nellie's room and, because it was the middle of the day I suppose, it didn't seem so bad, so I knocked on her door. She didn't answer at first but the crying stopped. I was about to go back to my own room when the door opened and she came out into the hallway. I remember being shocked, as her eyes were red and she looked simply ghastly, as if she hadn't slept for a week.

She knew that I had suspected something was amiss and asked me if I would like to come and sit out in the garden. We sat on the swing-bench under the willow tree and for a few minutes neither of us spoke a word.'

Mum took a deep breath before continuing.

'She swore me to secrecy because she said if anyone found out anything about what had happened, her life could be ruined at Bishop's Down and she may have to move away. I suppose her passing must release me from that promise. No one can move her on from where she is now.'

'I was scared at what she was going to tell me and think it must have showed because she held my hands and started to cry again. She told me that I was old enough to know what had happened and that I would know how to learn from the knowledge. I didn't really know what she meant at the time, but as the years went by I did learn from it and hope I passed on some of that wisdom to you.'

She didn't give me all the facts, but said that when she was in Africa, she was attacked by a bout of madness and she did some bad things while she was in that state. She didn't say what had caused her condition, but I got the feeling it was something to do with the family myth, you know, about the treasure.'

At this point, I wasn't sure that I wanted Mum to go on with the story. If Nellie had gone mad, she had obviously made a complete recovery and never showed any signs of her illness during my lifetime. I was worried that whatever it was that Mum was going to tell me would affect my memories of Nellie and I didn't want that to happen.

'Mum, are you saying there is some truth behind the treasure myth?' I asked, thinking back to the dazzling display at the graveyard.

'Oh, I really don't know if there is or not.' Mum replied in an offhand way, which immediately aroused my suspicions.

'But Nellie obviously thought there was or she wouldn't have told you what she did would she.'

'Well, as I said, Nellie didn't ever say it was the myth that caused her illness, I just surmised that from what she was saying.' Mum was back-peddling now, but I was eager to find out more. Although I obviously didn't really believe in buried treasure, just the thought of the mystery piqued my attention like few other things could.

I pressed on. 'But you think that is what it was don't you?'

'I'm not sure. I just thought it might be at the time that's all. Don't forget I was only young and my imagination probably just got the better of me.'

She put an end to that particular line of questioning with one of her looks, the one that broached no reply from its recipient.

'Ok,' I said, 'so what else did she tell you?'

'Like I said, she told me she had suffered some kind of attack and I got the feeling that something bad happened as a result. I asked some others in the family later, but no one would or could tell me anymore.'

'So what was it that she thought you would learn from all this then?' I was mystified and wanted Mum to finish the story.

'She said that she had suffered because she had lost control of her "inner demons" for a while. She said that dreams are not always what you think they are and that you should always live in the real world. She told me also that there was a lot of fanciful nonsense spouted by people who should know better, but at the end of the day if you couldn't see it, touch it, smell it, or taste it, then it probably didn't exist.'

I could see where Mum had got the idea that it was the treasure myth that Nellie was talking about.

She carried on. 'That was all she told me, apart from making me remember her words, but swearing me to secrecy. I tried to get some more facts out of her, but she wouldn't budge at all. She just repeated that I should always deal with what I know for a fact and nothing else, which is what I've always tried to do.'

'But she didn't tell you what actually happened? Give you any detail at all? I asked eager to know the facts.

'No, that was all she told me.' Mum said, not entirely convincingly, but certainly conclusively.

I wasn't sure how to deal with this new information. Whatever had happened had obviously had a huge impact on Nellie's life, made her move her whole life to another continent, and its effects had been picked up by a young vicar, unsure of his standing in the community. It had also obviously bothered that same vicar for the rest of Nellie's life, but the loyalty that she engendered in people had kept him from saying anything until she had moved on again, this time forever.

I must have looked upset as I pondered over these thoughts, because Mum took my hand and said 'What about Eden, you should be with her, I know she'd be a great support for you. Why isn't she with you today?

'It's complicated Mum, and I'd rather not talk about it right now if that's okay?'

I wondered if Mum had been talking to Eden by the way she looked at me for a moment, but she obviously took the hint. 'Why don't you pop into the workroom where it's quiet and take a few moments to be on your own with your thoughts.'

'Yes I think I will, thanks Mum.' I dropped the washing up brush back into the suds and wandered to the little room off the lounge where Nellie used to sit and sew in peace and quiet.

Like the rest of the house, the workroom is decorated in a style of a time gone by, and contains many artefacts and mementoes from Africa; some that Nellie brought back with her and some that had been brought as gifts by visiting family. As I entered the room, I caught sight of my face in the mirror next to the doorframe, noting that my dark, nearly black hair needed a cut and that the normally bright blue of my eyes looked a bit faded. I wiped my face quickly and sat down on an African chair, a beautifully carved, two-piece affair which looks hard and uninviting, but which is actually very comfortable, albeit low to the ground. The back is a single piece of concaved timber with a small slot cut into it near the base. The carvings are incredible and depicted animals, trees, and people interwoven in three dimensions. The seat is lollipop shaped with the "stick" going through the slot in the back and the "lollipop" upon which you sit, again carved, although less elaborately. That was all there is to it, the two pieces holding each other up and forming a simple but comfortable and beautiful seat: a brilliant piece of furniture design from a people who were once described as savages. I could never quite get my head around the views of early settlers in Africa, who didn't appear to appreciate that although the people of Africa had a culture vastly different to their own; they were in fact a well developed society with their own arts and culture stretching back thousands of years. The benefits of hindsight I guess, I may have had the same views if I had been around at the time.

As I sat in Nellie's workroom, I pondered on the news that Nellie's past hid some secrets, which by the sounds of things were possibly less than savoury. What could it possibly have been that she had done that was so bad to have uprooted her from a land she loved and away from all the people and places she knew so well. What would be the worst thing someone could do that would make them flee to another country? I had a sudden terrible and unbidden thought, an obvious answer to that question. What if Nellie had somehow caused someone harm or even death? My god! That would explain everything. However, I stopped myself before the thought had time to grab hold and form into anything more than a whim. I castigated myself for even considering such a possibility. The idea was too horrible, too absurd because of the person I was thinking about. Nellie would never have intentionally hurt anyone even with a cross word, never mind physically.

I was saved from any more introspection by the arrival of Tara into the room who then peered at me with such a concerned look on her face that I couldn't help but smile.

'Hi there mate, how's the clearing up going?' I asked.

'Almost done now, there's only us and your mother left and she said she will be off in a few minutes.

'Good stuff.' I jumped up from my low-seated position and put my arm round Tara's shoulders. 'How are you holding up? I have been too self absorbed today and don't think I have even asked you how you are yet.'

'Don't worry about me,' she said, resting her head on my shoulder, 'I was worried about you. Your Mum said you were a bit upset.'

'Yeah I was: the whole thing kind of caught up on me and I wasn't prepared for it. I had a bit of a girly cry though and that helped.' I kept my voice light to hide the uneasy feelings I had been having only moments before.

'Girly cry eh? You men: there's nothing wrong with a bit of a cry you know. It helps release a lot of tension that's bad for you as long as it's inside.'

'Absolutely,' I exclaimed a little over zealously, 'as long as no one else sees me I will cry along with the best of them. You're right though, I do feel better now, thanks to a chat with Mum and some quiet time for reflection.'

'Thinking about Nellie?'

'Yeah and wondering about the vicar's mumblings a bit actually. Mum told me that there was something in Nellie's past that may have caused her move to England, but she was a bit vague about it. I must admit I let my imagination get the better of me for a while, but I wouldn't mind finding out a bit more.' I looked off into space as I started to ponder again, and Tara lifted her head and looked up at me quizzically.

'You think there is something to find out then do you? I thought you said the vicar was talking nonsense.'

'Well yes I did earlier, but like I said, Mum said some things that have made me wonder and now I don't know what to think. I'd like to find out just to settle my mind more than anything.'

'Ok then! Count me in.' Tara stated emphatically. 'I was wondering about things a bit too, so let's get to the bottom of it before we both let our minds wander too much.' Tara was always on for a bit of a mystery and loved delving into situations so I wasn't in the least bit surprised at her enthusiasm for the task at hand.

'Fancy a drink?' Tara also loved a long pint of beer in whichever local pub was handy at the time. She always said she did her best thinking with a beer glass in her hand. Who was I to stand in the way of her best thinking?

'But I thought you were heading home?' I asked the question only out of politeness as Tara's company was exactly what I needed right now.

'Oh, I can hang on a bit longer, especially if there's a mystery in the offing.'

'Right-oh then, to the pub it is.' I said in relief.

We wandered through to the verandah again where Mum was pulling on her coat ready to leave.

'Are you two off as well?' she asked, as she wrapped her scarf around her head and pulled on some woollen mittens.

'Yeah, we're going to the pub for a while. Is everything finished here then?' I asked looking around the familiar surroundings.

'Yes, all done for now,' she replied, but we'll have to wait until the will is read before we can decide what happens to the house and all her stuff.'

'God, I'd forgotten about that.' Tara shuddered at the thought. 'Is there going to be an actual reading, like they do in the movies?'

'A reading, yes, but nothing dramatic I don't think.' Mum frowned, 'But Nellie's lawyer has said that he needs to go through her will as it is quite extensive. She seems to have decided where each and every item she owned will end up and with whom. He says it will take a couple of weeks before he's ready to present it to the family though.'

We all moved towards the door and then pulled it shut and locked it behind us. As one, we turned and looked back at the house from the pathway; I guess all saying a final farewell to a person and place that had been a huge and important part of all our lives.

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER FOUR – PROPHECY

Mkasi quaked as he entered the valley. He looked up towards the black holes in the cliff face and shook again as he thought about what he had to do next. The temperature of the air around him seemed to drop as he walked slowly along the valley floor. The slopes that made up this small and secluded place menaced him as he moved and he felt the gaze of a thousand evil eyes on him from every rock, behind every tree and all around the lush vegetation of the valley floor.

This was a secret place, known only to the highly initiated within the Matabele people who had only made this area their home two seasons ago. The very fact of this place was proof that Mzilikasi had led them to the right lands, for the spirits had been there to welcome them. From the outside, the valley was almost impossible to find unless you knew what to look for. The single entrance was through a narrow crevice in the rock face of an overgrown cliff and vines covered the gap through which only one man at a time could pass. Although he knew he had nothing to fear from mortal beings, the spirits were here all around him and he shivered constantly with genuine dread of what may happen if he displeased them in any way.

The ground beneath his feet started to rise as he came closer to the cliff face and he looked up again at the cave entrance. A second cave to the right and the vertical crevices in the rock below these two openings gave the appearance of a grinning skull peering down at him as he approached.

He stumbled on a vine and fleetingly wondered if he should turn and run. But he couldn't do that any more than he could fly like a bird. He had been called. The spirits had come to him in a dream and their message was as clear as the air. He must to come to Mlimo and take the prophecy he would be given back to the people.

As he neared the foot of the cliff, an horrific individual came towards him. It was neither male nor female to his eyes, although naked apart from some small skulls and bones around its neck. It was caked in mud from head to foot and its hair was attached only in clumps to its head. Weeping sores seemed to cover much of its body, oozing pus and blood in equal measure and it moved in a crablike crouching movement, seemingly unable to stand straight. The most frightening aspects of this creature though were its eyes, which it kept shielded from the light with a claw-like hand. They were small, red rimmed, and they seemed to be as pale as the new moon bathed in a sea of blood.

Mkasi shrank back as the creature reached out a hand towards him, dribbling and groaning as it did so. The thing let out a piercing peal of maniacal laughter and dropped its hand, beckoning him to follow. They started to climb the cliff along a hidden path, which snaked its way behind the shelter of vines and undergrowth to the top of the cliff. He was out of breath and well behind his guide by the time he reached the top, by which time the creature had disappeared into the opening in front of him. He could hear shuffling and groaning from inside the cave but after taking a moment to regain his breath and trying to dispel the overwhelming fear and loathing he now felt, he stepped towards the blackness.

Once inside, a terrible stench assaulted his nostrils and he recoiled from it in disgust. The smell was a mixture of death, decay, and excrement from untold sources which seemed to emanate from everywhere and was thick enough to cut with a knife. Through the gloom, he discerned shapes moving back and forth at the back of the cave and he haltingly started towards them. He had moved just a few steps when a wailing started, at first quietly, not more than a whisper, but then increasing in volume until it filled both the cave and his head, causing him to fall to his knees in terror. The howling went on for what seemed an age as he cowered on the hard rocky floor. Then without warning, it stopped and only echoes were left softly fading into silence. He looked up and a pale form stood before him. Its skin was mottled grey and smooth, reminding him of the bark of the umfumfu tree, whose leaves had provided him relief from toothache when he was young. There was something unreal about this thing that he could not understand. It was a human form, but deep inside he knew that no human mother had brought this being into the world. The thing opened its mouth and started to speak to him. Although he heard nothing, he understood the words in his head as clearly as any he had ever heard.

'The men of white skin are coming and they will trick and cheat and kill with sticks of fire. Nothing will stop them. The people must use their heads as well as their fists and hearts to drive the white skins from the land. Stones that glitter as raindrops in the sunlight must be used against them or all will be lost. I will always protect the stones, they must be used by all the people of heaven or death and destruction will follow.'

The next second there was a brilliant flash of light that momentarily blinded Mkasi and he stumbled back with a cry. When at last he could open his eyes without pain he saw tiny points of light, like diamonds all around him, and although the cave was empty, the thick, cloying stench remained.

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER FIVE – FREDERICK'S ARRIVAL IN AFRICA

The horizon slipped away behind him as Frederick Braughton stood at the stern of the old ship. He leant his tall, lean but muscular frame further out over the ship's rail to watch the churning wake, his bright blue eyes keenly anticipating the next dolphin jumping through the cool waves. A brisk wind had sprung up ruffling his dark almost black hair and pushing the little ship along at a rate of knots. His stomach was tumbling, performing in a similar manner to the water, but in fear, in anticipation, in excitement.

It was early in the new year, 1865, a new adventure was beginning and he was leaving behind everything he had known – and all because of a decision made on a whim and under no more influence than several glasses of ale and the bravado borne of the companionship of several other males of the species. The challenge had been laid down and Frederick Braughton was never one to shirk the responsibilities (as he saw them) of upholding the family name.

His whole life had been filled with such challenges as would make any ordinary man laugh and turn the other cheek. Frederick, though, was made of more serious stuff and challenges were personal. They were personal to him and by blood, to the family around him and so to the Braughton name. He could no more turn the other cheek than fly in the air – although even that he had attempted by launching himself from the uppermost branches of the old oak in the fields above the town, with nothing more than flimsy wooden wings covered with chicken feathers to stop him crashing to the ground. The broken bones, bruises, cuts, and slight loss of memory rapidly faded away when he saw the unbelieving faces of his challengers and the appreciative comments he overheard as he slipped in and out of consciousness on the way to Doctor Wright's surgery.

Anyway, those challengers were probably never going to tempt him again as he was on his way with a one-way ticket to the mysterious African continent. How it happened was that during a convivial gathering at the local alehouse, one particularly keen chap (a Scot who never failed to get a dig in about "ye lily livered Sassenachs doon here") had mentioned in passing that the English would ultimately fail in Africa because they were just too frail to withstand the rigours of life outside of this green and gentle land. Within weeks, Frederick had disposed of his business, scrimped all his savings, and bought the one-way ticket aboard the clapped out, creaking and groaning ship upon which he now found himself. He had initially wondered if he would make it at all, as when he first climbed aboard the crew was surly and uncommunicative. The captain seemed to be drunk and the timbers of the hull looked grey and old. Strangely though, it didn't really matter if he made it or not. He realised as he stared at the water that as the canny Scotsman who had pushed him on his way would probably never know his fate the honour of the family name would be upheld anyway.

Ironically, he had no family to speak of back home as his parents had died when he was young and the distant relatives to whom he was entrusted never really warmed to him or him to them. As soon as he was old enough, he had left their family home and set out to make his own way in the world. His parents had bequeathed him a single item, a painting, the value of which was doubtful, the beauty of which even more so. However, he decided to sell it for whatever it was worth and used the proceeds to set up in business for himself. Surprisingly, the plain little canvas had fetched rather more than he believed it could possibly be worth, sparking an interest in drawing and painting in him and enabling him to not only start a profitable if small business making furniture and small knick-knacks, but also put down a reasonable advanced rent on a little cottage at the edge of town.

All that was behind him now though and as he turned around, he saw the vast emptiness of the ocean in front of him promising nothing more and nothing less than constant rolling, heaving, and pitching for the next few weeks until they reached the cape.

The trip was, as it turned out, uneventful and even dull. The weather stayed fair the entire way, the captain and crew turned into the perfect travelling companions once they were out of site of land, and even the little ship itself seemed to change into something far more pleasant and charming once in its natural environment. It was as if the entire ensemble had just been waiting to leave land where their natural characters dissolved into a brooding intensity and be again free on the surface of the ocean where they felt at home and were able to be themselves once more.

Frederick spent many a pleasant evening in the company of these wanderers whose sole aim in life was to sail and who would prefer never to dock if they could help it. They told him stories of lands far away, where strange customs mingled with exotic wildlife, colourful plant life; pungent, spiced foods, fearsome locals, and incredible landscapes to create a tapestry of dreams far beyond the wildest imaginings of most Englishmen.

It was from these stories that Frederick started to formulate a plan in his mind that would take him into adventure and action. He had heard of the lands far from the African coast, where few white men had yet managed to venture, but where it was rumoured that great riches were available to those with the courage and strength to grasp them. The sailors on his little ship told him of vast jungles, of ferocious animals, and natives nonetheless so. Diseases unknown in England could strike you down without warning they said, diseases that would drive you mad before eventually driving the life from your body. When he told them of his plan, they laughed and told him to enjoy the rest of his voyage, as he would live not much longer than that if it was inland he was destined to go. However if he was determined to die, then he had might as well join one of the small bands of men that often set out from the cape settlements never to be seen again so that he might at least die in the company of others and not pass from this life on his own. Their words set him even firmer in his resolve to head in to the interior of this wild continent and for the remainder of the voyage his dreams were filled with adventure and riches beyond all imaginings except his own.

From a distance Table Mountain was beautiful, elegant almost, but as the ship sailed closer to the harbour, its dark, imposing, slab-faced bulk was revealed. It was a wall, he realised; a vast barrier to Africa, telling him that this was a continent that would not give up its riches easily. The secrets of this land were hidden beyond and would only be his once he had learned to climb towards them.

When they arrived in Cape Town and after he had secured suitable lodgings, Frederick set about finding out when the next group of men might be heading into the interior. He hardly had the time to admire the beautiful setting of the town, lying as it does with the ocean to one side and the majesty of Table Mountain on the other. He talked with anyone who would listen about his intentions, although most laughed at his enthusiastic but ultimately unrealistic plans. He met Herr Mauch, a celebrated German minerals expert who had recently returned from the lands north of the great river called the Limpopo. The German was reticent to tell Frederick very much about his travels and told him that there was little to find except jungle, wild animals, and natives. Although he did concede that it was a beautiful land despite the hardships one had to endure. There was also a Swede by the name of Nelson who had just recently arrived on the continent and had similar plans to those of Frederick, but typical of his race, had decided to take his time to mount a proper expedition in maybe three or four years time. He was also told of a hunter, a Mr. Frederick Selous who had already been north and told of the great plateaus between the Limpopo in the south and the Zambezi in the north, where wildlife teemed and where two main tribes lived. One group, the Mashona, lived on their ancient homelands in the north and east of the area and was a pastoral, mainly peaceful people. The others were interlopers. They had stormed north from the lands of the Zulu tribes in the south and, under the despotic leadership of Mzilikazi, had fought and hacked their way over the Limpopo, driving the hapless Mashona before them like chaff in the wind, much as the Vikings had pushed the English into the rocky crags of Wales centuries before.

These invaders became known as the Matabele and they lived for war, "the washing of spears", especially in the blood of the Mashona dogs, although when not fighting, they were excellent cattle raisers (and raiders) upon which the wealth of their new nation was built. They eventually settled beyond the Matoppo hills and the remnants of the Mashona people left from the massacres that had taken place, settled in the mountains near the Zambezi where they lived in constant fear from their new neighbours.

Selous had a plan to head up onto these plateaus to hunt and was at that moment putting a band of willing men together to accompany him. Frederick sought the great hunter out and found him assessing supplies at a store in the town. Never one to be shy, Frederick marched up to Selous and said, 'Mr Selous, I would like to accompany you on your expedition and hope that you can find a place for a hardworking and fearless individual amongst your company.'

Selous looked at him and glanced up and down at Frederick's obviously dirty clothes. 'No!' With that single word, he turned away and continued checking the quality of the leather straps he was contemplating.

Frederick wasn't one to be turned down either, so he started to remonstrate to Selous' back. 'I know I am only recently arrived here, but I have a great desire to head north to seek out whatever may lie there. I am skilled in working with wood, have some knowledge of metal working and am fit, strong, and healthy.'

To all these words, Selous did not turn his head or acknowledge that he had heard a thing. 'Mr Selous?' Frederick put his hand on the man's shoulder. Selous turned fast and Frederick stepped back at the look in his eye. 'I said no and I meant no. Please bother me no further.'

It was obvious that Frederick was going to get no further with his quest, so he meekly turned away and headed for the door. Once outside, he looked up and down the street and wondered what he was going to do next. As he stood there thinking about his options, Selous strode out past him. 'If you're looking for work, try up at McAdams', he needs a good wood worker.' Then he strode away with not a single glance back.

'Thank you Sir,' Frederick called after Selous' retreating form. 'Where might I find him?' Selous pointed in the opposite direction without looking back and Frederick stared in the direction of his finger towards the docks area of town.

Jim McAdams had a large workshop and yard near the water's edge and the family had been working wood there since 1820 when Jim's father and mother had been among the first rash of English settlers to arrive on the Cape. He produced all manner of goods from tables, chairs, and cupboards to barrels and wagons, although the wagons were built at a second yard a little way out of town.

When he arrived at the workshop, Frederick breathed in the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust, a smell he had loved all his life. A small, heavily bearded man came towards him brandishing a shining saw. 'You look like a man born to be in a workshop,' he said. There's not many folk come in here sniffing the air in the way you just did. Are you from the trade?'

Frederick smiled at the man's perception. 'Yes, I am indeed used to working with wood and somewhat with metal too. My name is Frederick Braughton and I was told that I should speak to Mr McAdams about work.'

'Well, you're speaking to the right man all right, but you'll have to show me what you can do with a lump of wood before the conversation goes any further.'

'That will not be a problem Sir, what would have me do?'

'There's a cabinet that needs new doors over there in the corner. Would you be up to such a task as that?'

'That I would, just let me borrow some tools and I'll have it done in no time. However, before I start, you haven't actually confirmed that there is a job available yet.'

McAdams smiled. 'You're obviously no fool. Fix the cabinet and we'll talk some more about the job, which does exist for your information.'

With that, Frederick set to work and spent a content afternoon crafting a beautiful set of doors and fixing them perfectly straight and even to the cabinet. For good measure, he sanded the cabinet itself and gave it a coat of stain to finish things off.

When McAdams returned he admired the quality of Frederick's workmanship and could do nothing except offer him a job on the spot. He would start the next day and report to Em for his tasks.

'Has Em got a first name or a last for that matter?' Frederick asked.

'Just Em will do you. Everyone knows Em.'

Frederick then returned to his boarding house for the night and settled down for a good night's rest.

The next morning, he arrived bright and early at the workshop. He was so keen that he seemed to be the only one to have arrived at such an early hour. He let himself in and was looking around when a voice called from the far side, near the office.

'Hey you there, what are you doing here?'

The voice was that of a woman and Frederick was so taken aback that at first he didn't answer. He peered into the gloom and could vaguely make out a female form to go with the voice. Unsure of who this could be and unused to seeing a woman in a place of work, he sauntered over where he could see her before deigning to answer her question.

'What's the matter with you man? Have you got no tongue, or is it just that you are so dim as to not understand the question?'

'I'm sorry, I didn't realise the question had come from one who deserved an answer.' As he got closer, he saw that the girl was dressed in scruffy trousers and a man's shirt with the sleeves rolled up. On her feet were heavy boots and a scarf was tied around her head to hide her hair, wisps of which he could just make out poking down behind her ears. Her face was pretty enough he supposed, with a dark complexion and deep, dark eyes. Her manner of dress and the manner in which she addressed him was something he was not used to. At his comment, her face screwed up in anger, a dark diving 'V' furrowing her brow and she pointed at him whilst unconsciously stamping her right foot like a child might when not getting its own way. 'I think you had better leave here at once or I will set the dogs on you. I have never heard such rudeness and bad manners from an intruder.'

'I think it is you who had better leave before the foreman gets here, as I work here and have every right to be standing in this place, whereas you, madam, have obviously wandered in here by mistake. I am new in town and so am not sure of its location, but I am sure that the workhouse is located someplace else.'

At this, the girl's face turned beetroot red and her foot stamped again and again while she struggled to contain her fury. Then she lost the inner battle to control herself, and let rip with a tirade, the like of which Frederick had never been witness to from a man, never mind from a woman. He suddenly thought that perhaps she was an escaped mad woman and that he really ought to protect himself in some way. He grabbed a plank of wood from a pile nearby and started to wave it around in front of him, to the utter amazement of the girl and then to the astonishment of McAdams who had just arrived behind Frederick.

'What in the blazes is going on here?' He roared across the workshop. Before the girl could say a word, Frederick called over his shoulder, 'It's okay sir, I think she's escaped from somewhere and she may well be dangerous, but I have her cornered. Just stay back and I'll try and contain her in some manner.'

At that, both the girl and McAdams suddenly went completely silent, just for a second, and then they burst into laughter, convulsions that looked to the utterly confused Frederick as if they would damage them in some way. He stood for a little while longer with his weapon of choice grasped in his hands in front of him, staring open-mouthed at the two people apparently laughing themselves to death' at what he was beginning to suspect was his own expense.

Once they had managed to calm down a little, McAdams walked over to the girl and put his arm around her shoulder. 'I'm sorry my dear, I completely forgot to tell you about young Frederick here. I met him yesterday and he impressed me with his work so I have offered him a job.' He turned to Frederick and said, 'My boy, let me introduce you to my daughter Emily. Known as Em to all who know her and the best foreman a man could want looking after his interests.'

It was now Frederick who took a turn at a good beetroot impression as he realised what a fool he had just made of himself. He stammered an apology to them both and mentioned that he had never heard of a woman working in a workshop before let alone acting as a foreman.

'Yes, well you might find that there are many things different out here young man. I hope that there will be no problem for you to work for Em.' McAdams' face was stern as he addressed Frederick.

'No...no of course not, I...I...' At that point, Frederick suddenly lost the ability to speak, but fortunately saw the funny side of the situation and just stood there grinning like the idiot he felt.

'Jolly good. Situation solved so let's all get to work shall we?'

Frederick nodded to McAdams and then turned to Em and with a grin said, 'Okay boss, what would you like me to do?'

Over the coming weeks, Frederick worked hard and well for his new employers and gained the respect of both Jim McAdams and Em. However, with Em, there was something more. Often the two of them would arrive early and start work whilst chatting about their dreams and aspirations. Em was keen to hear about the latest goings-on in England, a land she had never seen, but felt a belonging to born of the family traditions which hadn't changed since her grandparents had left Britain more than forty years before. For Frederick's part, the feelings of closeness were as great as Em's and he relished the times they spent together both in the early morning and at the end of the day when the other workers had left for their homes. Under the pretence of helping each other on various projects, they spent more and more time working as a team, under the watchful eye of McAdams who was wise enough to know what was going on.

He had a soft spot for Frederick, who was a good worker, always honest, and polite to the customers. He too had spent some time chatting to the lad and learnt of his dreams to head into the north to make his fortune. This troubled him as although he could easily see the way the relationship was heading between his daughter and Frederick. He sensed that the dreams of travel were more than just idle wishes and that one day the young lad would pack his bags and head off, possibly breaking the heart of his precious Emily at the same time.

However, the weeks turned into months and the talk of trekking north diminished to be replaced by dreams of a homestead somewhere close and a settled life in the colony. McAdams fears subsided and when one day Frederick came to him nervously stumbling over step and word to ask for permission to marry Emily. The old man, after but a moment's thought, gave his blessing. First, though, he ensured that Frederick gave his word that he had given up his plans to head into the wilderness on a dream of riches. Frederick willingly swore that any such ideas had been vanquished by the happiness he had found with Em, and at the time he told the simple truth.

The wedding was held three months later, by which time, work was well underway on a new home for the couple. McAdams had generously provided much of the material needed for construction and the couple had bought some cheap land near the old naval port of Simon's Town. They worked together to build their nest, with the help of McAdams himself and several other workers from the business who had all experienced Em's fiery temper from time to time, but who all loved her like a sister.

As for Frederick's real thoughts on all this, he still harboured the desire to explore the northern territory and make his fortune and he had indeed held back his proposal of marriage for some months while deciding what to do. He eventually considered that his fortune had perhaps already been made with a good job, a beautiful wife, and a home to call his own. Although there was always a nagging doubt in the recesses of his mind, the decision had been made and he would abide by its consequences for as long as he was able.

# CHAPTER SIX – INHERITANCE

Two weeks after the funeral, myself along with the rest of the family gathered again, this time at the offices of Smith, Harrison, Johns & Tempole, Solicitors, to hear what Nellie had decided about the disposal of her assets. The offices were like something from a Dickensian period drama on the BBC. Dark panelling covered nearly every wall and the weak glow from the ornate lighting seemed to peter out before it reached the corners of the rooms. There were huge and heavy looking curtains at the high windows, deep in colour and draped onto the floor in a puddle beneath each sill. As we walked into the rooms, our feet sunk slightly into the deep pile of the dark green carpet. The desks were all antique with inlaid leather pads and gold stencils around the edges. The handles were ornate brass that matched the personal lamps standing at the corner of each desktop.

However, despite the outward appearance of opulence and richness, there was an air of neglect about the place. There were patches on the carpet, worn by the passing of many thousands of feet over many years. The silk of the curtains looked just slightly dusty and faded and the desks were showing signs of wear. The wood was scratched and dented and the leather had lost any pretence of shine. There was one surprising item on the wall of the office in which we all congregated however. Behind the main desk was a painting of an African scene; a watercolour of a vast plain dotted with kopjes, the Afrikaner word for a hill, but usually the unique steep-sided rocky hills that seem to have been pushed up from their flat surroundings. The kopjes seemed to be arranged almost in a pattern, at least there was something very symmetrical about them. In the background, a herd of elephant seemed to wander through the view and closer to the painter was a single figure, just standing and looking out over the plains.

I was peering at the painting, thinking that there was something strangely familiar about it when an elderly, but obviously fit and strong gentleman entered the room from a side door. We were all seated in a semi circle in front of the main desk and he headed for the large leather chair behind it. He saw me staring at the painting and turned to look at it himself.

'I see you have recognised my piece of art' he said directly to me.

'Well, it does look familiar somehow and there's something about it which I can't quite put my finger on.' I continued to look at it wondering what it was that had captured my attention.

'Perhaps the figure is someone you might recognise' he smiled at me as it was suddenly clear to me exactly who it was.

'My god it's Nellie!' I exclaimed. All of a sudden I recognised the upright posture, the intelligent look on her face interlaced with humour and wonder.

'But how do you come to have a picture of Nellie on your wall?' I asked him, as the rest of the family peered at the picture, all of a sudden realising what I had seen.

'Just how long have you been representing Nellie Mr...?' asked Tara, sitting in the front row between Mum and me.

'Ah, my apologies, I have neglected to introduce myself to you all. I am Henry Tempole, senior partner. I have been proud to have been associated with your aunt ever since I joined the firm. However, the painting behind me was a gift from her to my father from whom I took over more years ago than I care to remember.' He said this with a smile and a look in his eyes that was unmistakeably one of love and absolute respect, and which I was unsure in this case if was directed at Nellie or Mr. Tempole senior.

I asked, 'Do you know who painted it?'

'No, I have no idea actually. I was hoping that somebody here may be able to throw some light on the matter.'

Mum chirped up 'It does look very similar to the ones at "Acacia" doesn't it. However, there is something not quite right about it; or at least maybe not quite the same anyway.'

'Yes, you're right Susan, the way the artist has dealt with the light is a little more refined. It's hard to say without seeing them side by side.' This was Tara's uncle Peter who fancied himself as a bit of an artist so was probably the most qualified in the room to comment on such things.

I ventured, 'Maybe it's the same artist later in life, once he or she had got some more experience.'

'James don't be daft.' Tara was never one to pull her punches no matter what the situation. 'The paintings at Acacia are of scenes from the mid to late 1800's whereas this is obviously from the late 1920's or early 30's when Nellie was already a grown woman.'

'Ah, yes, good point.' I blathered. 'I hoped someone might be able to spot that deliberate mistake.'

Peter pitched in for me at this point. 'Well it could still have been the same artist I suppose if they started painting at an early age and were still doing so well into their dotage. But the style, while very similar, is still obviously that of another person.'

At this point, a babble of discussion ensued during which everyone present tried to put across their own views on who the artist might be. In case you think this strange, it was always a subject of some confusion as to who had painted Nellie's pictures as she never let on and they were all unsigned. It was assumed that they were the work of some old love who, for reasons of her own, Nellie wished to keep secret from the rest of the family. As I sat there listening to the argument raging around me, it occurred to me that there were many secrets to be uncovered within this family, many of which had been around so long that they had just blended into the background, much like an old worn carpet that looks perfectly fine to those living with it, but which to a visitor would seem remarkably shabby.

At some length, Mr. Tempole raised his hands and pleaded for order to be restored. No mean feat to quieten a roomful of Braughtons engaged in a healthy discussion.

'I am sorry to interrupt so lively a debate, especially since I was the one who started it, but we do have business to conduct here today and as you know, in this game, time is very much the source of all money.' He said with a twinkle in his eye so that no one was offended.

He then proceeded to open a thick file on his desk and spread its contents so as to be able to see everything clearly. There appeared to be legal documents of all size and shape, some were obviously decades old and some much newer.

'Now then, Nellie, as I am sure you are all aware, was a woman of some complexity and whose final wishes also follow that trait. To that end, I would ask that you allow me the floor for the next thirty minutes or so while I run through the main points of these documents.' At this point, Mr. Tempole stopped to collect his thoughts before continuing.

'I think we should pursue this in chronological order, as although there have been many amendments over the years as newer members of the family have arrived and older ones, sadly, have passed on, there are still some things not changed since Nellie first had these papers drawn up by my father back in the years before the war.'

This was surprising as we were not aware of any member of the family living now who would have been around at that time, so we all subconsciously leant forward on our chairs while Mr. Tempole started his narrative, interested to learn of Nellie's wishes from all those years ago.

The next surprise was when we learnt of the extent of Nellie's fortune, as it turned out she was a surprisingly wealthy individual. Each person in the room was to inherit a large sum of cash, providing that each person swore to use at least some of that money towards a trip to Africa. It seemed that Nellie wanted to make sure that each and every person close to her in that family had the chance to experience the land of her birth firsthand and perhaps come to understand the love of the continent that never left her.

Then came instructions for the disposal of Nellie's possessions. She had, it appeared, allocated each and every item she owned to someone within the family. Nothing was left out and nor was anybody left without something they had loved to remind them of her.

I was left some carvings that I had always loved playing with when I was younger and also she had left me the watercolour I had always thought of as the epitome of the spirit of Africa. The picture of the old man, the young girl, and the acacia tree; the ancient land represented by the tree, the wisdom of the people by the old man, and the energy and vitality of youth and things to come by the young girl.

Tara was left the beautiful wooden dressing table that had stood in Nellie's bedroom for as long as I could remember and at which Tara had spent many hours as a girl, trying on make-up and pretending to be the beautiful young woman she would later grow up to be.

The will took over three quarters of an hour to read and by the time Mr. Tempole had finished, he looked worn out. He too had benefited from the will, to the tune of a small wooden carving of a leopard on a kopje, to remind him of the painting that had adorned his office wall for so many years, she had written. There was a long silence in the room when the last paper had been read before Mr. Tempole asked if there were any questions or queries.

'Just one actually' said Uncle Robert, Tara's dad, 'there has been no mention of "Acacia". What will happen to the house?'

'Ah, good question,' he shuffled through the papers again, 'I don't seem to have any record of her wishes with regards that matter. I can't believe she would have omitted to make arrangements in that regard, but now as I come to think of it, there was nothing mentioned recently by Nellie to me. I had always assumed that she had made that arrangement with my father long ago.'

'Did she own it out-right, or was it mortgaged?' I asked.

'No, I am sure she owned it, I do remember my father telling me of the deeds some years ago and there was definitely no mention of outstanding loans against the property. 'This is a total mystery to me.' He looked flustered as he once again rifled through the papers in front of him trying to find some mention of the largest of all Nellie's assets.

'The money we have all inherited today, could it possibly have come from the premature sale of the house?' Peter asked.

'No, no, there was always a large fortune at Nellie's disposal,' Tempole confirmed. 'She was always a wealthy woman; although she did stress that no knowledge of her wealth should ever be known outside these walls. I remember my father telling me that she had arrived in England with a good deal of money and he had helped her manage it right from the start.'

This was all news to us all in the room, as although Nellie had never wanted for anything, she had never been ostentatious, had not spent large sums on anything very much and led a fairly frugal lifestyle. The mysteries of the Braughton family just seemed to get deeper the more one looked.

'I really am dreadfully sorry about this.' Tempole was distraught that he had overlooked such a large item. 'I don't quite know what to say to you except that I shall investigate and let you know my findings as soon as is practicable.'

'Is it possible that she never made any provision for the disposal of "Acacia"'? Mum asked.

'Well yes, of course, there is nothing in law that says that she should have, it's just so unlike her that's all.' He was clearly as perplexed by the matter as we all were. 'Is there anything that anyone here can remember that may shed some light on this?' he asked us all.

There was a general shaking of heads and confused looks in the room as we all looked at each other for some hint of knowledge. It was obvious though that everyone was confused by the turn of events and that no answers were going to be found today. So with that, we all thanked Mr. Tempole and began making our way out of his office, gathering up hats, coats, and scarves as we did so from his assistant in the outer office.

Just as I was about to follow everyone else out, Mr. Tempole called me back, quietly so as not to alert the rest.

'There is one more thing that I have to do before you leave.' He said quietly, as he ushered me back towards his office.

''There was one more provision in the Will that Nellie asked me to make known to you alone.'

I was intrigued to say the least by Tempole's surreptitious manner, and waited for him to tell me more.

'Nellie asked that you should receive this.' He handed me a leather-bound and padlocked book, obviously old and worn, with no wording on the outside to give any clue as to its contents. The padlock and wide leather strapping gave no chance of seeing the pages without unlocking the clasp.

'Is there a key to go with this?' I asked, I thought not unreasonably.

'No, there is nothing else. She gave it into my keeping two years ago and asked that you receive it upon her death, but that no one else should know unless you thought fit to tell them afterwards.'

I frowned, not quite sure how to respond to this strange request. I didn't feel that Tempole would be able to help further though, so I thanked him for his time and made my way from the offices into the street outside.

Most of the family had disappeared by the time I got outside but Mum, Tara, and Peter were waiting for me. Tara's parents had to get away as they were off to North Africa again looking for proof that civilisation had existed well into the area we now know as the Sahara Desert. It would be hot, dusty, and tedious work, but they had been itching to get away and behaving like a couple of kids at the prospect.

'So, what's your take on the mystery of "Acacia" then James?' Mum linked her arm in mine and we started to walk towards the car park with Tara and Peter following on behind.

'I am baffled by the whole thing to be honest. She never said anything to me and I don't believe there was anyone else in that office just now, who had any inkling about what was going on either. Do you?'

'And what about Nellie's money, where on earth did that come from?' Tara piped up from behind.

We were coming up on a nice looking pub and as if pre-arranged we all trooped in and made ourselves comfortable for the afternoon. Well, it was lunchtime and the weather wasn't that pleasant outside. It must be a Braughton instinct or something.

Once we were all ensconced in a cosy snug near the fire, with large dishes of homemade stew in front of us, we set about trying to understand what had gone on today.

Mum started. 'There is obviously some mistake here. Mr. Tempole, or his father, has obviously made some kind of slip-up about the house. After all, it is a major part of Nellie's estate. You wouldn't imagine that experienced solicitors would have simply missed it would you.'

'Well no, but he did seem very surprised when the subject was brought up, didn't he? Perhaps he did think his father had dealt with that long ago. For all he knows, the house may have been signed over already to someone else.' Peter was trying to rationalise the solicitor's actions, but it didn't add up to me. As I glanced at Tara, I could see she thought the same. There was something more here than a simple misunderstanding.

'What if Nellie herself just couldn't decide who would get the house, or maybe she couldn't face the thought of it being sold out of the family after she died.' Mum tried again to make some sense of things.

'Mum, when did Nellie ever have any problem with making a decision?' I asked. 'She was probably the most decisive person I have ever met, so I can't believe that all of a sudden she failed to act on such an important issue.' I was convinced that Nellie had planned this for some reason, but couldn't fathom what that reason could be. However, Mum and Peter had obviously decided that the failure to act had been borne out of Nellie's love of "Acacia" and she had simply not managed to get round to doing the paperwork before she died.

'I agree with your Mum actually James.' Peter chipped in. 'She was getting on and it would have been a very tough decision to make for anyone, let alone someone who had lived in the house for so many years. It must have held a lot of memories for her.' He sounded convinced anyway and despite the debate going on for another half hour or so, by the time Mum and he were ready to leave, we had decided nothing more.

When they had gone, I turned to Tara. 'You were very quiet during that.' I was surprised as she was usually the first person in for a good debate.

'I was thinking along the same lines as you and trying to figure out what reason she could have had for leaving the situation so open.' She spoke slowly as if she was still thinking hard. 'What about the fortune she has obviously had since she arrived from Africa? I am wondering if the tales of her being upset when she arrived have anything to do with that or vice versa of course.'

'Of course yes, I'd forgotten about that aspect of it. Where would she have got so much money at her age? She must have done a brilliant job of keeping it hidden all these years if no one apart from her solicitors knew about it.'

The whole thing was getting very convoluted now and in order to help the cogs of our brains run smoothly, I got up and ordered another couple of pints from the bar. As I turned from the barman with the two pints in my hands, a loud shriek split the air, which had the immediate dual effect of transferring half the contents of each pint glass down my front and stopping every other conversation in the pub. Tara called out an apology to the other customers as I returned to the bar for a refill. By the time I got back to the snug again, she was nearly bursting with whatever had caused her outburst.

'I've got it. I actually think I have cracked it.' She was obviously onto something!

'What have you got? And would you please calm down. People are staring at us.

'Oh to hell with them,' she said, clasping my arm in her excitement, 'I think I know where the fortune came from. It's obvious isn't it, she found the family treasure and that's why she came to England when she did. She had to get out of Africa before anyone there discovered what she had found and tried to take it from her. Maybe she had been in danger before she left and that's why she was so upset when she arrived. She bought "Acacia" with the proceeds, well some of the proceeds anyway, which is why she couldn't make her mind up about who to pass it on to.'

I must have looked perplexed at that point. She rolled her eyes as if it was all plain and simple if only you were as intelligent as she obviously thought herself to be.

'Because the fortune belonged to the whole family, she couldn't pass it to just one person. Her moral code wouldn't have allowed it. She was just too fair. Your Mum was right, she did love it so much that the thought of selling it would have been just too great for her to contemplate.'

When Tara had made up her mind, she was notoriously difficult to dissuade from her point of view but in fairness to her I felt I should try as I could see great holes in her theory which may make her look foolish if she spouted this nonsense to anyone else.

'Okay, let's take this one step at a time shall we.' I tried to talk slowly and calmly so as not to excite her again as she could possibly steamroller me before I had even started. 'Firstly, the family treasure is probably just a myth. There is no proof that anyone has ever produced to show otherwise.'

'Yes but....' She tried to get in, but I held my ground.

'No hang on let me finish, this is important.' She sagged a little, deflated but not beaten yet. 'If there had been a treasure as the myth suggests, it would have been in the form of tons of gold or thousands of diamonds, buried somewhere in the bush, we presume, of what is now Zimbabwe, but what was then wild, untamed lands full of warlike natives. Nellie was a young girl at the time and it would have been inconceivable for her to have found, dug up, transported and transferred to cash the sort of pile we are talking about, much less survive in the environment.' I stopped a second to test the waters with Tara, but she offered no real resistance, just a raised finger and a sort of slight grunt as if she wanted to speak for the sake of it but had absolutely nothing to say. I carried on. 'Next, if by some miracle she had managed to do all of those things, the act of transferring that sort of cash to England would have raised many eyebrows and would have been difficult for an experienced banker never mind a young girl. And if by miracle of miracles she had managed all of those things, and escaped whoever you assume she had pissed off in Africa, got to England with her haul, bought "Acacia" and lived her life to its full extent, don't you think that someone would have caught up to her at some point. The people from Africa for instance?' I really had her on the ropes now. She had sagged back into the snug and had folded her arms across her chest in defeat. I decided to go for the jugular all the same. After all, who knew when I might next be in this position of power?

'And to cap it all, I come back to my original point, that Nellie made decisions about anything and everything all her life and never, ever shirked a responsibility when it was required of her. It would have been totally against her nature, nay her entire life's code of conduct to shirk at the last.' I sounded distinctly like a young Winston Churchill by the end of my little speech, which made us both laugh, although I felt Tara overdid the jollity a little, probably to mask her defeat at my hands. When the laughter stopped she delivered a telling blow however.

'Ok smart-arse. How do you explain it then?'

I couldn't think of a thing to say!

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER SEVEN – MBOKU GROWS

After that initial shock, seeing the witchdoctor emerge from the bushes like a spirit, we were taken almost in a trance deeper into the bush and eventually to some caves where simple sleeping mats had been laid out. Before we got the chance to use these meagre arrangements, however, we were force marched again for another hour or more and then left to find our own way back to the cave.

I thought that he had a good sense of direction, but after a short time, Malinka and I found ourselves totally lost and desperate for sleep. It didn't occur to either of us just to rest where we were and find our way back when the sun had risen in the morning. My father's lessons taught me not to stop when limbs were able as tiredness could take you at any time. But, we aimlessly cast about in the bush searching for anything familiar which might help our cause. Just as we were about to give up, I noticed a track where fresh footprints had been laid. The prints seemed to go in both directions, but we decided to follow the route that looked the tougher and narrower of the two. Our reasoning was simple. So far nothing had been made easy for us and so why would the easy way be the correct one now?

Within minutes, we were back at the caves and amazingly found that we were the first boys back. We could hear others thrashing around in the bush nearby and so we called out to guide our friends to their sleeping mats. We kept calling until the last of the boys had made it back and only then did we rest.

I saw the witchdoctor looking at me directly. His eyes didn't waver and I forced mine to return his gaze. I was unwilling to show weakness even in that small act.

The next morning, only a short two hours after we had laid our heads down on the cold floor, a chorus of shouting woke us. Surrounding the cave were warriors in full battle dress. Huge shields of hardened leather with large wooden bosses, spears both long and short, painted faces, bare chests and plumes of ostrich feathers adorned each man. We were scared again. Tired from too little sleep and by now hungry, for we had not eaten since the middle of the previous day. We rose as one and huddled together waiting for whatever was to come.

The days that followed were a blur. We trained to fight, were deprived of sleep and food, and suffered the twin demons of pain and hunger. But we also learned much and marvelled at the skills demonstrated to us. The time eventually came when the final ritual of our transformation to manhood was to be carried out. This was the one event that none of us were looking forward to, although none would admit their fear. There was much false bravado amongst us as we were lined up naked and awaited the knife that would separate us from boyhood. The witchdoctor performed a ritual dance around the great fire outside the cave. The shadows that passed over his face as he whirled and twisted gave him the look of a madman. The feathers and furs that covered his body flew and rustled in the half-light and the flames danced as he danced and then there was a flash that filled our eyes. The knife was huge and one boy fainted from fear. His two companions either side picked him up and slapped his face until he came round, but the sweat poured from him. The drums that had accompanied the feverish movements of the witchdoctor suddenly stopped and everything was silent, save for the crackle of the wood being consumed by the fire.

Starting at one end of the line, the witchdoctor swiftly did his work. He was as precise as the finest surgeon and each of us was not even aware that the cut had been made until the knife had passed to the next boy. Following along the line a warrior passed handing out a swab of moss infused with a secret potion of herbs, honey, and fat with which he wrapped each bleeding member.

Once the last of us had been attended, the warriors came forward with an assegai, the short stabbing spear, a long spear and a shield for each of us and placed them at our feet. The witchdoctor stood before them and said, 'You came here as boys, but you have proved yourselves to be men in the tradition of the men of our people. Your ordeal is nearly over, but now you must rest for you will need all your energy for the events that are to come.'

We newly-born men were then led back to the cave and each was handed a potion to drink that first made us drowsy and then rendered us unconscious. We then slept for a full two days without stirring.

I dreamt of my life to come. I dreamt of girls, of battle and glory, but mostly, I dreamt of my grandfather who had died a season before and who I love still with every fibre of my being. It was my grandfather who had taught me the morals by which I hoped to live my life. Of putting the village and my people first in my endeavours, as it was the people who were strong only when united and working together, fighting together, always growing and gaining strength through their warriors. I believed in the freedom of my people. I had heard the stories of their flight from the southern lands and the tyranny of Chaka years before. I knew of the battles they had fought to find the land they now called home; against Chaka's forces, against the white man and against the dogs called Mashona who were like old women with their still and un-warlike existence.

When we woke we were fed and then the witchdoctor again came before us.

'You have been chosen for a special task,' he said, seeking each out with his eyes. 'On your shoulders lies the responsibility of the future of our people. What you must now do will take time and will take you away from your homes and your families, but will secure the future of every member of our greater family. From here you will walk south, to the white man's enclosures and to where they scrabble in the dirt for yellow metal and the rocks that shine. You will work for them; you will do their bidding and suffer the indignities that will go with this task.'

We tried to hide our dismay at this news. We all had expected to go back to our villages and celebrate our manhood with beer and women. We had wanted to be warriors and fight for our people as our fathers and grandfathers had done.

'How will this task help our people? We are warriors from a proud people and you want us to work like slaves for the white man?' How can this be?' I was the first to speak and was quaking with anger at what I had heard.

'You should control the anger that you feel now and direct it towards surviving in the task that you have been set,' the witchdoctor spoke not unkindly. 'What we ask of you will not be easy, the work will be hard and many of you will not survive the hardships of working in the great pits.'

'So how then will our deaths at the hands of these white devils help our people? Please explain to us what it is we must do.' I spoke with a firmer tone now as I fought to control my anger. The witchdoctor smiled.

'That is better my warrior friend. Channel and direct those feelings you have, for the most important task you will carry out will take all the cunning of the leopard, the patience of the elephant and the teamwork of the ant. While you work digging for the valuable rocks, you will learn to hide small pieces, to smuggle them out from under the eyes of the white men and hide them where they cannot be found. You are one group of many who will be accomplishing this for us. When we have amassed a great wealth of these stones, we shall use them against the men who think they can rule us.'

'But why can we not just fight them as we have done in the past. We are warriors, not slaves. Surely this is the way of the dogs to pretend and to lie and cheat.' I had truly found my voice and questioned the wisdom of the plan.

The witchdoctor smiled again at the words he was hearing, but slowly shook his head. 'Things have changed for us here in our own land. Since the white man has come with his guns and his brightly coloured armies we have had to adapt to fight him with his own weapons. We do not have the knowledge to make guns, so we must use the greater weapon to defeat him. That weapon is the wealth of stones, because that is why they are here. That is why they steal our land and our cattle. To them, the stones that glitter are all powerful and they will kill or be killed in their service. So we must learn this lesson and use these things against them and let them be killed for them.'

This speech ended and the group was silent. My mind churned, but I had made a decision. I stood and spoke. 'I am ready to go now to work in the pits. This challenge will not beat me and I will work until I drop for the great Matabele nation. I have a fire inside of me that burns bright as the stones I will dig from the earth and I will tend that fire so that one day it will erupt to destroy the white man and drive him from our lands.'

One by one, the rest of the group stood and repeated these words until we all stood. I felt pride stir deep within me.

Then the drums started again and the celebrations began.

Later that day, us new men of the tribe packed some small provisions and were led from our home of the past weeks heading south towards the white man. We walked all day, except for a short period of rest in the middle of the day when the sun was at its height and the heat sapped all strength from our bodies. After the first two days, our guides told us that they must make better time if they were to reach their destination at the appointed moment.

When we asked why they had to be there at a certain moment, we were told more of the plan to rob the white man of his treasure. This group was indeed one of many such groups of young warriors heading for the pits and mines. All together there were going to be many thousands of warriors working together to make the plan successful. As well as the workers in the mines themselves, there would be networks of couriers waiting to receive the piles of rock and transport them to secret locations deep in the hills where skilled workers would extract the precious metal and stones. These craftsmen had learnt their skills from the white man himself, patiently watching and noting how extraction took place over many months before quietly disappearing back into the north where they set up workshops to replicate the process.

After this, there were just a few highly favoured men who would transport the treasure to a highly secret location where they would remain hidden until such time as a fortune had been amassed and the Matabele Nation could use it to beat the white man at his own game.

This then was the plan that had been put in place and which the thousands of men, including me and my friends, would give our freedom to for the next few years, and possibly even, I realised, our lives.

From this point on, we were pushed harder every day to make good time. We settled into the loping run that the Zulu fighting man had used to great effect further to the south and which our Matabele warriors had perfected to cover great distances without tiring. As we ran, we sang songs of fighting great battles and crushing enemies, of winning women, of the animals and lands of our birth, and of the hard times to come we would face with courage and patience. We were looking forward to the day we could be free again and walk amongst our families back in the villages north of the Limpopo.

After a further five days of travel, we arrived at the banks of the great river. 'From here we must pretend that we are a hunting party and let the white men think they have captured us to work for them.' The lead guide spoke quietly to us all while crouched in some thick bush by the water's edge. 'It is important that they do not suspect we have come here on purpose. Although they do not understand our ways, they are cunning and will know if we are pretending.' He motioned for us to dispose of any but the barest essential equipment we had with us. A Matabele hunting party would travel light with just spears with which to make the kills necessary to feed their village. Then we made their way across the river at a shallow point where we could wade through the swift waters. On the other side, a stranger came forward as the first of us clambered up the bank and we immediately raised their spears to attack.

'Hold, warriors,' their guide called, 'this is Shangani, who will lead you to the mines. He pretends to work for the white men, gathering our brothers to work the mines. However, he knows of our plans and has been helping us from the start.' I saw the guide smile to himself at the raised spears of the new men. Only weeks before we had been boys in our villages but we were ready to be brave in the face of the dangers to come. Then he frowned and I considered that a fast reaction like this could put us in more danger.

'My brothers,' he called us together, 'you now are warriors of the Matabele people, you are sworn to protect and fight for our tribe, but you must also learn the lessons of patience. Think of the great cat waiting for a kill. He learns to bide his time, to keep clear of his quarry until the time to strike is right, the breeze always in his face. He will make sure his position is the best for a swift attack, giving his enemy the least chance for escape. You must all learn this lesson well in the coming months. The white man will be watching you as a gazelle watches the lion, except that the white man will not run if he suspects you, he will strike you down as swiftly and as surely as the lion. He is dangerous because the lives of our people are cheap to him. To kill you all would cause him no more thought than if he had swatted a fly. It will be hard for you to do for no warrior has ever had to be as patient as you will now have to be. No warrior has ever had to swallow his pride as you will now have to do. And no warrior will ever have to do so again when this great plan has been completed. At that time, we will fight back, we will reclaim what is ours and drive the white men back to where they came from.'

This speech left a silence across the crouched men and he looked each of us in the eye to see that we had understood the message he had tried to deliver. He looked happy at what he saw until he looked into mine. I could feel my eyes burn with a fervour to go to battle. But as he continued to look at me, the passion faded and understanding returned to my mind. Shangani continued to gaze at me with consternation on his face. But quickly his features softened once again.

That night as I lay silent under the stars, I was woken by the touch of a hand. My eyes flew open and I stared into the face of Shangani who bade me silent and gestured for me to follow him. When we were a short distance from the other sleeping forms, Shangani spoke in a hushed tone.

'You are indeed a warrior as I saw in your eyes today. It is important that you do not let your heart take over your mind in the coming months however, so I am going to tell you more of this task and hope that the words will help you understand.'

I nodded, but deep inside, I was still unsure and this reaction betrayed itself to Shangani, again through my eyes.

'I understand your feelings, but listen to the words I have to say and you will recognise the wisdom in them and see how important your role is to be to all the Matabele people. One day your story will be told around the fireplaces of every clan within every impi in the Matabele nation and the indunas will praise you and your fellow warriors for the work you have done.'

'But how will that happen?' I had found my voice and was still uncertain that Shangani's fine words could ever be true.

'Listen to my story and you will understand.' Shangani gestured for me to sit close in the cool of the night.

'Many years ago, a prophecy was made by the spirits, through Mlimo which said that the white man would come and that nothing would stop him coming. It was said that the impis would have no effect against the invasion and that only by using our heads as well as our hearts would we be rid of the pale devils from our lands. It was also said that stones that glitter would be needed to fight the white skin.'

I had heard of Mlimo's prophecies and knew that the words from the spirit world were to be heeded and accepted as truth. The prophecies were only for the ears of the King and his indunas though, so I was intrigued that Shangani should know of them.

'I do not understand that we are to know the words of the spirits. Why are you able to tell me of this and how do you know of what they tell?'

Shangani hesitated before he answered. 'The indunas summoned me to handle this task and I was unsure as you are now. They told me as I now tell you, with the same condition that you will never tell another soul for fear of a fate worse than death, at the behest of Mlimo.'

I immediately seized on the obvious point that Shangani having now broken his oath was in danger of such a terrible fate.

Shangani smiled at my quick wits. 'But I have had permission from the King himself to divulge this to one warrior only; the warrior who shows himself to me as a true leader of men; one whose inner spirit is strong and ready for the battle ahead. You are that man and I would wish that you do not disappoint me in my faith in you, for now our fates are entwined.'

I felt a surge of pride and I was ready to burst from the feelings inside me. However, I managed to control this emotion and merely nodded solemnly at Shangani's words. 'But there must be more to this tale than you have spoken. A prophecy must be enacted surely.'

'Yes you are right,' Shangani continued, 'and I will now tell you the rest as I know it. The prophecy was told many years before Lobengula came to the throne, when his father Mzilikasi ruled our nation. The natural successor to Mzilikazi was his first son Kuruman, but mysteriously, he could not be found. After much debating by the leading indunas, the crown was offered to Lobengula. Lobengula was son by an inferior wife and had a reputation as a great warrior who was brave in battle and cunning with it. However, his problem was that as he was not the natural successor to rule his people, he had enemies, some of whom he had fought after he was crowned. From that point on, he realised that he could show no weakness to his indunas and the warriors around him, as it would be a signal to remove him with all haste. At first he resolved to remove any opposition and there was a period when the older indunas were executed one by one until he had support from everyone. He also knew that the biggest threat to the Matabele nation was the advance of the white man. He believed the prophecies of Mlimo and knew that to fight them on their own terms would result in failure. He understood also the prophecy about the stones that glitter and set the task of obtaining these stones to one of his senior indunas, Lotshe. Now Lotshe knew that the people did not have the knowledge to dig these stones from the ground and so he devised the plan that you are now a part of.'

I had started to understand how important this duty was, as it was a plan from the very highest levels of those who ruled the nation, but I still did not understand how the stones could be used against the white man. 'Please Shangani; explain this to me, what good will these stones do us? The white men will always have many more than we can ever remove and there must be a limit as to how many we take as they will surely notice and the plan will fail before it has started.'

Shangani looked pleased with this question and with me for asking it.

'You are right Mboku, we must take all care to remove only very few stones at any time. The success of this plan will be in the length of time it lasts and in no other cause. Lobengula is a great warrior and the impis of the Matabele are able to fight and win in almost every circumstance. But we have learnt already that the bravest of warriors is no match to the weakest red breast with a gun in his hand. We fight close to our enemies. We can see the fear in their eyes; smell the sweat of their bodies when we wash our spears in their blood. The white man can fight from a distance; he has no need to breed strength into his impis because they have the gun to hide behind. The only way that we can fight them is to be like them and use the gun against them. We are fortunate then that the one thing that drives the white man to fight and to invade is greed and greed will be the undoing of them. We will use the stones to buy their guns from them. We will welcome them to our lands, be friends to their women and children, talk to their three-headed god, and make them comfortable and weak. All the time we will be buying guns from them and from their enemies until one day we will attack them with a ferocity that will drive them from our lands, never to return. We will fight them on our terms, and show them what it is to be a true warrior of the Matabele.'

I felt passions burn deep inside me once more at these words and I felt a force and energy such as never before. I made a vow that I would face every danger, every challenge and become the most productive of the warriors sent for this task. I vowed that the white man would someday know my name above all others and that I would become powerful amongst my people, able to walk tall with kings and elders alike, revered and loved for my courage and wisdom. My eyes were wide as I stared into the older man's face, wanting to start this task and be all I could be.

# CHAPTER EIGHT – FREDERICK IN MATABELELAND

Frederick settled into a comfortable life in his new home, ably assisted by his new wife and extended family. For the next few years, he revelled in the fact that he was part of a real family, something he had never really experienced before. His father-in-law kept a careful eye on him, though, watching for any sign that Frederick was feeling unsettled, but as time wore on, he judged that his son-in-law had kept his word and would remain here with Em. This feeling was concreted when in the closing months of 1872 the couple announced that Em was pregnant. McAdams was overjoyed, as he now knew that his daughter was secure, not able to imagine Frederick abandoning his first-born child and McAdams' first grandchild. David Braughton was born in July 1873 and the whole family celebrated with friends and employees of the company as each new life was still a reason to be thankful in the Cape Colony, which was growing steadily and providing added security and happiness for its inhabitants.

Frederick and Em grew even more into the love they had found in each other and their new son. Every day, Frederick thought of the fortune he had found here, a richness he had not sought, but one that was every bit as rewarding as the desire for treasure that had brought him to these shores. When in 1875 their second child, Beatrice, was born, he thought he would burst with pride and joy as he now had a daughter over whom to dote and a son with whom to share his thoughts and skills and who would carry on the Braughton name in this new continent.

However, when at the end of the following year their second daughter was born, named Emily, after her mother, Frederick's thoughts started to wander. He thought about this family of his and how he could ensure their futures in comfort and security. They were certainly far from poor as the business was thriving and McAdams had made sure that they benefited from its success, but Frederick started to see the new rich men in the town, men who had made their fortunes in the mines further north. They lived in large houses, dressed in the finest clothes and were able to travel far and wide at a whim. Part of the growth in trade for the business, indeed a large part of the growth, came from these men to whom money was no object and who expected and were willing to pay for the best money could buy. Frederick started to feel the pangs of jealousy when he dealt with these people and his thoughts inevitably started to turn to ways in which he could join this elite club of gentlemen.

He thought again about his original plans to head north of the Limpopo, an area still largely unexplored, but rumoured to be a treasure trove to anyone brave enough to risk its perils. He started making discreet enquiries of his clients, just in the way of passing the day, with idle conversation, so as not to arouse any interest in his questions.

One day, he overheard a conversation by two such clients, both of whom were spending large sums of money in order that their new houses were furnished with the most ornately carved pieces. They spoke of Frederick Selous, the hunter and adventurer that he had received such short shrift from so long ago, when he had first arrived in the town. According to these fine gentlemen, Selous was planning an expedition to explore further in the north and was looking for suitable companions to accompany him.

This conversation sent Frederick into a frenzy of investigation and he started to ask questions of anyone who might be able to help him ascertain the sort of companions Selous was likely to require. He determined not to make the mistake of his youth and simply barge up to the great man, but to be prepared to make his case so that this time he could not be refused a place on the trek.

Em had sensed a change in her husband and although she had an idea of what could be causing it, she chose to bury that knowledge deep in her mind so as not to give it chance to see the light of day. She too, as her father had, long wondered about Frederick's aborted plans for adventure, but as her father had relaxed his guard, so she had relaxed hers over the years. She loved him as passionately as any woman could love her man, and that love had only increased in its intensity over the time they had been together. They had the glorious gift of total trust in each other and could speak about whatever it was that made them happy, sad, angry, or unsure. Despite this though, Em felt that this one issue had been long hidden from her by Frederick and that this one issue had remained deep within her, for fear that just the mention of it could make it true. Now though, she knew that soon one of them would have to release the bird that fluttered inside him and give it the freedom it required. Her fears for his safety were great as she too had talked to many people about the lands of the interior and she understood the dangers that lurked there, both seen and unseen. But the dangers to her family may be equally as great if they kept these thoughts locked within the cages of their minds, where they would turn in on themselves and create disquiet in their happy and contented lives. The greatest worry in her mind was that Frederick would not come back as the man that left – perversely, perhaps even more of a worry than if he didn't come back at all. She would mourn his loss for the remainder of her days, if he lost his life on such dangerous adventure, of course she would, but at least he would forever remain the man she loved. She had heard from others of the change that can overcome men when they travel into the interior. As well, the chance of him finding his fortune would alter his mind and the way in which he would see the world, which included her and the children.

As much as she knew and understood all of these things, she also knew that it would have to be her to make the first move, to unlock the cage door and let the bird fly free, until it either learned to love the home it already had, or to perish in a place it longed to be. She resolved to talk to her husband as soon as she could for fear that leaving the thing unsaid for too long would cause the damage inside them both that she feared almost more than the dangers he might encounter far from here. First though she had to speak to her father, whom she knew would prove to be the hardest to convince of the wisdom of whatever course of action would ensue. He indeed proved intransigent and refused to believe that letting Frederick head north, to abandon his family was a sensible and wise thing to do. The two of them argued for hours, neither willing to give ground to the other until at long last Em managed to extract the smallest gain over her father. She skilfully backed off at this point and gave some ground in return but then, just when he believed he had won the day she once again pounced with all the vigour she could muster until he wearily gave in and agreed to keep his own council over the matter until any decisions had been reached, although he reserved the right to do everything in his power to try and persuade Frederick not to go when the time came. He sat in his favourite chair as the battle ended feeling saddened that his daughter's happiness and that of his grandchildren could be shattered by events yet to come. However, he was fiercely proud of Em's spirit and intelligence and the brilliant way she had out-gunned him and manoeuvred her way to a victory which left them both winners, although he suspected she may have won just a little more than had he.

Next, Em had to talk to Frederick and she dreaded this conversation more than anything she had to face in her life so far. She knew that he would deny her thoughts and he would deny any wish to leave her and the children. She would have to fight him as hard as she had fought her father in order that he felt no option but to speak the truth about his deepest desires.

It took her a further few weeks to find the perfect time to broach the subject after a very successful day where Frederick had negotiated a huge order for furniture with a newly rich prospector who had chosen Cape Town in which to make his home. She knew that the fact that he had been talking money with this man would have stirred his thoughts once again and so when he came home that evening, she prepared his favourite meal, opened a bottle of wine she had been saving for a special occasion, and took a deep breath.

'Frederick, there is something we need to talk about and I hope that we are able to be fully honest with each other as we have with all other things.'

Frederick was intrigued by this opening statement and leant forward in his chair to grasp Em's hand. As he did, he again felt the thrill of being with her and owning the love he had felt every day since they had first met. 'Of course we will talk as we always do. Why the serious nature to your comment?' he asked, wondering what it was she wanted to talk about. He had no inkling that Em had long since guessed his thoughts, so was genuinely mystified as to the topic for conversation.

'When we first met,' she started slowly, unsure exactly how to go on, 'you wanted something more than the life we now lead.' She paused, again unsure of how to phrase this. Frederick protested. 'Em, I have found more in this life now than I ever could have dreamed of achieving when I first came here.' He was a little scared now, understanding a little of where this conversation might lead.

Em smiled fondly at his words, but forced herself to carry on. 'I know that you have been happy and that you love me and the children as much as any man could love his family. However, your desires were for a different life before we met and it is this that I wish to discuss now.'

Frederick felt a lurch in his stomach as he knew that he was going to have to confront his feelings and there was a chance that hard decisions would have to be made that would change the lives of his family and himself forever. He could still not bring himself to admit those things to Em and so continued; 'Em, those wishes have long since gone. I realised a long time ago that they were not real and that I was not destined to go down that road. My life is here now, with you and with our family and nothing can change that, no matter what I may think.'

Em grabbed at his last words and then knew she had been right. He did think about a great adventure just as she had suspected, but she would have to be careful now to let him admit it on his own and not make him feel as if she had forced him in any way.

'Do you ever think about the men who buy our furniture? The ones who have made themselves richer than we could possibly imagine? Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to have that amount of money, so that you could be sure your family was secure forever?' Em asked him, softly, not pushing him, just enquiring.

Frederick hesitated. He did think about all those things and now he realised that there was a way to join the two parts of his life's dreams together. Before Em, he had wanted the adventure and the riches that would come from it because he was on his own in the world and he wanted the freedom and power that would come from the money he could make. Now, he had something more than that. He had a family and with that came responsibilities. He was responsible for the lives of four other people and he had to make sure they were provided for and protected. What Em was now suggesting was that the money would provide security for his family; was this the thing that had troubled his thoughts about going north? He had been thinking about becoming rich selfishly, but now, he realised, he could provide for others as well. He looked into Em's eyes and held her hand in his, as he knew that he had to now tell the truth.

'I have something to tell you that I have kept secret because I wasn't sure if the telling of it was the right thing for us.' He paused, not sure how to continue. 'What you have said is right and I can't think why I have not seen it before now. I am happy here; I do have more than any man could ever wish for, but there is something unfinished in my life that has been in my mind for some time. I am afraid that telling you will change everything, but I also think that keeping it from you will cause damage to us and would be the worst choice in the long run.'

Em listened to every word, at once glad and deeply saddened at what he was starting to tell her. Frederick carried on. 'I need to finish what I came to Africa to do; I need to travel to the north, to see what is there. I need to do this for me because if I don't I will come to resent everything I have here. But it can also be for us. For our family, because if I find what I seek then we will all be safe forever.'

He had never felt so low in the telling of a truth to another person and his head drooped as he thought of what his actions might do to his family. Em held his chin in her hand and raised his face so that she could look into his eyes as the tears started to flow from her own and then they held each other tightly, dreading the day when they would part, if even for a short time.

And so it was that in the first months of the year 1877, Selous and a band of willing white men, including one Frederick Braughton, set off from Cape Town at the foot of Table Mountain heading ultimately for the interior.

It had not taken Frederick long to track Selous down and discover his plans for yet another trek north and this time he approached the hunter with respect and as a man of standing. Selous obviously didn't recognise the brash young man who had accosted him years before and Frederick wasn't of a mind to remind him of that first meeting. Frederick's skill as a wood and metal worker and now an accomplished builder and repairer of wagons convinced Selous that he would be useful on the journey and so he agreed to take him along.

As the group moved off, some less than willing natives accompanied them who were to endure most of the hard work of carrying supplies once they were in regions where wagons were not practical. However, these men were paid well and could expect to be looked after. There were also a group of the smaller yellow-skinned Bushmen whose skills at hunting and surviving on virtually nothing were vital to Selous' plans. These men were the original inhabitants of this part of the African continent and thrived in desert and bush alike, but generations of invaders, both black and white, had denuded their numbers and even now their kind was not seen as often as they once were.

The journey was to take many months and each man had been sure to settle his affairs, such as they were, before he left, as there was no promise of a safe return. For Frederick, this had been quick and easy as he left everything with Em. He had purchased a reliable Martini-Henry breech loading rifle and a horse, which although it wouldn't have won any beauty contests, was strong and seemingly willing. Along with a saddle, a blanket, and food, these were the majority of Frederick's possessions for the trip. He had also managed to find a small pen set and some sheets of rough handmade paper in a small store just off the main street of the town. He had always liked the idea of sketching and painting, ever since receiving the little watercolour from his parent's estate, and wondered if he had any talent for it. As there were likely to be long empty days to fill in the coming months, he figured it would be a good time to find out. So, after writing a letter to his distant and long-ignored relatives back in England, explaining his plans and bequeathing any remaining estate to Em, he packed everything up and met up with the rest of the band of explorers at the edge of town.

That morning, the mountain was cloaked in a thick white "tablecloth" of cloud and the air was still. The water lapped gently in the harbour and he marvelled at the beauty of the place as he took one last look before they all mounted up and started off. They were going to ride right from Cape Town rather than take the railway up to Kimberley. This was to save costs, as provisions were easier and cheaper to come by here than they would be further north.

His thoughts turned to the family he had left behind this morning. The children had not yet been awake when he left and he insisted that his departure from Em was quick and, he assumed, less painful for both of them. He had some doubts though that the kiss they had shared before he left was not enough for her and guilt worked its way through his mind, causing him to be quiet and thoughtful at the start of this journey. This wasn't noticed by the other men as they all soon fell into a reflective silence, each wondering what the coming months would bring and not knowing if they would ever see this beautiful town again.

The first few days were relatively easy, despite the hills and valleys they had to traverse. One valley in particular took his breath away, as its form was almost picture book as they rounded a hill on to a flat path at one end. They were treated to the view of a lush and verdant panorama, fully surrounded by steep-sided hills. A river ran through the centre of this landscape, gently meandering past natural pastures and meadows where wildflowers grew in abundance, adding bright colour in splashes to the thousand shades of green. Frederick sighed with the thrill of such exquisite beauty and thought that when he had made his fortune, he would very much like to return and make his home here in this place.

Soon after they had left the valley however, the land flattened out and became dry and arid. Grass and flowers gave way to scrubby bushes and finally to miles of empty flatlands punctuated by unwelcoming kopjes and outcrops. The banter that had been present through the valleys now died away as they trouped slowly in silence, settling into that trance-like state that men enter when on a long, boring journey, simply trying to keep spirits up enough to move forward one step at a time.

They followed the track heading northeast towards the town of Kimberley, where the Big Hole was still giving up its treasures. It was a frontier town and to Frederick was as exciting as all the stories he had heard from the men who came to Cape Town from time to time. The group stopped to procure fresh supplies here and decided to stay for a couple of days. Frederick headed for the Hole itself to see if the stories he had heard were true about its size and the number of men who worked there.

The first diamond had been discovered on the site of the former Colesberg kopje, in the late 1860's and so the hole was now nearly six years old. All traces of the hill had been eradicated, and in its place was the largest man-made hole ever created. There seemed to be thousands of men working at all levels, some on rickety scaffolding on the sides and some on the floor itself to go ever deeper and wider in search of more diamonds.

As he stood there, a group of native workers made their way up from the pit towards him. They were dirty and looked tired, but were dressed in European clothing, some with boots and some without. They looked at him as they came nearer and seemed to Frederick's eyes to be shifty, almost furtive. One of them in particular caught his eye as he gazed at Frederick with undisguised hate. Frederick gazed back with the sure knowledge that no harm would come to him here at the hands of a native. But he felt something as their eyes locked; some kinship with this complete stranger and a feeling that they would meet again. As polite as always he tried the only word he knew in the native tongue. Sawubona, hello, or translated as 'I see you'. The man nodded briefly, but Frederick wondered what the tall black man had been thinking as he looked at him. Wondered where the hate came from. After all, he had work and as far as he knew, the native workers were being paid a reasonable sum these days. He had heard that a shilling a day was not unheard of, which was a small fortune to a native. Many of them managed to use this money to better themselves, buying European clothes, perhaps even a breech-loader such as Frederick himself owned. Also, Frederick knew that black labour was actually in short supply, so it wasn't as if these workers had been forced to work for the mines.

The small group of workers made their way down the track towards the encampment they called home and Frederick's mind moved on to other things. He thought about the discoveries waiting to be made in the north and wondered if he would be the one to discover a second Kimberley and become a wealthy gentleman, able to travel the world in comfort and style. His thoughts turned to Em and the children. He deeply regretted leaving them behind, but this journey was no place for women or children. Besides, it would be for just a few months and then his fortune would surely be made.

After leaving Kimberley, the group made their way north towards Mafeking and then by way of Shoshong in the Bechuanaland Protectorate to Tati. Some seven years before, Lobengula had granted the first major mining concession to Sir John Swinburne, to search for gold and minerals on a tract of land in the low lying district between the Shashi and Ramaquiban rivers. No real work had been done there as yet because of the unhealthy climate and the impis of Matabele warriors who had made inroads to the area.

It was at this point that the first major setback for the trek occurred. As they relaxed by the fire one evening shortly before the sun made its final fiery plunge into the horizon, a rider approached from the south at pace. Immediately, they all jumped to their feet and grabbed their rifles, finding cover where they could. The rider, however, seemed unperturbed by the commotion and slowed his mount to a walk before jumping down and raising his arms to show he meant no harm.

'I'm looking for Selous,' he called, 'is he amongst you?'

Selous stepped forward and answered. 'Who are you and what business have you that brings you here?'

The man lowered his right arm and reached into his coat. Again the rifles were raised and cocked. He stopped still for a second and then slowly drew out a piece of paper, upon which a red seal could be seen unbroken.

'I have a message for Mr Selous alone. Please allow me to deliver it and I will be on my way.'

Selous stepped forward and at the same time, motioning the rest of the men to lower their weapons. 'I don't think we have need of fear from this messenger. Get back to your meals and I will see what business this is.'

He broke the seal and read the message before turning to his comrades. 'I have to go; something urgent needs my attention. You can do as you wish from this point, but I would advise the abandonment of the journey until such time as I can re-join you. I would suggest a return to Mafeking, although it may be some time before I am free to continue.'

Frederick jumped to his feet and said that he wanted to continue. 'Surely Selous, you can give us the directions we need to go on. If we can get to GuBulawayo and speak with Lobengula we can get permission to go further.'

'Aye, you may well be able to do that, although I would advise against it as there are untold dangers to confront which could cause your premature end.'

'Who else will come with me?' he turned to the others. Three said that they would be keen to continue, although Frederick noted the three were those with the least to lose amongst them. The other men all had family or property back in Cape Town and were not happy about getting killed at this point. This was the sway that a man like Selous had at this time. Men trusted him with their lives as if he were some kind of god, able to protect no matter what came.

Selous looked at the rapidly disappearing sun and said, 'if that's your decision then that is what will be.' There is no point in going anywhere tonight though, we had might as well settle for the night and go our separate ways in the morning.'

So, the next day, Selous, the messenger, and the family men headed south while Frederick with his three companions headed north with a detailed sketch by Selous on a piece of Frederick's precious paper. The natives that had accompanied them from Cape Town also left as they were in the pay of Selous alone and Frederick and his companions certainly didn't have the means to continue with their hire.

As they separated, Frederick looked back at the retreating forms of Selous and the other men wondering what it was that had caused the great hunter to abandon the journey and what the future could possibly hold for him now that he was taking such a risk by heading off in to the unknown. Little did he know that the decision he had made that day had not only sealed his own fate, but that of generations of Braughtons to come.

# THE PRESENT

# CHAPTER NINE – THE SEARCH BEGINS

When we left the pub, we hugged and went our separate ways home. I couldn't stop thinking about all that had been said, though, as it did seem to be a tantalising mystery and one in which I felt I was going to become entangled as time wore on. Tara's theory about the family treasure was obviously absurd for all the reasons I had spouted, with some pleasure, to her in the pub. On the other hand, I couldn't think of a single solitary idea to replace the fairytale. I pulled out the leather-bound notebook Mr. Tempole had passed to me and inspected the clasp again to see if by chance it was loose. It was not. It was firmly fastened and the leather strap was thick and strong. It would have to be cut open, but the thought of destroying it in any way didn't really seem right. Instead, I slipped it away again and resorted to wondering if its pages would reveal any answers.

I decided to stop by Acacia on my way home to see if a key could be found anywhere. As I pulled into the drive of Nellie's home, I nearly collided with the back end of Tara's red sports car. She had obviously had the same idea as me and had somehow beaten me to it, despite leaving the pub in completely the opposite direction. I made a mental note to chastise her about the speed she drove her little car, then decided that I sounded like my mother, even in my head, so I resolved to say nothing.

'How the hell did you get here so quickly? You must have broken every speed limit between the pub and here. You'll get caught one day you know, either that or you'll end up killing someone.' Did I mention my propensity to change my mind within seconds?

'Oh, shut up James,' she stepped from the verandah door into which she had been about to disappear, 'you sound like your mother.'

Told you!

'So what are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going home.'

'Funny, I thought the same about you too. So what's your excuse?'

I decided that I could safely tell Tara about the notebook, despite Mr. Tempole's veiled warning not to mention it to anyone unless I was sure they could be trusted. Anyway, if I couldn't trust Tara, then I really did have a problem. I pulled the book out again and showed it to her.

'Oh, that old thing, how come you've got it?'

So much for keeping it secret! 'How did you know about this? Old man Tempole told me not to mention it to anyone. He made out that it was a dire secret never to be revealed.'

'Well I don't know why, Nellie showed it to me many times. It has heaps of her poems and short stories in it; mostly girlie stuff though, which is why she obviously didn't bother showing you. Strange that she left it to you though, I can't imagine you would enjoy it very much.

'Are you sure it is the same book?' I couldn't understand all of the secrecy if it only contained some poems.

'Fairly sure; let me have a look though.'

I passed it to her and she peered at it with a small frown on her face. 'Actually, it does look somewhat different. I don't remember it being quite so battered, and there is something strange about the clasp as well which doesn't quite ring true.

'She obviously had two of them then. So I wonder what's in this one.'

'I assume there is no key? I'm sure that even you would have thought to open it by now rather than die of intrigue.'

I frowned at this little jab, but decided to ignore it for the moment. 'Yes, well, that's why I'm here, to see if I can find one somewhere. How about you? You haven't told me why you're here yet.'

'I just wanted to measure the dressing table to see if I could get it in my car actually.'

I wasn't sure if she was joking about this. I studied her closely for a second before realising that it wouldn't have occurred to her that a large piece of antique furniture was probably not going to fit into a two-seater Japanese sports car with a great deal of ease.

'Uh-huh. I can see that you'd need to do that,' I told her with mock seriousness, which she didn't pick up on. I decided to humour her for the moment and get my own dig in when she realised how dumb she had been.

'So, shall we go in or will we stand here on the doorstep yabbering all afternoon?'

She pushed the door open and gestured for me to go in first. Who said manners maketh a man – it works just as well on women!

While Tara headed to Nellie's bedroom to check out the dressing table, I started to poke around in the obvious places an errant key may have found itself. I checked in the drawer in the kitchen – everyone has one of these, where old bits of string, dead batteries, battered dinky toys, and the odd knackered screwdriver come to rest for years on end. Next, it was onto similar drawers in the sitting room, dining room, verandah, and finally, in the shed. However, there wasn't a sign of any key, never mind one to fit the clasp on my book. This, I reflected, was typical of Nellie. Things like keys were too important to be discarded and lost. She would have known where every key belonging to every lock was located and they would never find their way into the various bits and pieces drawers around the house. I finally checked the large bunch of keys hanging behind the airing cupboard door, where they had always been, but as I suspected, there was nothing there. So, another little mystery to add to the growing number surrounding Nellie now that she had passed on.

Tara came back into the verandah where I now sat and pondered, looking, it must be said, just a little sheepish. 'Yes, well, I may need the help of someone with a slightly larger vehicle than my own little sweetheart.' I didn't have the heart to get in my jab by then, I was too disappointed that I hadn't been able to get at the book's contents.

'No luck with the key then?' she asked, looking around as if it might suddenly appear to her.

'No, nothing at all. I may just have to cut it open, but it seems such a shame to damage it, as it seems so old. I may just hang onto it for a while and see if something turns up.'

'Fine idea.' Tara suddenly turned on her little girl lost look and smiled sweetly at me. She was after something, I could just tell.

'James?' she drew my name out in that way women do when they're after something.

'What is it? What do you want? How much will it cost me?' Cynical? Moi?

'I was just wondering if we might be able to get the table in your car, and then maybe you could pop it home for me, just when you were able, of course.' She added this last bit in a rush as if she was doing me a favour by letting me set my own timetable on the task.

I pursed my lips and stroked my chin, gazing at her as if assessing the request, but not sure yet of my decision. This little play-act immediately had the desired effect. 'Of course if it's too much trouble for you then fine, just say so and I'll get a friend to help me.' This was delivered at pace with the emphasis on 'friend' as if demoting my status to that merely of family, to be endured, but certainly not necessarily liked.

I laughed out loud at the ease I had managed to wind her up. She, of course, thumped me and told me to get my A-into-G and help her out with the table.

I drive a large 4x4 with a tailgate and acres of space in the rear, so getting the table in should have proved easy. Unfortunately, as the banter flew back and forth between us, we managed to scrape the edge as it went through the rear door. I was actually very sorry at that point as I knew how much this piece of furniture meant to her, but she graciously waved my apologies away, saying that it was as much her fault as mine and anyway, she knew of a great antique restorer who would fix it up in a trice.

With that sorted out, we locked up Acacia and once again headed off in separate directions after agreeing I would drop the table off during the week when I was going to be in the area anyway, as Eden lived not that far away and our talk was long overdue.

A week later, Tara called and as soon as I answered the phone, I knew she had something to tell me. However, she was going to make me suffer a little before she actually spilled the beans. I knew this principally by the cheery greeting she gave me coupled with a vague enquiry into my health and well-being, something that Tara never did until well into a conversation.

'So what's up Cuz?' I was determined not to rise to her bait.

'Oh not much, you know, just mooching around and doing stuff. How about you?'

'Oh, about the same, not much, you know.' I had a feeling she was going to get the better of me, but I persevered anyway.

'So have you being doing anything special?' I asked politely and innocently.

'Not really.' Okay, this was just starting to get to me now.

'So what are you calling about then?' I could hear the slight tetchiness in my voice and knew that she would have heard it too, but I stayed calm, breathing deep breaths and all that.

'Just to say hi and see how you're holding up. After all, we've all been through an emotional time recently.' She sounded almost hurt and for a moment I wondered if I had misjudged her this time.

'Yes....well...sorry...I...I'm fine, thanks for asking. And you?' There was a slightly repetitive nature to this conversation I just couldn't quite put my finger on, and I wasn't sure how to break the cycle at the moment. Luckily, Tara decided to feed me a little something. Good of her!

'So, I got the guy in to take a look at the table yesterday.'

I had dropped it off when Tara wasn't at home, but had still not talked to Eden as she had also been out when I called round. I probably should have checked she was going to be there I know, but in my own mind, at least I had tried. Others may see it differently of course. It wasn't all just male idiocy though. There was something that was telling me that the timing just wasn't right; that I needed to wait and make sure that whatever I said to her was going to be sincere and heartfelt. Right now though, another woman in my life needed attention.

'Oh?' I tried to sound nonchalant, although I was immediately intrigued.

'Yes, he took it apart a bit, just to get at the whole thing, you know.' This was like pulling teeth, and finally I snapped.

'Oh, for god's sake will you just tell me what it is you've phoned for and put me out of my bloody misery!' There was a slight pause at the other end, during which I swear I could hear her smile.

'Yes, he pulled the drawers right out to check them out and at the back of one of them he found something.' Then, can you believe it she just stopped? I mean, she just stopped talking and waited for me to ask her what it was he had found. There's a definite nasty streak in this woman.

Through gritted teeth I asked, 'And what did he find Tara?'

'Well..' she still wasn't giving up, 'there was a little sliding door with a shallow space behind it.' This time I didn't say a word and she soon got the message, finally blurting it all out. 'And in the little space there was an envelope. It must have been there a long time because the tape that held it in had gone completely brittle and the envelope itself was yellow and stained. The guy doing the work said it must have been at least forty or fifty years old. So I carefully opened the envelope and there were two things inside. One was a note and the other was a small key, which I am sure will fit the lock to that book you have.'

I could feel my heart beating a little faster at this revelation, but wondered why Tara was so convinced the key would fit the book's lock.

'Well, the note gave it away actually,' she continued, 'although it was a bit strange. It said that it was our turn to bring things to an end and also that maybe the book would show the way to the acacia.'

I was confused by the way Tara had read this out to me. 'What do you mean "our turn"? Did it literally say the words "our turn" or did it say "your turn" or did it mention us by name? What?'

'No, keep calm there detective, it says "The two of you will take a turn to bring things to an end. Use the book as your guide to the acacia". That's literally what it says.'

'What, nothing else at all? What the hell does it mean?'

'Well I don't know do I? That's why I'm phoning you. Perhaps we should meet and try and figure it out.'

'Yes, good idea, but one thing Tara.'

'What's that?'

'Don't mention this to anyone else just yet. I don't know why but I have a feeling about this and I think we should just try to keep things to ourselves for now. Agree?'

She hesitated for a second, but then agreed and said she would meet me at Acacia after work the following day.

Being at work the next day was a waste of everyone's time as I churned everything over in my mind again and again. I even called Eden at one point, but the conversation simply went nowhere and we gave up the attempt in exasperation with each other. Eventually, I gave up the ghost and left for Acacia in the late afternoon with the book sitting on the seat next to me. As before, when I pulled in to the driveway at the bungalow, the little sports car was sitting there already. Tara must have left work at noon in order to get here before me. Things were obviously getting to her too.

As I climbed the couple of steps to the glass verandah door, I could see Tara sitting on the ancient leather sofa, her gaze fixed on a point of nothingness not far from her face. She jumped as I pulled the door open and immediately got up and held out a small brass key. Without a word, I grabbed it and inserted it into the lock on the outside of the book. It fitted perfectly, but just wouldn't turn.

'Come on James; stop messing around for god's sake. This is not the time for it'

This had obviously got to her more than I had imagined and the thought that I could get my own back for yesterday's phone conversation occurred to me. But, I really couldn't turn the key and I wanted to get into the book as much as she did. 'I can't turn it, it's completely stuck. Maybe it's just not the right key after all.' I kept jiggling both lock and key as I spoke and thought that I could feel a slight movement.

'Hang on a minute.' Tara shot off into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of cooking oil. 'Rub some of this on the key and drip a little into the lock.' I did as I was told and inserted the key again. It was definitely moving now and after a second or two, I felt it click., My nature got the better of me though and I murmured 'no, it isn't moving at all; it just is not the right key. Sorry mate, it was a good idea though.'

Tara sagged back down on to the sofa, head drooping. 'I was so sure it would be the key for that damn book. I mean what else could it possibly be for?' She looked up and for a second, fell silent before leaping to her feet and delivering a telling right hook to my arm. Luckily, it was the opposite arm to the one with which I was holding the now opened book or I may have dropped it. The grin of victory instantly left my face as I grabbed my rapidly numbed arm with my other hand. Tara always could pack a punch and I made a mental note to always take a step or two away from her after winding her up like that.

She made a grab for the book, but this time I was too quick. 'No you don't. My book, so I get to read it first. Just back off there Rocky!'

'Ok, sorry, let's sit down and see what's in it together shall we?' She was giving me the look again, so I complied. The first thing that struck me as I started reading the first page was the date at the top. March 1877. 'My god, it really is old,' I exclaimed, 'and look at the name on the inside front cover, Frederick Braughton. Do you know who that is?'

'Yes of course, Nellie has talked about him before.' Tara had forgotten our little joust completely by now and was peering over at the first pages, intently reading what was there. She looked up at me and said, 'he was the first Braughton to head out to Africa. He must be a great, great, great something or other, but I thought he left England before 1877. I'm sure Nellie told me it was the 1860's when he went out there.'

Something stirred in the recesses of my childhood memory. 'Yes I do remember now, it was definitely the '60's because I remember Nellie talking about it and I saying that it was over a hundred years before I was born. So I wonder why this is dated over ten years after he got there.'

'How about you read on and maybe we'll find out?' There you go, the Braughton common sense gene coming to the fore again. Smart girl, my cousin!

The first page described how Frederick, accompanied by a group of men, had set out from Cape Town on a hunt for "the riches of the interior". This was exciting already, more than hinting at treasure on just the first page. We looked at each other with shining eyes and then read on. A couple more pages on, after descriptions of men, horses, and supplies they were taking with them, there was a hand-drawn map. It seemed to mark out a valley not far from Cape Town to the northeast. Below it were simply the words; "the most beautiful place in the world in which to make a home". 'I wonder if that is where he lived.' Tara gazed off into the distance again, repeating the words from below the map. 'Wouldn't it be great to go and see it?'

'Yeah it would, wouldn't it? Perhaps we should go out there soon. After all, we have to spend the money Nellie left us on a trip to Africa.'

'God yes, I'd forgotten all about that, when shall we go?'

'Well personally, I think I'll wait at least until I've finished reading this. What do you think?' She looked at me sheepishly. 'Sorry, getting a little ahead of myself there. Well, go on then, read some more.'

After the map of the valley, there were a number of pages that dwelt on the journey the group had taken through what is now South Africa and described the terrain and the settlements they passed through. Under the heading "Kimberley", Frederick talked of the huge quantities of diamonds that were being dug from the ground there and he also wrote about an encounter with a "native" worker at the Big Hole. He said that, "his eyes burned with a hate I have not seen since I have been in this land and I will wonder for a long time what has inspired these feelings from one I have not met before now."

'Strange,' I said thoughtfully, 'I wonder what prompted that little episode. But this time I carried on reading without any interruption from Tara. The pages after this dealt with a breakup of the group at Tati and the decision by Frederick to go on without Selous.

'That would have been either a brave or stupid decision back then I would have thought,' Tara aired her thoughts; 'I don't think there would have exactly been any signposts or even any reliable maps to show them the way, and more importantly how to steer clear of trouble with the locals.'

'True, you can't say the Braughtons were ever scared of a little adventure can you?' I looked at Tara in what I considered a meaningful manner that she chose to ignore for the moment.

'Just read on Tonto.' These little pet names Tara regaled me with were getting just a little irritating now, but I stored it and continued with the task at hand. 'Hey, this is starting to look a little more like it.' I pointed at the next page heading which read, "The road to Lobengula". 'Wasn't he a Zulu king? I asked, feeling that we were getting closer to whatever we were expected to find in these pages.

'Matabele, dummy. The Zulus are much further south, miles away from here.' Tara's knowledge put me in my place again. 'But you're right; it would be exciting if he had managed to meet with Lobengula, or any other king for that matter.'

So, once again, I read on and for the next hour. Both Tara and I were utterly enraptured, thrilled, excited, and totally, totally focused on what was written on those pages.

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER TEN – MBOKU BECOMES A MAN

The next day, we started to travel in small numbers and in staggered groups arrived at the mines over the following weeks. To save time it had been decided that instead of pretending to hunt we would approach the white men directly and ask for work, ensuring that we bargained for a good wage. To accept a lower offer would be to raise suspicion amongst our employers and amongst other workers who were not part of the plan. We were also given a secret code with which to identify others working towards the same cause, but told that death would await any who gave the code away. Death would also await anyone who spoke of their work to any other, who through fear or laziness didn't smuggle stones or gold from the mines. There would be one worker in each mine who would oversee all within that mine and make sure that there were couriers ready to take the stones, every night, back over the river to waiting warriors who would then transport the treasure to secret workshops all over their lands.

When I reached my assigned place of work, I was staggered at the size of the operation. The hole in which men toiled looked like so many ants in a nest and was enormous, bigger than I ever could have imagined. When I was told that the hole used to be a hill, I was even more in awe of the work that had produced such a mine. I surmised that the greed of the white men must indeed be great, for only then could they have been driven to make this mark on the land. As I looked at the men in the town, I wondered how the stones could bring them happiness. I could not understand how they could be fulfilled without the wealth of cattle and without the thrill of battle. They were indeed a strange race of man and I was glad that I could see no good in them, for it would make it easier to work against them in the coming years.

I started working deep in the hole itself, hauling quantities of rock to the top and depositing it in piles to be sorted and processed. I soon learned what to look for and how to recognise the rocks more likely to hold the glittering stones. My day started before the sun rose and ended only when the sun once again dipped below the land for the night. I found it easy to hide small chunks of rock about my person as I was now dressed as a white man as I had been instructed. Despite frequent searches, I was never found out, as the network of warriors always knew when and where the searches would take place.

One day when I came to the top of the hole, there was a young white man standing there, just looking down at the workers. I felt a hatred for all white men but hid my feelings most of the time, so as not to be discovered. For a reason I could not understand though, I felt that this man was dangerous, that our paths would cross again. I stared at the white man hard so I could memorise his face, as I wanted to know him we they met in the future as I was sure we would. The world of the spirits was close to me that day I realise now but it was only later I shuddered at the thought of it. The man stared back at me and as I gazed into his fearless eyes his face relaxed and he spoke; "I see you". He had shown me respect and I was confused. The spirits in me that day spoke of hate and warned of danger but his words made me think I would one day be forced to make a decision between a man's urge and the spirits' desires.

I soon drew the attention of Langalibelele, the most senior warrior present, who was nearing the end of his time in the mine. He had been here for five years and would soon move up the chain of command and be able to live back in Matabeleland with his people again. As with all of us, his instructions were clear; he must complete his task here before he could ever go back. One day he drew me to one side and told me that I was to take over his position at the mine and would be responsible for the hundreds of warriors working there.

I was overjoyed at this news, but managed to hold back my emotions and simply accepted the task from Langalibelele with dignity and the promise of total loyalty, as a true warrior should.

Once I was in place as the leader of men at the mine, I began to wonder how the task was progressing from all the mines and how much treasure had been amassed. After all, they were removing only small pieces of rock at a time from the mine and there was no real way of knowing how much contained diamonds until it had been processed at the workshops in Matabeleland.

When I had organised the couriers for the coming month, I made the decision to send a message requesting information from the indunas, who were surely running the operation. I wanted to find out how well they were doing and whether they had been removing the right kind of rock. So far, to my astonishment, no one had asked this simple question. As far as I knew, they might have been stealing worthless rocks for the last few years.

I waited one night for the couriers to arrive at the appointed place and told one of them of the information I sought. The courier was reluctant to request anything from his next in line, but with some pressure, finally agreed to see what he could do.

The following night, I waited again for the couriers to arrive and asked the same man if he had asked for the information. The man was obviously scared to talk to me and said that he wanted nothing more to do with my requests and questions. If I wanted to find anything out, I should go myself, although he advised that it would be better if I did nothing. If there was anything wrong, then I would be told.

Although this made sense to me, I was intrigued to know why the courier had been so scared. After all, weren't they all working towards the same result? My question was merely to ensure that they extracted the maximum diamond bearing rock rather than waste precious time transporting rubbish across the land.

That night, however, my question about the source of the courier's fear was answered. As I lay in my bed sleeping, a shadow moved amongst the huts, searching for my quarters. I was awoken with a start to find a hand across my mouth and an assegai to my throat. I couldn't see my assailant's face in the darkness, but the voice that whispered in my ear put fear into my heart and I lay rigid listening to every word.

'Mlimo prophesised that we would do what we now do. The message from the spirits has been passed down through the royal household to the most senior indunas to be enacted. Every warrior is here to serve the prophecy, and so serve the word of the spirits and the king. A warrior who needs to question his instructions could be accused of treachery and will be dealt with as a traitor in the traditional way. His family will be killed, his property taken, and he himself beaten to death by the royal executioners. Do you need to question your instructions, Mboku?'

I was truly terrified now. I knew of the fate that would befall those deemed traitors and I thought of my mother and father, along with my brothers and sisters to whom this fate would also apply. My eyes were wide and staring as I felt the sweat on my brow trickling down my face as I shook my head in denial of any question.

'That is good Mboku.' The voice was no less threatening, but I knew that I would not die that night.

'Heed my words my son, as you have worked well and you should continue to work as before. The task is succeeding, but there is much to do yet.'

With that, the hand was removed from my mouth and the point of the assegai was lifted from the base of my throat. I looked up quickly, but the hut was empty. I wanted to see who the messenger had been, but my nerves kept me where I was for the remainder of the night.

In the morning, I pondered the events of the previous night and wondered why an innocent question had been treated in such a harsh way. I had wanted to help the task and improve production of the diamonds and yet my superiors felt it necessary to strike fear into my heart in order to keep me quiet. I also had no doubt that the threats I had heard last night would be carried out if I persisted in enquiring into the workings of their endeavour and that only my good work so far had allowed me to live to see the sun this morning. But I could not understand why this should be, why I had been pushed back into place so firmly. Although the tradition of the warrior was to obey all commands, I also knew that the only way to progress was to prove yourself in battle and as far as I could see, I was fighting the battle now. I was sacrificing much to be here doing the task I was doing.

These thoughts ran round and around my head as I worked that day and by the time the sun started to set, I had made up my mind that I needed to find out more. The only way to do that was to head back to Matabeleland and discover what I could for myself.

I made my move several days later, leaving the safety of the town and heading north under the cover of the night. I wanted to find out how this plan worked and why I had been warned off in the way that I had. After all, I had just been curious and had been trying to help improve productivity for the tribe, so a simple message from the indunas would have been sufficient to keep me quiet. Why then was there the need to scare me in that way? What was happening to make someone go to so much trouble just for me?

I headed for the place where couriers met workers. Keeping out of sight, I began to follow the couriers north, away from the mines. They travelled for several hours until they reached the great river where a shallow and slower moving section allowed them to wade through the water to the far side. After just a moment's hesitation, I followed, keeping my head low to the water, with just my nostrils above the surface. Once on the far side, I rested for a short time before once again picking up the trail of the couriers. My years tending herds of goats had taught me much about tracking the unwary through the bush, whether by day or by night.

The sky was just beginning to lighten the horizon when I caught up to the men once again. They were waiting at the base of a small hill, nervously looking around, as if waiting for someone. I heard them talking softly to each other and strained to hear what they were saying, but without success. They waited for nearly an hour. I was lying hidden and silent in the tall grass some distance from the hill, while the couriers were getting more and more agitated at the apparent late arrival of whoever it was they had come to meet. The light had changed from the early morning softness of sunrise to that brief period of darkness before the sun finally pushes up into the sky.

Then, I started as a pair of feet appeared close to my head. I froze with fear, as I was sure I had been discovered. The sweat started to run from me as I waited for the shout that would accompany the feel of sharp steel of an assegai or spear piercing my flesh. I screwed my eyes tight and waited for death, but it didn't come. After a few moments, I opened my eyes and saw that the legs had gone. Cautiously I raised my head, still sure that my end would soon come, but as I looked over to where the couriers had waited, I saw two other figures. I crept from my hiding place, making sure there were no other men around as I moved. I nestled down into a shallow hole a little nearer the group of men from where I could hear their conversation.

The couriers were obviously scared witless as their voices trembled and squeaked with the stress they were under. The other men, however, spoke quickly and confidently. They told the couriers they needed to be quick about splitting the diamonds, as they were running late and didn't want to be missed. As I watched, I could see that the couriers had spread their haul out on the ground and all the men were checking what was there. In the end, the two newcomers split the pile in two and put one half into a bag they had there for that purpose. The couriers remonstrated that they had been left with too little and that they would be suspected of stealing the stones themselves. It was no good, however, as the others just ignored the pleas and turned away. I waited a little while longer. During which time, the couriers started off again with heads bowed and bickering with each other about what had transpired.

After they had gone, I stood up from my hiding place and looked in the direction of the two thieves, for that was surely what they were, wondering who they were and where they were going. I wondered too how long they had been taking stones in this manner and whether there were more than just these two involved. I suspected so and that this was part of a much bigger plot to hide away a fortune in diamonds. These men were Matabele too, so what did they want with white man's treasure? They couldn't buy cattle with it and if they bought from the white man, they would surely be found out by the rest of the tribe. I puzzled over these things as I started tracking the men into the bush.

I walked for the next two hours until I came to a dry riverbed. In the centre though, there was a damp patch where the men had dug for water, which reminded me of my own thirst. I started to dig in the same spot that had been already disturbed until only a few inches down, I found the level of the river and started to drink.

I felt the crash on the back of my head only a fraction of a second after I registered the presence of someone else, but by that time, it was too late. I briefly felt a warm stickiness flowing from my head and down my neck before everything went dark and the world ceased to be.

When I woke several hours later, the pain in my head kept me from lifting myself from where I lay and the light hurt my eyes too much to open them too far. Gradually though, I managed to peer around and assess my surroundings. I was lying in a stand of mopane trees and guessed that they were the same ones I had spotted earlier on the other side of the river bed in which I had been attacked. I was glad my attackers had not wanted to move me too far; at least I had some idea of my surroundings and possible ways to escape. As my senses came back to me, I tried to move my limbs one by one and found that I was securely tied and could not move in any way at all.

'Ah, my young friend, you are back with us again, that is good. I had wondered if Nozi here had hit you too hard. You have been asleep for nearly a whole day now.'

The voice came from behind me and I strained to see the man who spoke. However, the effort was too great and I soon felt dizzy again, so gave up.

'Don't worry my friend, you will see us soon enough, but for now we wait, for there is one who comes to speak with you.'

I tried to talk, but was too weak and my mouth was too dry to utter a sound. I relaxed, sensing I was in no immediate danger and knowing I would need to conserve such strength as I had for whatever was to come. I wondered at the identity of these men and who was it that was coming to speak with me, and on what subject? My mind raced as I lay there, but no answers were forthcoming, nothing made any sense.

It was dark when I opened my eyes for the second time and I shivered in the chill, night air. I could smell food somewhere nearby and felt the empty pit of my stomach that had not seen any food for nearly two days now. I raised my head. This time, I was glad that the pain was not as bad as looked round to see who was there. One man had his back to me and one of the others I did not know, but he instantly recognised the last of the three men sitting near the fire enjoying their meal. It was Lotshe, the senior induna who had devised the whole plan. What was he doing here with these thieves? He was surely loyal to Lobengula, although the meeting here proved otherwise. Lotshe was stealing the stones for himself and deceiving Lobengula and the other indunas. I let out a startled sound as he realised the enormity of the situation and the three men turned to me as one. The shocks were not yet over as the third man's identity was revealed. He was Langalibelele, the chief warrior from Kimberley who had told me about the whole scheme and who had told me how much he trusted me and how well I had done.

It was Lotshe who spoke first. 'Ah, my young warrior, you have given us much to think about and provided us with some worries too. You have only my friend here to thank for your being alive now.' He put his hand on Langalibelele's shoulder as he spoke and smiled at the warrior.

'Why would you spare a life such as mine?' I spoke to both men, mystified as to the reasons I had not been killed before now.

'You have attracted the attention of several of my men in your short time at the mine. As well as Langalibelele, here I have received reports from Shangani and the witchdoctor who saw you into manhood. Langalibelele has said that you could be a great asset to us and help a cause greater than you could imagine.'

'What cause could be greater than fulfilling the prophecies of Mlimo?' I asked scornfully. 'It is obvious that you intend to somehow defeat the king with the wealth you have stolen.'

'Ah, I see the reports I have had on you are true.' Lotshe laughed out loud at the impertinence of the youngster. 'If you had not been tied like a goat to a stake as you said those words you would have died swiftly in any other circumstance.' Lotshe looked at me thoughtfully, stroking his chin, his eyes betraying the thoughts that flew through his mind.

'As you are tied tightly, though, I must conclude that you are either very stupid or very brave. No matter, events yet to come will show which of these two you truly are.'

He gestured to the man whose identity I didn't know, to untie the ropes that bound me, leading me to guess that this man was the lowest ranking of the three. As my bindings were loosened, I stretched my cramped limbs and rubbed where the rope had restricted the blood flow to hands and feet. I watched as the man moved back to sit by the fire. I sat for a few minutes in the same spot without moving, thinking that it would be better to be fully recovered from being tied if I were to make any move of escape. I surreptitiously looked around, peering into the darkness. I saw nothing further than was illuminated by the pool of light thrown off by the fire.

'You must not think of escape, my friend.' Lotshe spoke again. 'You would not make it past those umohlo trees before your life would end. There is more to the darkness than you can perceive with your eyes.'

Again, I peered into the darkness, seeking a movement or a shadow that may confirm Lotshe's words, but again could see nothing. However, I decided it would be foolish at this stage to push my luck. I stood and turned towards the men around the fire, whose faces glowed golden in the flickering light.

'Come here by the fire so that we may talk.' Lotshe said, indicating a place across from him in which to sit. 'You must be hungry by now, so share some of our food and let me explain what we are doing here and why your life has not yet been forfeit.'

I picked two things in that sentence on which to concentrate my mind. The first was the growling in my stomach and the prospect of food after so long. The second was the word "yet".

I moved across and sat between the stranger and Langalibelele, reaching for some of the meat that was cooking on sticks over the flames. I bit into the flesh hungrily, for the moment, not worrying about anything other than filling my belly. Instinct told me that for the present at least, I was in no danger and that I would be allowed to eat my fill before anything further happened. After a few minutes, I slowed down my chewing and looked up at the other men.

'So, what is it that you are doing if not stealing the king's treasure?' I risked a violent reprisal for this question, I realised, as I was now free of the ropes. Again, instinct told me where the boundaries of safety lay, for now at least.

Lotshe paused before answering, I imagine pondering again on my impertinence and whether he should just kill me now. He obviously decided to ignore my arrogance for now and said, 'We are working towards a new future for the Matabele people. Lobengula was brought to power under false pretences and deserves to lead us as much as the jackals that are the Shona deserve to lead us. He is bad for the people and is blind to the ways of a world that is changing all the time. The white man is coming and nothing will stop him, not all the impis of the Matabele together will stop the white tide from sweeping across the land, even if we had the sticks of fire with which to fight them. They are trained to fight in a different way to a warrior and could use their knowledge to beat us again and again. We will not survive if we try to fight them, we will be driven back to the mountains and our numbers will dwindle until even the jackals will be able to rule over us.' Lotshe was speaking with a passion and I was transfixed by what he said. It was treachery, the like of which I had never imagined and I knew that somehow I had to get back to the king and warn him of this plot. In the meantime, I had to be careful of what I said. I sensed that I had come close to displeasing Lotshe before. To accuse him of treachery would surely mark the end of my life.

'So what is your plan then?' I asked the induna, 'how will you change what cannot be changed?'

'We do not wish to see the people of this great nation defeated and ruled like dogs by white men or other nations,' he said, 'so we have to pretend to work with the invaders, gain their confidence, let them get close, and then strike from within.'

'Surely that is the plan you devised in the first place.' I was genuinely confused now. 'Was that not what Lobengula was going to do?'

'Yes, you are right that the plan was as you have said, but Lobengula changed his mind and decided to strike first. He wanted to go to the white man, cross the Limpopo, and fight them before they could reach us. He wants to buy guns now and fight soon. Only by restricting the flow of stones can we stop him destroying us all.'

'How do you know that his plan would not work? How do you know that you are right and he is wrong? I was close to anger now, as treason was treason no matter what excuse was given for its existence. I had to calm myself though or I would give away my real thoughts about this plan through the fury that would show on my face.

'We can only know what history has told us. Each time, the white man has fought against the tribes, he has eventually won and he destroys without thought, as a good warrior should. We have to be clever to survive and learn the lesson of patience from the wild creatures that only live if first they kill.'

I was silent at this. It was what Shangani had told us before we arrived at Kimberley and somewhere inside I almost began to believe in Lotshe's words.

'What is your reason for letting me live for this long then Nkosi?' I said, deliberately using the word for lord to signify my acquiescence.

Lotshe smiled at this and relaxed somewhat before answering. 'We need young and clever warriors to help us and you are both these things. Your mind and your strength can combine to help save the Matabele people from defeat. One day, your name will be spoken by the people as they sit round their fires. They will speak of you as one who was brave enough to follow the right path and one who fought for the very existence of their nation.'

These fine words served to soothe my turmoil for the moment. As I sat there across the fire from Lotshe, I wondered if the induna was indeed right and if I could become a hero to my people in the way I had been told just now. I knew however that whatever the truth of the matter, I would have to be as strong and fearless as I had ever been in order to survive the coming months.

# THE PRESENT

# CHAPTER ELEVEN – FREDERICK'S DIARY

As I looked across at Tara, I could see the excitement shining in her eyes at what we were reading. We were about three quarters of the way through and it really was gripping stuff.

'Do you realise that this is real history here?' she said, almost whispering in her enthusiasm. 'This is stuff we used to learn about at school, except there we were never interested because it was just so..so..' She struggled to find the word, so I helpfully supplied a suitable one, 'Boring?'

'Well, yes, it was that, but it was..impersonal! It just wasn't relevant to us. But this is real. Frederick is family and just look at what he was doing a hundred years ago. My god, it makes you feel so inadequate doesn't it?'

Personally, I felt adequate enough, but I had to agree with her. This was a riveting read and mostly because it was the story of a member of our family, one who had made history. Despite the fact that Frederick had been involved in a major historical event, every historian since, assuming it had ever been known in the first place, had simply forgotten it. I don't suppose the Matabele wrote down their history and if Frederick had kept quiet on his return, then maybe no one ever knew what had happened.

'Do you realise; we may be the first people in a hundred years to have read this? We should take this to wherever history is written down and rewrite the history books.' I was really getting into this now.

'Hold on there just a minute.' I could sense a lecture coming from the tone of her voice. 'You are making one or two assumptions there aren't you?

'What do you mean?' I was hurt already before she had even shot me down in flames.

'What I mean history boy, is that I am sure that Nellie has read this before now. There is no way she held on to this for god alone knows how long, without once opening the cover for a peek, is there?'

I wasn't entirely sure she was expecting an answer to this question, so I stayed quiet, even ignoring yet another nickname.

'Secondly, we have no way of telling if any of this is true and I am certainly not going to be made a fool of by some snotty history professor when he points out the obvious major holes in the story, about which we would know nothing until they were pointed out!' She was good at this, so again I said nothing.

'And thirdly, we really have to try and verify some of this, in Africa, before we tell a single living soul of its existence. Okay?'

'Okay!'

'Good!'

'Great!'

As this monosyllabic exchange came to an end, I realised that she probably meant we would have to verify this actually in Africa and that in order to do that, we would have to go there, in person, and that was something I very much liked the sound of, and so I hugged her and we sat down to finish reading the diary.

" _I write this sitting outside a small hut within the enclosure of GuBulawayo._

The fifth day after Selous left us; we were making good progress in the direction previously indicated by him. As we rested, twenty natives appeared and seemed very cautious in their approach. The tallest of them seemed to want us to follow him, but we were in no mind to do so for now. He grew agitated, but we were determined to remain where we were. In response to this, he started drawing in the dust what looked to be a map. He indicated our present position and also what looked to be a town some distance away that we understood to be GuBulawayo, the seat of Lobengula. He pointed to the hills to the north of us that we believed him to call the Matoppo, and then spoke very quickly and urgently in his native tongue, which none of us knew. However, we garnered that we were to visit the town as soon as we could. Selous had said that we may have to visit Lobengula, the Matabele king, to present gifts and request permission for our safe passage. We assumed that this was the message these men had delivered to us.

We travelled the following two days in the direction these natives had pointed out and were aware that at many times, they kept pace with us, although they maintained their distance. On the third day we climbed over the Matoppo Hills, where fabulous rock formations were situated, as if God had placed large stones atop smaller ones and caused them to balance there for no good reason we could see. When in the Matoppos we came across a place as beautiful and awesome as any I have seen. It was a flat shelf of rock, high up and overlooking a vast plain in all directions. There were strange standing stones here, we knew not whether built by the hand of God or man. Small colourful lizards skittered amongst the stones, bright as gemstones and of every colour of the rainbow. As we stopped here, I thought that we had a view of the whole world from here and it was as peaceful a resting place as I could imagine.

We came eventually to the top of a plateau, which was high. As we reached the flat, we saw the air was somewhat clearer. The kraal of GuBulawayo was a revelation for us because of the size that was near to a mile in circumference. The outer palisade is made of wood and seems to be constructed well. As we reached the entrance to the kraal, there was a terrible stench as piled there were two large heaps of horns and other remains of bullocks, killed, we presumed, at different times and then left to rot. Around this entrance, there were many men who seemed to be waiting on the king.

Inside the outer palisade are round huts with high-pitched, grass roofs on them for the inhabitants of the town. There is also another palisade that was equally well built, but smaller and lower, inside which cattle are kept.

In the centre of the kraal is a large empty space that we assume is for parades and ceremonies, such as they must display from time to time. Here is also a larger hut. We found out it belonged to Lobengula himself. Next to this is a smaller enclosure, again for the sacred goats. We have been told that any man who enters this enclosure without the permission of the king would be immediately sentenced to death. The remainder of the town is made by a number of huts for the royal wives, of which there were several. The place is in all as busy as any town of the size and the people seem content to go about their business without paying much attention to us, although many of the children stared at us and followed us wherever we went.

A tall gentleman of stately bearing and peppercorn grey hair came to us as we arrived and led us to a hut to one side where he bade us to make ourselves comfortable. He spoke passable English that we were able to understand well enough. He told us that it may be some time before the king could see us, but that we should remain in or near the town, for the call would be of short notice and we should be ready.

My companions were all for ignoring the protocol of "these savages" and after one night, said we should leave for our journey to continue. I argued that this place is comfortable enough and there is food enough to eat, so perhaps we should stay for a while and enjoy its comforts as we know not when we will be able to enjoy the same again. They were not happy, but have agreed to stay for a while at least.

As I write this latest note to my diary, we have been at GuBulawayo for five days waiting on the pleasure of the king. My companions are weary of waiting longer and I fear they may leave me here alone. I wish to be respectful of these people who have shown us kindness and hospitality thus far, so it will be a bad time if we must part.

This is written on the sixth day here at GuBulawayo. Last night was a strange one as we learned of riches and treasures hidden somewhere in this land to which we are keen to make progress. It came about as my companions drank a large quantity of the native beer, which is not to my taste, being milky and sour. They fell asleep behind one of the huts on the far side of the kraal. Upon waking in the night, they heard voices in the hut, of men seemingly oblivious to their presence. The voices spoke, in English, of diamonds hidden some days travel from here and these men seemed to be here for the purpose of working uncut stones for the king. I presumed that the beer had gotten the better of them, but this morning, there are two white men present in the kraal who have not been present before now. When I tried to make conversation with them today, they volunteered neither names nor greetings and slunk away without even a token of friendliness. They did seem surprised to see us there, which set us thinking on what their purpose was.

Day seven at GuBulawayo and we have at last been granted an audience with Lobengula and were told not to keep him waiting. We duly arrived outside his hut early this morning and then sat and waited. We waited some four hours before he deigned to see us, by which time, there had gathered quite a crowd of people all hoping for the "King's favour".

Lobengula is a big man, standing some six feet high and broad with it. His bearing is regal, almost haughty, as if he knows the power he holds and cares to show it. His facial features are coarse and large and it is easy to see a cruelty and cunning etched in those features. Although when he smiles, he becomes another person, one of some charm and intellect.

We have been told that he has an excellent memory, being able to recall facts and conversations from years before with astonishing accuracy. He uses this memory and his intuition about decision making to rule his country well.

The audience was brief, Lobengula was behaving in a dismissive way toward us as if he had more important things to worry about. We, putting our case in simple terms, explained that we were here to explore and learn. No, we didn't seek land or cattle and would certainly return to our homes on the Cape. Whether or not he wholly believed us, he obviously thought of us as a rag-tag group not worthy of further consideration and waved us away, which we were told meant permission had been granted to pass GuBulawayo and go further into Matabeleland.

It is now the eighth day here and last night we were treated to a ceremony for the warriors of the various impi stationed at the town. There was food and beer aplenty. We supplied the natives who had helped us most with judicious sips of aqua vitae, lest they get too drunk. When the warriors came to dance in the centre of the town, they were indeed a fearsome and awesome sight in their war costumes. Elaborate in nature, this costume consists of a headdress of black ostrich-feather plumes with further similar feathers draped over their shoulders in a cape designed we believed to broaden their aspect somewhat. They wear kilts of skins around their loins with white cattle tails hanging from them, which they also wore around their arms. To complete the dress, they wear rings of metal around their ankles. Weaponry is displayed as well and consisting as it does of a long throwing spear. Also included was a short assegai, or stabbing spear, which we had heard much about from those who had fought these natives or others in the past. Their shields are tall and oval in shape, made of ox hide and patterned in black, white, red, or speckled, depending on the impi, or regiment, to which they belong.

The celebrations continued long into the night, with the warriors whipping themselves into frenzy, which to us was frightening to say the least. This morning, we have witnessed many of these warriors setting off from the town on a raiding expedition. We have been told it was against the hated Mashona people whom the Matabele regarded little better than dogs.

When we awoke this morning, we were as one tired and ready to sleep the day away, but now it was my turn to exhort my companions to rouse themselves and make headway. Now that we had been given the chance, I am anxious to get on and will not take no for an answer.

Our plan is to head west from here, towards the ruins of Great Zimbabwe. Selous had told us the ruins were rumoured to be the remains of a different civilisation, which could have been lured here by the riches available in the ground. We deduced that this was as good a starting place as any for a search for our own private fortune and we would take stock of our situation once we reached it.

It is now day three of our trek from GuBulawayo. Last night, we were seated around the fire, contentedly eating and enjoying the warmth from the flames. All of a sudden, a furious noise came at us from the darkness. We all jumped to our feet, grabbing our guns as we did so, fearing an attack by the warriors we had witnessed before. The sound stopped as we stared into the blackness and then another sound started, like an animal in pain pulling itself along the ground. We advanced towards the sound and soon came across a bloodied bundle of rags crawling through the dust. Upon investigation, we found this bundle to be a man, one that had undergone serious injury in some way or other. We carried him to the fire and fed him some water using more to wipe the blood from his face. It was then that we recognised him as one of the two men from the kraal who had shown us neither friendship nor courtesy. My companions, upon learning this, were content to let him lie there and fend for himself as best he could, but I was keen to hear his story as to how he came by these grievous injuries.

At this point, Tara, being Tara, snapped the book shut and asked me if I fancied something to eat or drink.

'I don't bloody believe you,' I said, doing a fair impersonation of Victor Meldrew. 'Just when it gets really interesting, you want to eat? Are you mad, woman?'

Irritatingly, she just grinned and headed for the kitchen. I was tempted to re-open the book and carry on reading myself, but I knew the consequence of that little act of rebellion was bound to involve retribution from a far stronger opponent. So I headed after her, feeling a bit peckish by now anyway.

'So, what do you think about his story so far?' she accosted me as I entered the room.

'Well, it's great, isn't it? A real bit of history and all that.' I wasn't sure, but I think she was getting at something.

'Haven't you noticed something about it though? Something a bit odd?' she asked with her hand on her hip and head to one side, in that pose that says "I can't believe you don't know the answer to this one!"

I thought about it for a moment, but could come up with nothing at all. 'Nope!' I said.

'How about the fact that that he hasn't once mentioned the names of his companions, as he calls them? Don't you think that a bit strange?'

Now that she mentioned it, it did seem a bit weird. 'Now you come to mention it, it is a bit weird.' I said.

'I mean, he has travelled with them for all this time, from Cape Town to the wilds of Africa and not one mention or clue to their identities. I wonder why not?' She gazed off into space as she thought about, it causing me to do the same. Neither of us could come up with any plausible explanation though, so we made a sandwich and a cup of tea before returning to the book, hoping to find the answer in its pages.

The man was in much pain, so we comforted him as best we could, but his words were indistinct, causing us to wonder if we had heard him right by the time he had finished. He told us that he had been attacked and tortured by some warriors to the north. His companion had been killed in the most horrendous manner, having first been beaten and then stabbed repeatedly with assegais. After that, his genitals had been cut from him and forced into his mouth. After an interminably long period, he bled to death where he lay. His body had then been cut to pieces and thrown to the dogs and torn to shreds into the night. The same fate had awaited this man, the fact of watching his friend's death making it the more horrific to bear. As he was being beaten and stabbed, he had made a run for it, surprising his captors to the extent that they did not chase after him at first. He had run for as long as he had been able before hiding in a tree for two days, too fearful to move for anything. Earlier this night, he had at last made another run for it and seeing the light of our fire, headed toward it like a moth would do, not knowing if friend or foe was there, nor caring. Then he told us of the treasure hidden in the bush, that he and his companion had been hired by the king's senior induna, called Lotshe, to teach the Matabele how to process gold and diamond bearing rock. They had done so with a promise of a large share of the treasures they had seen, which amounted to millions of pounds worth. He estimated the diamonds alone would amount to some 67,000 carats, about a quarter of the total annual production of all the mines south of the Limpopo. However, he and his companions had been greedy and had tried to secretly stash some of the diamonds away for themselves. The warriors had found them out though and this was the reason they had been attacked.

We interrogated him urgently as to the whereabouts of this treasure, but all he could say before he died was to head to the north and west for a four day ride and there it will be found. We found some proof of his story about his person as we searched for an identity, finding nothing to tell us his name. However, they did find a small grey stone, looking nothing more than a rock as can be found on the ground anywhere, but which my companion attested, was in fact a diamond, uncut and unclean; the largest he had seen for many years.

My companions have now contracted a disease that I believe will eventually kill us all. I may have it too, but it is easy to persuade myself that I'm not affected and that my actions are somewhat different to those of the others. Perhaps this is a worse state for mankind – the ability to deny oneself. What they (we?) have is a fever of the kind men have contracted since time began and will continue to do so until time ends. They are drunk with the thoughts of the riches to be had and they danced and jigged around the corpse of this unknown traveller last night as if he were in fact a log of wood and had never had in him the spark of life and humanity that sets men apart from the beasts. It was at that moment that my heart broke for being away from Em and my children, who I have always known were my true treasure. I looked on as these men hugged and shouted and I felt numb.

'My god!' I exclaimed, 'He's talking about the Braughton treasure. It really does exist.' I could hardly contain my excitement as we sat back in disbelief at what we had read.

'Now let's not jump to conclusions here James.' Tara said. 'Firstly, this book doesn't prove anything at all. It could be all made up for all we know. Secondly, even it were true, whatever existed then could easily not exist anymore. After all, it has been a century since this happened and a lot can happen in that amount of time.'

'Yes I know all that, but this must be where the legend comes from, mustn't it?' I was eager to retain my sense of excitement and did not want to let Tara bring me down just yet. 'I mean, we might have the chance to prove once and for all if the legend is true or not.'

She smiled at me knowing that I didn't really want to prove the legend was just that, but that I really wanted to find this treasure and reap the rewards that might follow. 'Putting it like that, you're right. We could once and for all scupper the Braughton curse and stop these silly rumours.' She paused and then continued. 'Of course, you do realise that a lot of dreams would be shattered if we prove it is false don't you? Secretly, there are a lot of people who would dearly like to believe in this stuff.'

'I guess that's just the risk we're going to have to take, isn't it?' I felt invigorated now at the thought of action, but in the meantime, I needed to finish reading Frederick's words, so we once again bent to the task.

An argument ensued as my companions wanted to strike camp immediately and set off into the night to find the treasure. My thoughts were of the fate of the two men who already got too close to whatever was going on and I have tried to warn them of this to no avail. They are determined to go and I believe that despite my own warnings, I am glad they have talked me into going with them. However, I worry I might come to rue that decision.

We gave the unknown traveller a decent enough burial early this morning before the sun had properly risen above the distant hills and will shortly set off to the northwest as he had told us.

It is yet one more day into our journey now and signs that we are being warned away from this course came soon yesterday when first one and then another of our mounts fell ill to horse sickness. Both died quickly and we were left with just two horses for the four of us, whereby we had to leave much of our provisions to lie in the dust. Last evening, another of our horses was lost to the sickness and this morning, the last succumbed and lay down, not to get up again.

We have once again shed much of our provision, each man carrying as much as he can for his own use and no more. We have two problems now; the first being that we might run short of food or water, although there are frequent rivers to refresh our supplies. The second, however, is that in case of attack by man or beast, we have no easy way to escape or fight, weighed down as we are with provisions. This fact weighs heavily on my mind as we trudge onward, now not knowing how far we should travel before we will reach our destination, and not even knowing what that destination will consist of.

I am unsure of what day this is, as each runs into the next as we walk with our heads down through the bush, wade through rivers, and sleep uneasily each night as well hidden as we can accomplish. We light our fire several yards from the places we sleep, for fear that the light may attract beasts or men to it and wherever we sleep we construct a barrier of thorns around us to give us at least some time in case of attack.

Despite the hardship and the tiredness we feel in our limbs, we marvel at the beauty of this country, at the verdant greens, and the raw beauty of the yellow plains. We have come across many animals during this time, of all description and type. I think of the tales I could tell to the people from my hometown in England, a place that seems like a distant dream now. I am sure that the Scot who spurred me to come to this continent in the first place would scoff at descriptions of giraffe, warthog, zebra, and hippo as the flights of fancy of a "crazy Sassenach".

We came across a large wet vlei at one point, upon which were geese and ducks. As a change to our diet of dried meat, we managed to shoot a few of these birds and were able to feast on the roasted meat.

We spend much time at the sides of rivers, searching for drifts to cross with some ease. Without the long legs of our horses, we struggle though and are frequently swept off our feet and downstream until we manage to catch hold of a branch and drag ourselves to shore. One such episode split our group, as two of my companions disappeared around the bend of the river. On the far side, the remainder of us waited for several hours before the two unfortunates once again joined us looking bedraggled and the worse for wear.

Here the diary changed. Whereas before, the writing had been in the present tense or at least very near past tense, now Frederick was recalling events from a far later date and was obviously struggling to remember much of what had happened. What he said was no less enthralling and puzzling however.

Cape Town – home.

My current state is such that I am unsure of the date, or even of the month in which I now exist. I just know it is much later and that I am home. However, my mind is as fogged now as it has been for many months or perhaps years. I'm as unsure of the passage of time as I am of the existence of any God.

It is after the incident at the river that events became less clear to me and I struggle still to recall the order in which things happened and the personalities involved. The horrors I witnessed in the following time have stayed with me every day and night since, but to put some detail to these pictures inside my head is beyond my abilities now. Thank God for the good will and love of Em and my family, for they alone have kept me from a madness which should surely otherwise assail my every waking moment. I write this to try and make some sense of things, to understand what happened and for what reasons. Em says that this will help me in my recovery and I trust her with every fibre of my being to do the right thing by me. It is hard for me to comprehend the magnitude of her patience with me, for I know that I have returned to her a different man than when I left. It was what she most worried about and the thing that I convinced her would not happen. She lost me as well as if I had perished on that journey and her grief is evident to me every day. I still love her more than ever, if such a thing were possible, but my love is as a different man, someone within himself, not able to fully demonstrate the feelings inside for fear of letting out things that are best kept in the dark. Something deep inside me is now forever hidden and will never see the day's light again. I, on the other hand have lost nothing of her. She is the same now as the day I left. She is strong, intelligent, patient, and loving, but I can see the grief in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and sense it in her touch.

I find now that I have another child, born after I left and whose existence was unknown to me until my return. A second son, named Michael by Em in my absence and a joy to me as much as my first-born son was. His existence only serves to show me further the gap I have created in my family, a distance that at the present time I have no way of closing.

The events after the incident at the river are unclear, but I will set them down as best as I can remember in the hope that more memories will return to close the distance between my family and my new self.

We eventually came to a higher land where rivers crossed and re-crossed as we moved, but I remember little else of the landscape except for the images I carried back with me sketched by my hand, I suppose. One of these sketches has felt singular to me, although its nature and design is no greater in an artistic sense than any other. I have since painted it trying to find its meaning, but without success. For some reason, I feel as if it is special in some way; that perhaps there is a meaning to it that I cannot quite comprehend. Whether it is the subject of the sketch which means something or the location it depicts is unclear too. The picture is of a village scene; in the foreground, a flat-topped acacia dominates with a village of huts in the background. There are two main figures, an old man and a young girl, but I feel that they are not part of the real story of what makes the picture special to me, but to that I can also not be sure.

I grabbed Tara's arm as we read this bit, as the painting was obviously the same one that Nellie had left me.

'It was Frederick that painted it!' I exclaimed, surprised and excited by this discovery.

Tara's eyes shone too at this and she said, 'Yeah, how about that; after all this time, we have found the artist. I wonder what he means about the painting being special though. It doesn't look particularly special to me.'

'No, there's nothing special that an art critic would pick up I don't think, but I have always thought there was something about it that was deeper than just style or the skill of the painter's brushstrokes,' I said. 'I know it sounds daft, a bit new age, but it always summed Africa up to me, or at least my romantic notions of Africa. That's why I always loved it and that is probably why Nellie left it to me.' I was a little embarrassed by my little speech, but Tara simply smiled at me as she popped her arm around my shoulder.

'You're quite an old softy at heart aren't you?' she said affectionately. 'But isn't it strange that Nellie never mentioned that she knew who the artist was. I assume she must have known, after all, she had this book too and she must have read it at some point surely.'

'I'm not so sure you know,' I replied. 'I am beginning to wonder about Nellie's part in all this. Something makes me feel that she has just acted as a messenger, simply passing these things onto us without ever having done anything about them herself.'

Tara peered at me quizzically. 'You are getting very deep and serious all of a sudden. What exactly is it that has provided you with this insight? I can't say that I have felt it yet.'

'I don't know. Nothing probably, I just feel it, that's all.'

I really didn't know any more than I had said either, but there was something there, even if I couldn't identify it or define it in any way. I drifted off, trying to make sense of this until Tara suggested we carry on reading.

My fellow travellers were in a constant state of excitement, urging us on at a faster and faster pace. I remember the tiredness in my limbs being a constant companion during those days. I do not remember hunger or thirst in any large manner, so we must have established a reasonable source of nourishment at that time.

The days were long and hot and increasingly we encountered small groups of natives, none of them Matabele; all friendly and willing to trade with us. We, of course with nothing to trade, passed these groups by after spending some time talking with them about all manner of things. I do not remember all the topics of those conversations, but strangely remember the feel of them, if that does not sound too strange.

There was a calm about those days when we were with these people whose existence was dominated by the threat of Matabele raids. I do remember hearing about the way in which the Matabele would decimate a village by taking the women and young men for slaves or to train as warriors. Anyone who tried to stop these activities would be brutally killed, so the tribes just kept moving, fearful of the next band of young warriors to come their way. I remember that they were friendly towards us, taking time to speak with us and sometimes spending time around the fire, sharing what they had as if we were brothers.

I still recall the smell of wood smoke from those fires and associate the smell with good memories. Each time now that I sense the aroma of wood burning, that fragrant, sweet smell calms and relaxes me, whilst at the same moment increasing a yearning for memories that do not come readily.

A long time after we had left the river where the two men were swept away, I recall mountains or hills perhaps, in the distance. There was something about them of significance, but I don't know what it was. There were many stands of mopane trees here and the flat veld was dotted with kopjes some with pools of fresh water at their base.

Somehow we came across a secret place, on one of the kopjes I think, but we were not found out. I remember a long period of lying on the ground or crawling, so perhaps this was when we advanced on this place, although how we knew it was there, I do not recall. I do recall though that this was a place of some industry. There were the sounds of hammers on rock, of men's voices, and the light and smoke of fires. It was strange because this place was as remote as this part of Africa goes, not a place where men would normally reside. A line of men carrying sacks comes to mind too, from where, I do not know, but the sacks were heavy as the men near collapsed as they dropped their loads.

There was argument amongst those in our little group and I believe the outcome of those arguments left us in dire circumstances and lead to the outcome of which I will write anything I can remember.

It had been dark for seven or eight hours when we advanced to the place, a cave I think, and as we left, we were laden with sacks and there was an atmosphere of elation, although we were all silent.

We ran in the direction of the great southern cross for I don't know how long before my mind truly turns inward and the memories become faint. I remember digging in the earth though and then we were free of our loads. A native face came at me, one I recognised from someplace, and there was hate there, but also relief? I am not sure of this, as after this there was noise and action that was horrendous in intensity. There was blood too. Lots of blood mixed with the dust of the ground and all over me. Also, men's screams and pleas for mercy that I can hear still as clear as if they were outside this room; I feel I will never stop hearing those noises.

We were taken somewhere, maybe back to the kopje and there were shouts, faces close to mine, spitting words I did not understand, but knew formed questions, the answers to which I no longer know. Then words in English were spoken, "Where is it? Where is it?" repeated over and over. The face I recognised was there again, lit like a devil from firelight. There was pain; I was tortured by fire and by steel. I remember blood again, running across my skin, dripping to the floor.

My companions screamed and I, too, although I could not make out one voice from another, theirs from my own. Then another face came to me, but this time a white man's face, the face of one of my companions, but without shoulders or body to hold it up.

Then came silence. It was dark, maybe in a cave, but there was light, faint, but enough to see the sights of hell before me. I was the only man standing, tied to a post in the ground. The others were mere lumps of meat that had been butchered, skilfully so as to maintain life for as long as possible. To inflict the greatest amount of pain that a man could endure before his mind snapped with the sheer horror of it. I knew next they would come for me. There was an eye looking at me from the middle of one of these pieces of meat. It blinked. How on this earth could it have blinked? It was just an eye contained in a raw mass of blood and bone. The pain in that eye was masked by fear and horror and by a pleading for what I can only guess was an end to its existence. It stared at me, and stared and stared.

It still stares.

There was silence in the room as we both sat back and tried to fight back the tears. I felt as if this was someone I knew. A friend, family member, and he had seen all this, experienced all this, and written it down. It must have torn him apart to remember the things that his mind had tried to delete from his memory. I looked across at Tara who had now let the tears flow down her cheeks. I leant over and then we held each other; there were no words. There was no need.

# THE PAST

# CHAPTER TWELVE – CONSPIRACY

That night, as I lay awake pondering the options before me, I made the decision that I would have to follow the instructions of the induna in order to discover more about which was the right path. I sensed that there was something in those words I had heard last night, which if true would lead the impis into mortal danger south of the Limpopo. If this was Lobengula's plan then maybe Lotshe was right. Maybe this was the only way to stop the madness of the king's plan. However, I could also see many problems with what Lotshe was doing. What if the scheme was discovered? There were many warriors involved in the mines that could easily let on to the white man what was going on. It would not be the first time that a man had turned to his enemy in exchange for his freedom or for riches.

And what of Lotshe's own scheme to hold back the flow of diamonds from Lobengula's coffers? Lobengula was not stupid and he would know after a while that he was not amassing the wealth he was expecting. How could Lotshe hide the fact from his king long enough to persuade him not to fight in the south? Maybe Lotshe was not telling the truth and indeed did intend to rid the Matabele of their king. After all, there were many who were not happy with the choice of Lobengula in the first place and some of these men would have been sensible enough to keep their own council at the time, waiting for a chance to strike back at a later date. Perhaps this was the time they had chosen and perhaps Lotshe was their chosen leader.

All these questions spun round my mind as I stared into the dark night sky. Eventually, though, I decided to join Lotshe's band for now and see how things worked out. I hoped that I would not be found out in the meantime, as it would be impossible to explain to the king's men the actions I had decided to take without appearing guilty of treason if I were caught.

I told Langalibelele of my decision the next morning and was surprised to see that Lotshe had left sometime during the night. We set off as the sun rose and headed across the plain. As we travelled, Langalibelele told me of my task, which was firstly to learn about how to sort the stones and then help the couriers from the mines. They had been receiving many worthless stones, taking up time in transporting useless sacks of rock many miles to the place where they sorted and processed them. I, therefore, would work close to the mines, staying out of sight and sorting out any worthless rock before it was carried on the backs of the couriers.

After three days travel, we came to a higher plain, whereupon there were many small, rocky hills with pools of water lying in the shadow of some. I looked into the distance at the distinctive shape of the hills, knowing that I would need to find my way here again without a guide to help me. These hills would provide a useful signpost, so I memorised their shape as we approached one of the larger hills that sprang from the ground as if it had grown there. Nearby were many mopane trees, which I knew produced some of the hardest wood in the land and were difficult to clear. An opening became apparent in the hill, through which we walked. The gap was like a corridor with a narrow entrance, widening and twisting as we made our way through it. From the outside, it looked as if a narrow crack in the rock face narrowed further as it went into the hill. With the cover of some bushes around the entrance, it would be difficult to find. However, what might give it away was the noise that echoed off the rock walls of metal ringing on stone and of men's voices. The smell of wood smoke hung in the air too, further giving the location away to anyone who might be curious.

I mentioned this to Langalibelele, who merely shrugged and pointed to the higher reaches of the hill where I could vaguely discern lookouts, scanning the horizon.

'There are also men at many points around this hill,' he said. The mopane trees give excellent cover, which is one of the reasons this place was chosen.' Indeed he was right, as the short stubby trees were in full leaf and grew close enough together that any man who wanted to could successfully hide himself in their midst.

As we continued to wind our way through the rock-strewn corridor, the gap widened further until we reached a clearing the size of a large cattle pen back in the kraal. Here, there were many men working to clear piles of rock that covered the space. The walls of this area were vertical and soared straight up, almost seeming to bend inwards the further they climbed. Bushes and tree roots formed a canopy over the top of this canyon, almost blocking the sky from sight. The light that shone down from the sun was dappled and there was an eerie feeling to whole place that made me shiver involuntarily.

At the far end of the clearing was the dark entrance to a cave and it was into this darkness that we now passed. At first, I thought the cave was filled with glow worms as I saw tiny points of light wherever I looked, but as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I realised that these points of light were in fact the reflections from hundreds if not thousands of diamonds. Everywhere I looked, there were piles of them, sorted for size and in varying states of process. Some either glinted dully or not at all, but some were glistening like raindrops in the sunlight.

Men were seated all around chipping away at rocks, breaking away the dirt and rocky exteriors to expose the treasure inside. If I had been a white man, then the sights in this cave might have overawed me. But wealth to me consisted of cattle and these stones left me unimpressed. Except that I knew from my time in the mine that the quantity here was enormous, much larger than I had ever imagined. There must have been thousands of workers in the mines and pits of the white man risking their lives to bring out tiny quantities at a time in order to amass this quantity. I understood, too, the power that these stones could bring to the man who controlled them. I shivered again, not with superstition, but with real fear of the consequences of what I was doing. I must find a way to warn the king, or at least slow the production down in some way to give me some time before Lotshe would destroy them all.

I was soon put to work helping the other men process the stones and bit by bit, I learned what to look for and what could be discarded. The atmosphere in the cave was oppressive, as everything was guarded and checked several times a day. The men here worked tirelessly, never seeing the sun. We started before dawn and didn't sleep until the sun had long set. Food was brought to us by other men who toiled over the fires and cooking pots outside in the clearing. I questioned why there were no women to do this work and I was told that women chatter too much and we could not risk any word of this operation escaping.

After several weeks of working here, I was tired of the incessant darkness and yearned to see the sun once again. I went to Langalibelele and asked; 'Nkosi, it has been many days now that I have toiled here in the darkness. I know these stones well now and can pick the good from the bad just as well as any man here. Will it soon be time for me to travel again to do the work you have chosen for me?'

Langalibelele was impressed with my desire to take up his responsibility, but he stressed the importance of their work to me. They could not risk the slightest chance of word getting back to the king or they would all perish, and probably their families too.

'My son,' he said, 'you have indeed made the right decision by coming here to work with us in this task. However, I must warn you once again of the terrible consequences that you will face if you ever let it what we do be known. The stakes are as high as they could be, as we fight for the existence of our people.'

'I understand your words and will heed the warning contained within them Nkosi.' I wondered if the passion with which Langalibelele spoke denoted a true belief in what we did. I had merely assumed they were trying to overthrow the king and seize control for themselves, but now I wondered if perhaps I had misjudged them. Was it possible that they really did believe the future of the Matabele nation was at stake? I had always liked Langalibelele and I had heard his father speak of Lotshe with respect and admiration, so I found it hard to believe they were bad people. These thoughts were troubling for me and I felt as if I was being torn between loyalty to the king, which was paramount to ensure stable governance of the nation, and also this new feeling that things were not always either right or wrong. There seemed to be shades in between of which I had no knowledge and for which I had no plan of attack, no way to deal with their subtle differences.

Now though, Langalibelele looked into my face, and so I tried my best to hide these mixed emotions as I held the older man's stare.

'Good!' the warrior nodded, 'I can see you are ready, so you will leave here tomorrow.' Langalibelele turned away to other matters, only a slight frown marking his features.

That night I lay awake near the cave's entrance, listening to the sounds of the night, which included the snoring of many men. They slept well here, as the work carried out during the day wore them out so that they dropped where they worked and slept the sleep of the dead.

As my mind swept over the rights and wrongs of what was going on, I heard a noise. Instinct told me to remain still until I could identify where it was coming from and what the cause was. I moved my eyes slowly to either side, without moving my head. At the corridor entrance, I saw shadows, moving stealthily, stopping every step before once again moving forward. I knew immediately these were white men because of the way they moved and because of the shape of their clothes in the darkness. I stayed still as they came forward. Across the clearing were several sacks of processed stones waiting to be stored and it was to these that the white men crept. I waited for a cry to go up from the guards, but there was none. I imagined them sleeping at their posts after drinking too much beer earlier that evening. They would suffer the consequences for their laziness and would not have to worry about sleep anymore.

I watched silently as the intruders hunched around the sacks and saw a dull glint as they delved into the nearest bag to inspect its contents. There was a muffled cry, speedily silenced as they realised what they had found. Then they each picked up a sack, slowly hefting it on to their backs before re-tracing their steps towards the corridor.

When they had gone, I stayed motionless for a few more moments, wondering why I hadn't raised an alarm at what I had seen. I realised that the sacks contained a large proportion of the processed stones and would constitute a serious setback for the operation which was, after all, what I had wanted. On the other hand, these were white men, for whom I kept a low flame of hatred burning. I suddenly decided that I was going to have to move and follow them, knowing that they would not be able to go too far with their heavy loads. If I could wait until they rested, I would have time to work out my next move, whether that be to let them go with their haul or hide the sacks and kill the men, a task I could not immediately think how to accomplish.

Silently, I got up from my sleeping mat and followed the footprints of the thieves. One thing I was sure of was that in the morning, the others would have no difficulty in following their quarry, as they were making no attempt to hide their tracks.

I exited the rocky passageway, carefully checking that I had not been seen either by friend or foe, although I would have been hard put to distinguish between the two at the moment. The moon was thin tonight, providing only a little pale light, which would work to my advantage. I started to move along the tracks that had been left, which even in this faint light were easy enough to spot. As I went, I knew I was catching up and eventually I could see the shadows of the thieves moving ahead and from this point on, it was easier to follow.

We travelled until the sun started to rise and the darkness was banished for another day. At the same time, I looked back and saw a small dust trail far behind. I guessed that the theft had been discovered and knew it would not be long now until the guards caught up, as they would not be worrying about remaining undetected. The men ahead stopped and I could hear the consternation in their voices as they realised they had been found out. There was a rocky hillock up ahead and the men headed for it, depositing their sacks in crevices under the rocks. Then they started to run at right angles to the rocks, I guessed to try and throw their pursuers off the trail of the treasure. Little did they know that there was no way that they would return. Their lives were now forfeit and there was nothing they could do to change that fate.

I started to run after them, looking back as I did so to gauge the position of the others. They had run for some time, mostly across broad, flat rocks poking up from the sandy floor, leaving no trace of their progress. They were catching up now, as the running white men were visible in the early morning light, backlit by the sun. I paced my run so that the others were near when I finally caught up to the men. They turned to fight, as one tripping and falling to the ground. I jumped on the nearest man and as we came together, I recognised the face of the man I had seen before at Kimberley and knew I would one day see again. "I see you" I said. "I am Mboku. I follow the words of Mlimo to who you owe your life. Remember this always." Then, just for a second, I released my grip to allow the man jump up and run on again. By this time though, the guards from the cave had caught us up and they pounced on the men still struggling to their feet. The other man still ran as his companions fought hard, inflicting some wounds on their attackers before being subdued. Within seconds, the running man saw that he would not get away and he simply stopped and dropped to his knees, surrendering without a fight.

They were all taken back to the cave and trussed tightly; waiting for the return of Lotshe to decide what should be done. A team of men stayed out where the capture had taken place and scoured the area in search of the sacks, but they had no luck. The sacks were some distance away and in a different direction, the rock across which they had scampered, hiding any signs they had been that way at all.

When Lotshe at last arrived, he immediately took over the interrogation of the men, demanding they tell him where they had hidden the sacks. The men though, arrogant and believing that they would eventually be released, refused to tell them anything, shouting angrily at them, wishing them to hell and in turn making demands for their release. All, that is, but the one man who had not fought, who sat quietly in fear for his life, but setting himself somewhat apart from his colleagues.

I watched him closely, wondering about this man with whom I felt such an affinity for no reason I could imagine and who had shown me respect. I had known when I saw his face at Kimberley that our fates would be entwined in some way and I now held a superstitious fear. This fear was not of the man, but of the situation that had set us once again together. At first I was sure that this man had not recognised me and wondered at the significance of this fact as he squatted nearby, just watching. But then he looked directly at me and I knew he remembered and his thoughts were like my own. He too wondered what connected us. He frowned and nodded his head towards the cave entrance silently asking a question. I then understood he had recognised me before and maybe had seen that I had followed alone. I had to decide if I should kill him quickly to stop him saying something or to trust this bond between us and help him.

Suddenly Lotshe entered the cave, smiled at the white men and spoke in their own tongue which I too had learned at the mines.

'My friends, I hope you are not too uncomfortable here. Please tell me if your ropes are too tight or if the ground is too hard.'

The white men merely looked at him, and I knew they were not fooled for a moment by this false display of concern for their well-being. One of them found some courage from somewhere and once again demanded that they be released immediately. Lotshe slowly turned his head towards him, the smile slipping from his face replaced by a look of pure anger. He said nothing for a moment and then relaxed again before asking, 'If you tell me where the diamonds are hidden, you will be free. If you don't then you will not.'

They turned their heads from him, saying nothing almost as if an agreement had been reached between them that they would not divulge their hiding place. I suspected they foolishly believed there was a chance they could get out of this and recover their riches.

Lotshe stood and with a flick of his fly swat, two warriors entered the cave and walked slowly toward the captives. It was at this point that these men were initiated into the realms of hell on earth, their screams echoing around the cave for hours.

When the torture started I looked on in repulsion, yet fascination at the suffering that could be inflicted on a man without causing his death. The two men worked skilfully and thoroughly and I wondered where they had learnt these skills and more importantly, from whom. As I looked, I saw that the man from Kimberley was left alone for much of the time. He had not fought back and so the wisdom was that he would tell what he knew just by seeing the suffering of the others. He must be weaker, they reasoned, so the fear of pain would be sufficient to loosen his lips. I was not so sure though. I sensed the man's mind bend and sway through the look in his eyes as he watched the horrors all around him and I knew somehow that his mind would not suffer too much before it snapped and they would lose him and all knowledge he held. I recognised the look in his eyes from when a lion had attacked my tethered goats in the village when I was a boy. One goat survived, but had bleated in abject terror while witnessing the carnage all around. After that, the animal had not produced a drop of milk ever again and would constantly butt and bite anyone who came close.

By the evening, there was only one man left alive; the others were unrecognisable as humans, looking for the entire world as butchered meat. The man nearest to the quiet man was the last to die, twitching his way to oblivion; the pain he had suffered must have become his entire existence in those last hours.

Later on that night, though I came to a decision. I knew that they would eventually find the diamonds, as they would simply scour further and further from the place they had been caught until they came across the rocks where the sacks lay. I had to make sure the diamonds were hidden again somewhere else, so that Lotshe's plans were set back long enough for him to get to the king. The only way I could think of to achieve this was to let the man go hoping that he had the strength of body and mind to make his way back and get away before anyone noticed.

As soon as it was dark then, I made sure everyone was sleeping before I made my way to where the man was tied. His head jerked up as he felt me knife at his wrist, but I quickly covered his mouth with hand. At that moment, our eyes met and we stared at each other in equal amounts of confusion and understanding at this shared fate I knew would come to pass. I quickly cut his bonds and lifted him to his feet. It was more difficult than I had imagined, as he had not completely escaped the torturer's art and he, too, was bloodied and battered. One more look between us was enough to set him on his way with my help until we had cleared the entrance to the passageway. I once again thanked the spirits for the laziness of the guards who, imagining no further intruders likely and knowing the white men were either dead or severely injured, once again slept soundly at their posts. Lotshe's mercy had saved them the last time, I thought, but this time they would surely perish and I quickly wiped them from his mind.

Once in the open, I left him to his own devices, making my way back inside where I started to cover my tracks. First, I piled up some blankets where the man had laid, then pulled one of the bodies over, throwing one further blanket over the top in the hope that anything but a close inspection would not discover that the man had gone.

I waited for the sun to start showing its face before raising the alarm and then led the chase, knowing which way he had gone and so able to slow down enough to allow him to escape. We followed him for some days and eventually could see him ahead as we approached the great southern river. As we came to him at the river's edge, he turned to look, but his eyes were wild and I could see his spirit had already left his body. He fell silently into the waters and we saw him no more. I felt then though that this man would return. The spirits came to me in the night and I understood that this was not finished. The sons of this man and their sons after them and their sons after them would return seeking that which I knew should be lost forever. For, over time I thought hard about the treasure and learned more about the ways of men and politics. I knew that I would need to mislead others as to the secret hiding place. After I had released the white man and then led the chase to the banks of the Limpopo, I truly understood that the greed of man, whatever colour his skin may be, would always cause disorder and destruction. I knew that the future of the Matabele people depended on these stones and that the spirits would ensure they came to the light of day once more when they were most needed: there was no need for men to know more than that. I called upon the spirits to erase the memories of the white man's family forever, never knowing if my call had been answered.

So when it came time to pass the tale onto my son, I changed the facts to protect the treasure and so the people. If my son or his son's son ever tried to find the secret place they would have no luck, finding only the empty earth and dust of the African bush.

#

# THE PRESENT

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THE SEARCH GOES ON

We sat there for some time, silently, just holding each other. The images that had been conjured up in Frederick's words span round our heads and the room, like evil sprites content to sow unhappiness and discord, where before there had been excitement and wonder. I felt hollow, as if the feelings I had been enjoying when reading about Frederick's historical journey had been ripped from me and replaced with a dark emptiness born of the horror he had witnessed over a century before. I looked around the room in which we sat with its mementoes of Africa. Before now, I had held a romantic view based on sunlit stories told over the years at Nellie's knee. Now it struck home that Africa could be a cruel place, where pain and death were a constant and the sunlight merely provided a sugar coating on a harsh reality. The fact that this was family made it more real for some reason. It wasn't an abstract news report of strangers dying unimaginably slowly in famines, whose television images remained just that, images, despite, or perhaps because of blanket coverage in the media.

These feelings were still strange and uninvited. I had never really been affected by words before; I was able to read the most horrific accounts of murder, brutality, and horror. Before too long, could shrug off any feelings of sadness or pain and carry on in my relatively pampered existence. We continued to sit there, taking comfort in each other's touch and I turned my head slowly to look at Tara. She turned to me at the same instant to gaze unblinkingly into my eyes. In that moment, I knew our two fates were entwined with this story: that we had to follow this search to whatever end was in store. It was only a minute or so, but it felt like an age before we drew away from each other and I reached for the book again, flicking through the pages absentmindedly, not looking for anything, merely using it as a device to cover the disquiet I felt at what had been an almost spiritual moment.

I turned the page at the end of the book where we had left off and realised that there was a little more to read. The last pages were scantily covered with ink, just a date and time and one or two sentences upon which I focused my attention now.

"I have put down all I can remember from that time. My dreams have become nightmares from that time until the present, but I feel that my time of dreaming is nearly done. All that is left to show from then is the painting on that coarse paper; a painting based on the sketch I cannot remember producing, but which my family has told me I held tight when I was found on the river bank so long ago.

To any who are keen to retrace my steps, who might find themselves in the thrall of that most vicious disease and who seek the power of what still may be buried, I believe you must look behind the acacia, for there you will find what you seek. But beware, for I also believe there are secrets that will never be told that emanate from the spirits of the Matabele; spirits that will protect the treasure as best they can from any who come to it.

There has been death and suffering aplenty before now, so heed my words and do not seek that which you cannot suffer.

Frederick James Braughton, Christmas 1921, Salisbury, Rhodesia."

Tara was the first to speak when I had finished reading these words out loud. 'It's like something from a movie or something; buried treasure, evil curses and mysterious clues.'

'Yeah, I know. I'm finding it hard to believe aren't you?' I asked her, part rhetorically and partly seeking confirmation that I was not mad to believe in all this.

'I think it is true. What he wrote about his companion's deaths before made it true for me. Why would he make it up?'

This last question was rhetorical, but I answered it anyway.

'For all we know, he may have been mad at this point. He may not have known what he was writing or at least what was true or what was nightmare. Don't forget that he would have been knocking on a bit by then, he could have just been rambling on and decided to write some of it down on a whim.' I was trying desperately not to believe it, but I knew that I actually wanted to trust every word he had written. Somehow, deep down inside, I knew that this was no fairytale. For one thing, Nellie had been the one to pass the book on to me and she must have known what was in it. Nellie was just too sensible to believe nonsense.

'So what do we do now then?' I asked, racking my brains for answers, looking at Tara again for the first time for some moments.

'Well,' Tara replied, 'we have to go to Africa and find out what we can from the family still there. We can quiz anyone here to see if they know anything, although I think we would have heard if there had been anything to know, don't you?'

I stood up and paced the room. 'You may be right, but it's worth asking anyway. There may be facts that just haven't fitted a story before, like the reason for Nellie's return and her mood when she did. Remember what the vicar said. There was definitely something strange about that. Maybe it was to do with all this.'

'Possibly, and we can interrogate your Mum, she seems to know a bit more than she has let on so far. Both she and Uncle Peter could know something.' There was an air of excitement in the room again as we formulated our plan of attack and we batted ideas back and forth for the next hour before deciding to first find out a bit more about the period when all this took part. We planned to hit the library as soon as we could and then reconvene with our findings.

The following week we met again, this time at Tara's little flat in London. She lived on the top floor of a converted Victorian semi on a back street in Teddington. The narrow streets didn't give much room to manoeuvre my rather large, but aging car. After bumping off one or two curbs trying to squeeze it into spaces patently too small for it, I parked in the next street over and walked back.

'God you live in an inconvenient place.' I moaned as I came in through the door. 'I had to park miles away and god knows if my baby will still be there when I get back. Bloody London, can't trust a soul up here, everyone knows it!'

Tara smiled patiently at the little rant that I greeted her with every time I visited. 'Good to see you too James, have you been busy?' she asked, ignoring my tirade completely, which is the best way to deal with it to be honest.

'As a matter of fact I have.' I smirked as I had some information to share. 'I have found out all sorts of things about the history of southern Africa, it's an amazing story when you get into it you know.'

'Yes I know, I have done a little research myself actually. I had a couple of good sessions at the library and I learnt all about the Matabele dash from the clutches of the Zulu king, Chaka, and how Mzilikasi invaded the land north of the Limpopo, killing anyone who stood in his way, until his people settled to the west of the country. Then Lobengula was given the throne in mysterious circumstances, when the rightful heir went missing.'

'Yeah, that's right, but take a breath occasionally would you. I said while frowning at the fact she had covered the same ground as me on this research stuff.

'Sorry, but it's exciting isn't it. I mean it really was like some movie epic, where people were on the move and wars were fought on an almost daily basis.' Her eyes were shining a little and I could see she had really embraced the history she had read.

'I think we should write down any information we have that we think is going to be relevant to our search, as we don't want to be doubling up our efforts and only producing the results from one person do we?' I said, not unreasonably, I thought.

Luckily, Tara agreed with me for once, and so we sat down at her kitchen table with large mugs of coffee and some chocolate digestives. First of all, we sketched out the history we had boned up on in simple terms and then puzzled over what may or not be relevant.

Tara started the discussion. 'So, it sounds as if Lobengula was a dodgy character by all accounts. I mean, he had got his throne through the back door hadn't he, and he must have had some enemies to contend with.'

'True enough, so he would have been on his guard all the time I would imagine. If you think about African leaders today, they all have their elite bodyguards don't they? I can't think of any reason why he wouldn't have had the same thing.' I dunked a digestive, much to Tara's disgust as the chocolate melted and dripped back into my cup. I ignored her screwed up face and continued, 'So would he have done anything special to ensure the safety of his position?'

Tara had stopped frowning with disgust and started frowning in concentration. 'You'll get wrinkles if you don't let your face relax a little.' I couldn't resist a little dig.

She ignored me yet again and said, 'But does Lobengula have anything to do with all this. I mean, for all we know, he wasn't even involved. There is nothing in Frederick's diary to say that the treasure was linked to the Matabele high-ups is there?'

'Well no, not specifically,' I replied, 'but I just have a feeling that if there was this much treasure involved, then it wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the king surely. Don't forget we are talking about sacks of diamonds here. Even then, they must have been worth a small fortune.' I scrabbled around in a pile of papers I had placed on the table beside her. 'Ah, here we are.' I ran my finger down a page until I reached what I was looking for. 'In 1870, South African diamond production totalled approximately 270,000 carats. Now if we assume that the sacks that Frederick and his companions took were only a part of the total haul the Matabele held and they carried away four full sacks of diamonds, then they were probably holding something like ten percent of the total production for a year. Even back then they were dealing in millions of pounds worth, men were becoming multi-millionaires, paying for whole armies and colonising new countries on the back of their wealth. It couldn't have escaped the notice of Lobengula that there was so much treasure hidden away by his people.' I finished this little report with a satisfied grin as I realised the thoroughness of my research and the logical way in which I had reasoned out my argument. I think Tara agreed because she went quiet for a little while before speaking again.

'But how did they get hold of so many diamonds? There was nothing I read to suggest that the Matabele were mining anywhere, their entire wealth was tied up in cattle and women.' She said the later with a little frown at me as if I had had something to do with the sexist attitudes of these tribesmen from a century ago. I, in turn, ignored her.

'That's the question isn't it? They must have stolen them too. I mean, there is no other way if they weren't digging them up themselves.' I pondered on this while dunking another biscuit, which, due to my inattention, broke off and sank to the bottom of my cup.

'You grub!' said Tara. 'But I reckon the mines would have been guarded night and day. How would they have got in there and stolen so much in one go?'

'That's it though, isn't it?' I jumped up spilling what was left of my digestive-ridden coffee, 'they must have been stealing these stones over a long period. They couldn't possibly have got away with them all in one go. You're right, the mines and pits would have been guarded all the time and the workers must have been searched too. I don't quite know how they did it, but it must have taken a heck of a lot of courage and nerve to pinch the wealth from under the noses of the mine owners.'

Tara now jumped in, adding her own thoughts. 'There must have been hundreds of them doing it. They could only steal tiny amounts at a time, so there must have been whole teams of them in every mine. I mean, can you imagine the logistics of organising something like that? There would have to be team leaders, coordinators, couriers, and messengers, people to recruit the workers in the first place. My god, it would have involved so much organisation and management.' Tara's professional curiosity had been aroused now. She was a project manager of something or another at a big multi-national and loved her job. She stared off into space, imagining the structures and costs of putting something like this together.

'Do you know what the biggest achievement was though?' I asked her, breaking into her cost/benefit analysis, or whatever it was her mind was calculating.

'What?' she asked

'There is no mention of any of this in any book that I read. I assume none that you read either. They must have kept the whole thing totally secret. All those people, all that organisation, and Cecil Rhodes and all those other colonialists never suspected a thing, or if they did, they kept it to themselves.'

'My god, you're right.' Tara had obviously not picked up on this point herself, so I mentally chalked another one up to me. 'They may have known about it of course, but it would have been very embarrassing for them, all that money being pinched from under their fat noses. However, you are right; even then you would have thought that something would have been written down somewhere.'

'Ok, so where do we go from here then?' I asked. 'What else can we fathom out from what we have found out so far?'

'What about why?' She said.

'How do you mean?'

'Well, if the Matabele measured their wealth in terms of cattle and people, then why would they want diamonds? Don't forget this all happened before Rhodes made his way north and claimed the country for himself. So why would they risk so much and take so much effort in doing something like this?'

Again, a possible answer came to me but in more measured terms this time. 'If Lobengula couldn't use the diamonds amongst his own people, then they were obviously for use with another people, don't you think?' Without waiting for an answer, I carried on. 'If we assume that the other native tribes had similar cultures with regards to wealth, and that if the Matabele would simply go to war with them if they wanted anything, then the treasure must have been for trade with the white man.'

'Guns!' Tara said the one word as both a question and answer together.

'Yes, guns. I mean, what else would the white man have that the Matabele would want? Now it may be that Lobengula wanted guns to subdue his own people, which would make sense if he thought his rule was under threat for any reason, or he may have sensed that it wouldn't be long until the colonialists made their way to his land and so wanted some way to protect himself. He would have known about the battles the Zulu's had fought against the whites, spear against gun, and he would have known the results of those battles, so he would have assumed that he would need to build an armoury of equal strength.'

'Surely the white men would never have sold him arms just like that, and he would have known it wouldn't he?' Tara's point was a good one, but then I remembered something I had read about other colonies in the area.

'But there were the Portuguese in Mozambique not too far away. I am sure they were already trading with the peoples of what is now Zimbabwe and had been for some time. There was no love lost between the English and the Portuguese, so they may have been glad to arm the Matabele for a share of Barnato's and Rhodes' millions.' The theory seemed to fit the facts as well as we knew them. I figured that it was not totally necessary that we knew the exact motives of Lobengula, so long as we had the facts at hand then we could go on from here.

Of course, we were making a lot of assumptions here, a fact that escaped our attention until we excitedly related all we knew to Mum the next day. We had chosen to go back on our previous decision to keep everything a secret because we needed to pick some brains and we knew that Mum, of all people, would immediately smell a rat and prise it out of us anyway.

'You must be daft, the both of you.' She said, instantly popping our balloon of expectation. 'How do you know that Frederick was telling the truth? He could have made the whole thing up or more likely imagined everything. By the sounds of it, he was already a little mad so he could have just dreamt it all.'

'Yes, but the descriptions of everything are so vivid.' Tara argued our case, as she was always better at getting her own way with Mum than I was. We hadn't decided this strategy, but once under way, it was the obvious way to go.

'Anyone could have come up with that stuff. Like with all good stories, there is an element of truth in them, because he most probably did go on an expedition and he may even have met Lobengula, but the treasure thing is just too fantastic for words.'

'But it does fit the facts, doesn't it?' Tara tried again.

'I'm not so sure dear. Something like this would have been reported somewhere along the line. I mean, if they had as many diamonds as you say they had, then surely they would have been missed from the mines. Old Rhodes was pretty astute you know; he would have had exact records of what was dug up and what he ended up with. A discrepancy this large would have been detected long before a haul of this size could have been amassed.'

'But that's just the point, isn't it?' Strategy went out the window now as I chimed in. 'They would have had to steal these diamonds over many years, just a tiny amount at a time; otherwise you're right that they would have been missed. However, the quantities we are talking about spread between all the mines over several years would have been miniscule, easy to misread on a report of rock tonnage or whatever it was they used.'

'Well, I don't know.' She was bending a little, I could feel it, but we needed to really convince her before she would buy in to our theory.

'Ok then, you should read the book yourself. See what you think, and if you are still sceptical, then we shall just have to accept it.' As the descriptions of Frederick's companions' deaths had eventually convinced us of his story's authenticity, so I hoped it would with Mum.

'We will leave it with you and go for a walk and then see what you think by the time we come back.' I didn't want to leave the book overnight for some reason I couldn't explain, even with my own mother.

She agreed to the plan and Tara and I left her house and walked down to the village for a coffee at the little bakery in the High Street.

'So, do you think she'll buy it?' I asked as we strolled through the field next to the house.

'I don't know,' Tara replied, 'she was fairly adamant that it was all a bit of a fairy tale. I hope she doesn't get too upset by it. You remember how it affected us and we had each other to cling to.'

'Yes, but Mum's fairly tough, and we will be back before too long anyway if she needs to be comforted.' Tara had hooked her arm naturally through mine as we walked and she obviously decided this was a good time to sort out my personal life.

'So, James. What's going on with Eden?'

'Oh, we're okay really. Just getting on with our lives you know.'

I knew this answer wasn't going to suffice, but as I didn't really know where we were at it was going to be difficult telling anyone else.

'Come on Cuz, you need to talk about it you know, either to me or preferably, to her. She deserves better than to be strung along like this.'

I knew she was right of course and I stopped in the middle of the pathway and turned to face her.

'It's like there's something in my brain that just keeps saying 'not yet' all the time.' I know in my heart that I love her, but it's almost as if that's not enough just yet. I am scared at the thought of giving everything and then finding that actually she just wants us to continue as we are. I mean, it would really kill me if she doesn't feel the same way and then just decided to walk away from it or take up with someone better than me.'

Tara looked at me incredulously.

'I knew it. You're still hung up on 'whatever-her-name-was from years ago aren't you? Come on James, have you even asked her how she feels? Have you even the slightest idea about what's going through her mind at the moment? How do you know she would walk away?'

This barrage silenced me for the moment. I couldn't answer any of those questions with anything approaching the answers they deserved, and which I knew Tara was expecting, so saying nothing seemed to be the best bet for the moment. She was on the right track though with the old girlfriend angle. I had been hurt badly and something deep inside was blocking any attempt I made at moving on with Eden.

'For God's sake James, you seriously need to talk to her and soon too. Don't keep putting things off like this or she will walk away, but out of sheer frustration I should think.'

My head sank as I knew that every word she said was true and that the long awaited talk needed to happen. Tara's tone softened a little.

'You're clutching onto something that you think will protect you, something you think is important without even really knowing what it is you're holding on to. This idea that it's just not right yet is daft if you don't know how she feels, but the only way to erase your demons is to talk to her.'

I couldn't reply as I knew she was right and any rebuttal from me would seem like yet another excuse, so I nodded and turned once more to the path.

As we walked on in silence though, the unfolding Braughton mystery once more filled my head. As I looked at the trees and the countryside around us, I wondered how different the bush of Africa would be to this. England was such a gentle land for the most part; 'polite' landscapes Eden called them, hills and vales swelling easily into one another, great oaks dotting the landscape with their spreading branches reaching out and almost touching the ground underneath. The colours were lavish with every shade of green imaginable; from the leaves on tree and bush to the grass and mosses on the ground, everything looked fertile and lush. The colours I associated with Africa were hues of yellow and gold, oranges, and ambers, somehow warmer than the cool greens of England, but at the same time less gentle, and harsher, promising much for those who fought and worked to survive, but little for those who didn't.

As we walked through the churchyard and down the pretty little lane leading from it, I remembered there was a shop in the village specialising in African goods and so I suggested we go and take a look. The shop used the same colour scheme as I had just been thinking about and seemed warm and inviting. The goods inside were beautiful and exuded charm and character. Rough hewn sculptures, much like the ones at Nellie's house, but with price tags to make your eyes water, watercolours stylishly depicting scenery and animals of the veldt, more professionally presented than the one I had now hung on my wall at home, but somehow with less spirit to them. We poked around for a short while until the shop assistant started to ask if we were looking for anything in particular, at which point, we decided to leave and carried on down the High Street to the bakery.

After a pleasant half hour munching on sweet pastries and sipping scalding hot coffee, no mention was made of our previous conversation about Eden. Tara forbade me to dunk my pain-au-chocolat in my coffee or she would get up and leave, we headed back the mile or so to Mum's house.

When we arrived through the back door, I called out that we were home and got a response of total silence. We traipsed through the house to the front porch and found Mum sitting there looking out over her garden, her eyes looking slightly swollen and red. Tara sat down next to her and held her hand.

'So, what do you think?' she gently asked.

'I can't believe what I read,' she said, 'I think Frederick definitely believed it and maybe that is what you should try and discover. It makes no difference if there is or ever was a treasure, but for the family, it would be good to know the truth behind all this.' She hesitated as if she was going to say something more, but then thought better of it.

'What mum?' I pressed gently for her to tell us what was on her mind.

'Well, there may be some secrets that this family has held on to that perhaps it shouldn't have. It may be time to bring them out into the open and perhaps Nellie, by passing this book onto you, has decided you should be the ones to do it. However, you should be careful. Whatever is out there, be it treasure or just secrets, people may want to keep the truth hidden, and may be willing to go to some lengths to keep it that way.'

This sounded so ominous that Tara and I were silent for a moment, both staring at Mum and each other in bewilderment. Mum had never spoken like this before; it was just so un-Braughton-like.

'Mum, you're scaring us.' I laughed a nervous laugh to try and lighten the mood a bit. 'What do you mean about people trying to keep things hidden? You have to tell us more than that, or we won't sleep for days.'

'I'm sorry, both of you, but I will have to think about this for a while before I decide what you should know. There are some things that I am not sure about and I don't want to lead you down the wrong path, because that may be dangerous for you in the long run.'

We could tell she was deadly serious, and once again we looked at each other, giving a mental shrug of confusion. There was steeliness to Mum that I had never seen before, she was like a different person, and one that I wasn't sure I was that enamoured with.

We stood and made ready to leave, knowing that any pleasant chat about the weather and Mum's garden was out of the question now, and both of us wanting to go somewhere to discuss this unexpected turn of events.

'OK Mum, we'll be off then. Will you call when you've made a decision as to what you can tell us?'

'Yes dear,' she seemed distracted again, 'I just need to talk to a couple of people that's all. Nothing to worry about.'

Her attempt to allay our fears fooled no one and we shuffled out not knowing whether we should be looking over our shoulders or just dismissing Mum's words with a shrug until everything became clearer.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN – OLD LOVERS

Next, we decided that we needed to talk to Nellie's old vicar again. He may know more than he had previously told, or we may have missed something the last time. We headed for Bishop's Down once more and after inquiring at the vicarage found the old guy's cottage on the outskirts of the village.

Apple Tree Cottage was as cute and pretty as its name, small with whitewashed walls and a brick path winding its way through a garden stuffed with roses, forget-me-knots, violas, petunias, and every kind of colourful flower that makes up a classic English cottage garden. The roof was thatched and the picket fence freshly painted white. It was, in short, the perfect cottage for a retired vicar and was a reminder of a quieter and gentler age.

We knocked at the front door, but there was no answer, so we made our way around to the side of the house. As we turned the corner into the back garden that was similar to the front, with the exception of an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn, John appeared from the herbaceous border, with clippers in one hand and an old-fashioned gardener's basket in the other. He wore one of those long green aprons that some gardeners like and he looked every bit the gentleman villager, enjoying his flowers in the autumn of his life.

'Hallo folks,' he called out, 'how nice to see you both again. I was just about to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea? I think I have some wonderful homemade ginger cake too if you'd like!'

'Thank you John, we'd love to join you.' I answered for us both.

'So, what brings you to pay a visit on an old fellow then?' he enquired as we trooped in through the back door into a perfect cottage kitchen, complete with butchers block and butler's sink.

'We were wondering if we could ask you some more about Nellie.' said Tara, leaning over to give him a hand with filling the kettle.

'Oh, thank you my dear, I'll get the cups and saucers while you do that. The cake is in the larder, I won't be a second.' With that, he disappeared through a small door at the far end of the room, only to reappear a minute later having discarded his apron and carrying a plate with the largest and most delicious looking cake I had seen in a long while.

'What would you like to know about her?' he asked. I could probably tell you lots, but I would have thought you'd know most of it already, being as close to her as you were.'

'Yes, well you're half right about that John,' I sat down at the scrubbed pine table as I spoke, looking forward to a large slice of the cake, 'but it's more about Nellie before we were born that we were interested in.'

With that, he sensed that we wanted to know more about Nellie's upset when she first arrived, and a frown creased his forehead for a moment. 'How large a slice would you both like?' he avoided my comments as he wielded a silver cake slice over the plate. There is plenty here and I won't eat it all, so don't be shy. Mrs. Carver makes it for me and drops one in nearly every week. Such a kind woman and such an excellent cook too.'

I smiled at him and asked for a large piece. Tara kicked me under the table and asked for just a small slice for herself. John eventually cut two large pieces anyway, and sat down with us, concentrating on pouring the tea for a moment before saying anything else.

'I don't know if I can tell you anything further,' He said, 'there wasn't anything else to add to what I told you at the funeral. You have to understand that it was a long time ago and I can't remember most of it anyway.'

I decided to carry on, somehow sensing that this was just a delaying tactic to allow him time to think up some other way to put us off. 'I totally understand, it was a long time ago and I wouldn't expect you to be able to remember every little detail from way back then. However, I just feel that there may be something that we perhaps misunderstood or misheard and I wondered if you would be so kind as to just run through it again so we can be sure.' Tara nodded her agreement with this and as he looked first at Tara and then at me. He relented and started to tell the story once more.

When he finished, I realised that we had not learnt anything more than we already knew. Nellie had been upset when she arrived in the village, but had quickly gotten over it and not mentioned it again. We questioned him some more, but he could add nothing.

We thanked John for his time and the truly delicious ginger cake before starting to make our way out. Just as we reached the little gate to the lane, Tara told him how much she admired the old apple trees around his garden. She said it must be lovely to doze off in their shade on a warm summer's day. We walked off into the lane when he called after us.

'There is something else that you may be interested to know,' he said, 'I've only just remembered it actually, after your comment about sleeping under trees, the old mind is playing up a bit these days.'

'That's okay,' I replied, 'I forget things all the time even at my age. 'What is it that you remembered?'

'Well, it may be nothing, but there was one day when I visited her at her home. We had had a lovely lunch and as it was a warm summer's day, decided to sit out in the garden. We both fell asleep for a while, as one does with a full tummy in the warm sunshine,' he smiled at the memory, 'but I woke up to the sound of Nellie's voice. She was talking in her sleep and what she said was a little disturbing.' He hesitated again as if he was remembering exactly what it was he had heard. 'She said something about dead men in the trees, or was it under the tree?' he paused again and then said, 'No, it was there are dead men behind the tree, that was it, behind the tree. Very odd don't you think?'

We looked at each other in astonishment and chorused that yes, it was a little odd. 'Probably just a bad dream though.' Tara sought to reassure him.

'Yes you're right. Just a dream, but odd just the same.' He pondered this for a few seconds and then his face brightened. 'Well, I hope I've been of some assistance to you. Please feel free to drop by again some time. It's nice to have some company.'

We assured him that we would certainly be back for some more of Mrs. Carver's cake, and bade him goodbye.

As soon as we were out of earshot, we both started gabbling at once. 'Behind the tree! Did you hear him say it? Behind the tree! That's exactly where Frederick said the treasure would be. What do you think Nellie was talking about with dead men behind the tree though? Tara quickly asked the question we both wanted the answer to.

'Don't know. It may have just been a bad dream after she had read the book of course. It's easy to see how she would have dreamt about dead men behind trees after that, isn't it?' I tried to be the voice of reason and not jump to any conclusions for which we had absolutely no basis in fact, as they say in detective novels.

'Frederick doesn't mention anyone dying behind, in front, or anywhere near the tree does he? So why would she transpose the dead men from the cave to there? Tara asked the same questions that were whizzing through my mind and again, to which neither of us had any answers.

All of a sudden, I remembered that I had never asked Tara about her conversation with old Dotty Hanshaw at the funeral.

'So what did Dotty tell you?' I asked suddenly.

Tara was blank for a second and then seemed to remember what I was talking about. 'God yes, I'd forgotten all about that. Let me think a minute.'

'You're as bad as old John back there; it wasn't that long ago you know.' I gave her a nudge that she duly ignored.

'Do you want to know what she said or don't you?' she said mock sternly.

'Sorry, just joshing with you. Go ahead, tell me what she said.' I replied, mock contrite.

'Okay, I can't believe I'd forgotten this actually, I was so excited by it at the time, but events have somewhat overtaken us since.' We reached an old wooden bench by the side of the lane overhung with a large beech hedge, so we sat down for a moment while Tara gathered her thoughts. 'She told me the same story as John for the most part, about Nellie being upset and down when she first arrived, but after awhile, perking up and never looking back again. However, she said that Nellie had been having nightmares. Dotty lived across the road even then and used to pop over a lot to chat. Nellie had seemed quite tired for some time and told Dotty of her bad dreams, which had been waking her up and not allowing her to get back to sleep again. When Dotty asked her about these dreams, she said that Nellie had been reluctant to tell her about them. All she would say is that they were about some bad memories she had of Africa and about a particularly dreadful event that had occurred before she left for England.'

Tara paused for a while and I said, 'So, I wonder if these dreams were about the same thing that John told us?'

'I would imagine so, wouldn't you?' Tara replied. 'It would have been at around the same time and must have all been to do with whatever Nellie's problems had been in Africa. But there's more.' She paused; I was sure for dramatic effect. 'There was a boyfriend.'

'What's your point?' I could see why Dotty and Tara had been so animated at the funeral. There is nothing more likely to get two women excited than the prospect of a bit of gossip about boyfriends and so on, no matter what age they are; they seem to thrive on that stuff.

'The point is, you new age man you, that Nellie was very much in love with him, from what Dotty says, but they never really got together and he eventually left the scene.'

I may have been a little slow on the uptake, but could still not see the relevance of all this. 'Sorry, but you really are going to have to get to the point of this. I have to go back to work next week and I may be late at this rate.'

She glared at me as if I were pond-scum, which is the usual reaction of women who are talking to men about romance, especially when the man doesn't get it! 'Were you born this stupid or do you practice at it?' she asked sweetly.

'Very funny, now would you please just get to the point.'

'The point is Romeo, why would this guy who loved her and she him, just disappear like that. Why have we never heard of him? Why has no one ever heard of him and again, why wouldn't he have stuck around?'

I was still none the wiser, but for the sake of coming up with anything at this point, I said, 'Well perhaps he did what guys do and just got cold feet, did a runner and met someone else.' I was truly bemused by this conversation.

'No, Dummy, Dotty said that they were madly in love with each other, but she thinks that Nellie drove him away. Now why would she do that?'

'I give up. Why would she do that?' I had become a little disinterested in this exchange it must be said, but tried to humour Tara for the time being.

'Because she was afraid that whatever happened in Africa would somehow come between them, that's why. She was scared of something either catching up with her or maybe happening again. That's the only thing we could think of that would make Nellie get rid of a man she loved as much as she did. The only way she could have really scared him off is if she told him what happened in Africa. Don't you see? He may know more than anyone else about what happened out there, so if we can find him, then we may get the lead we have been looking for.' She finished with a flourish as if she had solved the whole thing single handed and we could now retire and spend the treasure until the day we died.

'Yes, well this is all very interesting, Mrs. Holmes,' my turn to hand out the nicknames now, 'but you're forgetting one tiny detail. How do we find him? I mean, do we even have a name to go on?'

I think I got her with this one as she quietened down considerably before muttering that Dotty had said his name was Gordon someone or other.

'Brilliant!' I exclaimed. All we need to do then is ring up directory enquiries and ask for Gordon someone or other who lived in Bishop's Down some several decades ago and we've pretty much cracked it!'

I thought she had got my point until she said, 'Of course! A list of names of people living in Bishop's Down at the same time. The parish register will have a list of anyone born here from 1066 probably.' With a laugh of self-congratulation, she was up off the bench and heading towards the church.

'Bloody women!' I muttered as I trailed after her. 'Think they know bloody everything.'

As we got to the church, the current vicar was just locking the door and leaving. We called out as we headed up the path and he turned to us.

'Hi there,' Tara smiled her broadest smile, 'we were wondering if we could take a peek at the parish register. Is it kept in here?'

'I'm afraid not. It used to be, but as you can see even the Lord's House is subject to burglary these days, so I keep it at the vicarage under lock and key.'

'I don't suppose there's any way we could have a quick look at it now is there?' Tara pressed him.

'Well, it is unusual, but as it happens, I haven't got much going on right now, so I suppose it won't be a problem. Can I ask what you hope to find?'

Tara had obviously decided that truth was the best way to go so she said, 'Our great aunt died a little while ago and we are trying to track down an old friend of hers who lived here in the village back before the war.

'Ah, I see. Yes, of course you must take a look then. Follow me; the vicarage is just over there.' He pointed down another path towards a grand Victorian redbrick building, just outside the old flint wall of the graveyard and so off we all trooped. 'What is this friend's name?' he asked as we walked.

'Well, that is where we may have a problem,' I spoke for the first time, anxious to not appear as a mute appendage to Tara, 'the only name we have is his first name, Gordon, and a very approximate age, and even that we're not sure of.

'Yes, well that may well be a problem,' the vicar replied as he looked at us closely, pursing his lips in thought, 'mind you, the village was only small back then. Probably only a few hundred people here, so you may be lucky to find only one or two candidates.'

We reached the vicarage and he bade us come inside. We followed him to his study, where an old, solid looking safe stood in the corner. He fiddled with the tumblers for a second and the door popped open. Then, he reached inside and drew out a large, leather-bound book and carried it over to the old partners' desk that dominated the central part of the room. Folding back the cover, he flicked through several pages before coming to the place he was looking for. 'Right,' he said, 'his name was Gordon, you say, and he lived here before the war. Any better idea than that as to his approximate birth date?'

We looked at each other and then Tara spoke. 'He must be around eighty now if that helps.'

'Yes, yes, that will help enormously. Let me see now.' He ran his finger down page after page and jotted several names down on a piece of paper before closing the book again and putting it back in the safe. 'Okay' he said, 'here are all the Gordon's, born within ten years of your estimate. Now we shall have to consult one more oracle of all knowledge of Bishop's Down and see if we can discount any of them.' He went to the door and shouted, 'Beryl, could you pop into my study a minute please.' A woman of about sixty-five came in, but said nothing. 'I would like to introduce Beryl who has looked after the vicars of Bishop's Down since she was a slip of a girl. She is indispensable around here, worth her weight in gold. More importantly for you two, she knows everything there is to know about the goings on in the village, past and present.'

He showed Beryl the list he had written and asked her what she knew about the names written there. She scanned the list and eventually said, 'They're all dead except that one and that one.' She said while stabbing a finger at two names. 'Mind you, the second one could be dead too for all I know. He left the village a long time ago and I can't say that he ever came back.'

'That must be him then,' said Tara, 'did he leave around the thirties do you know?'

'Could have been I suppose, can't say I ever knew him, just heard mother talk about him is all.'

'That must be him mustn't it?' Tara turned to me with a smile. 'What's his surname?' she asked the vicar.

'Fonteneau,' he said, 'that should help, there can't be too many of those around, can there?'

'You wouldn't have thought so would you,' Tara smirked at me. 'Come on then Jamie, let's go and find Gordon Fonteneau, shall we?' She turned to Beryl and gave her a big hug, which surprised the old lady somewhat, before shaking the vicar's hand and heading out the door, with me trailing behind.

'So, all we do is look in directory enquiries and we should be able to find the old fella. Looks like you were right all along.' Tara was horrible when she felt smug and right now she was definitely very impressed with her detective skills.

'Yes, yes, very clever, but how do we know where in the country he is, even if he is in the country. After all, a lover scorned, etc. He may well have gone off to the colonies himself and died a lonely death years ago from some rare tropical disease on his rubber plantation in Outer Mongolia.' I was getting a tiny bit fed up with her at the moment, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

'Firstly, to the best of my knowledge, there are no rubber plantations in Outer Mongolia, it being a tad cold and all, and secondly we won't know until we look will we? So stop moping and let's go look!'

We headed again for Acacia, it having the nearest phone we could think of and got through to directory enquiries. Incredibly, they had a listing for a Mr. Gordon Fonteneau in a village some twenty miles away. With a bit of subtle pressure, Tara managed to get an address too. We jumped into her little red roller skate and headed out of Bishop's Down towards Manorford where Nellie's old love now lived.

It didn't take long to find the address we had been given, as the village was tiny. There only being one pub, it had no reason to grow I assume, and the lady in the village shop seemed to know all there was to know. 'Old Mr. Fonteneau. Yes, he's lived here as long as I can remember. Never married though, but a nice old bloke, gets involved locally when he can. He donates some of his paintings to local causes too, quite good he is, mostly watercolours, and they sometimes fetch a pretty penny.' She waxed lyrical about him for a few more minutes before pointing us in the right direction.

'How about that then?' Tara said as soon as we left the shop, 'he paints watercolours. I wonder if he painted that picture of Nellie in Mr. Tempole's office.' She pondered.

'Well he may have, but I didn't think Nellie had met him in Africa, I assumed he was a local chap.' I frowned, trying to think back over the conversations we had had about this mysterious love.

'And what about the fact that he never married? I mean, that's really sad isn't it. The poor guy was so distressed about Nellie's rejection that he spent the rest of his life alone. I wonder if Nellie knew he lived just a few miles away.' Tara contemplated a life lived alone for the love of another, as women do.

'That's just conjecture though, isn't it? He may have just never found anyone else or he may have found he enjoyed living alone. God knows I've thought about it once or twice.' I mumbled the last bit just out of Tara's hearing.

We found Gordon's cottage, almost a replica of John's in Bishop's Down funnily enough, except there were not so many apple trees here and the garden was a little more contemporary with some large ferns and sub-tropical plants adorning the front garden. We knocked on the door and heard the sounds of someone approaching slowly, shuffling towards the door. Gordon was a tall, elegant looking man despite his years, with a shock of snow-white hair on his head and a tanned, healthy complexion. He wore an old shirt and jeans, both spattered with paint of every colour. He frowned at us as we stood there not really sure what to say, and he was obviously trying to place us, but soon gave up.

'Yes,' he said slowly, can I help you?'

I actually recovered first and held out my hand. 'Mr. Fonteneau?' I asked, 'Mr Gordon Fonteneau?'

The frown didn't leave his face and he took one small step back as if he suspected we were about to launch a frontal assault on his home. 'That's me. And who might you be?'

'Um, my name is James Braughton and this is my cousin Tara.' At the mention of my surname, he flinched slightly, only just noticeable under his otherwise calm exterior. 'We are the great nephew and niece of Nellie Braughton, who I believe you once knew, some time ago.' His face now betrayed emotions of equal part curiosity and fear about what we were here to tell him. But I ploughed on. 'We wondered if we might have a chat with you about Nellie. We're researching her early life in England and thought you may be able to help.'

He stood stock still for a moment or two, looking first at me and then more closely at Tara, saying nothing, neither inviting us in or pushing us away. Then he seemed to reach a decision and shook his head slightly as if clearing his thoughts.

'You look so much like her, my dear.' He said, looking at Tara while at last taking my proffered hand. 'It's like stepping back in time, just you being here. You had better come in.'

He led us down the narrow hallway into the sitting room and offered us a seat. I looked around the room and there were paintings adorning every spare bit of wall space. The pictures were mostly landscapes, with either figures in the distance or none at all. The locations seemed to cover most of the globe and I reasoned that he must have travelled extensively in his lifetime. When I questioned him on this though, he said no. 'I have travelled a little bit I suppose, but not as much as my paintings might suggest. I have a knack for conjuring up scenes that I have never actually witnessed myself, from firsthand accounts, or photographs, or some from descriptions in writing. It is a talent that has saved me thousands in airfares over the years I imagine.' He smiled at me as he eased himself into a winged armchair by the window.

As I looked further, I recognised the style too and asked, 'Mr. Fonteneau, did you by any chance paint an African landscape with Nellie as the central character?'

'Yes, I did as a matter of fact.' He gazed into space as his mind took him back. 'I got the inspiration for that one from some paintings Nellie had brought back from Africa as I recall.'

That explained Mr. Tempole's painting then. Gordon had painted it, but in Frederick's style, which is what confused us all at the solicitor's office.

Tara then spoke up and gently said, 'Mr. Fonteneau, I'm afraid that we have some bad news for you. Nellie passed away a little while ago. She was in no pain and we think she was happy to go when she did. She was loved by so many people.' Tara hesitated, unsure how, or if, to go on any further. Gordon let out a deep sigh and leant back into his chair, his hand rubbing his temple. There was silence in the room apart from the slow, rhythmic tick-tock of the clock up on the mantelpiece and the faint twitter of birds in the garden.

'Would you like us to leave you in peace for a while?' she asked, looking over at me in concern at how he would take the news. 'Is there anyone we can call for you, to keep you company?'

He looked up and slowly shook his head. 'No. Thank you my dear, you are very kind and I thank you for looking me up and bringing me this news.' He leant forward again, clasping his hands together, his face clearing a little. 'It has been so many years since I last saw her, either one of us could have passed on and it would not have made a difference to us.

How did you find out about me though? It has been so long and there has been no contact since between us or anyone she might have known?' I explained the path we had taken to get here and he laughed with delight at the lengths we had gone to.

'Well, whatever it is you want to know must be important then. How can I help you?'

We glanced at each other for reassurance and Tara started. 'We believe that Nellie was not very happy when she first got to England. The local vicar has given us some clues, as have one or two others, but no one seems to know what had really upset her. Are you able to shed any light on it?'

'No, I'm rather afraid I can't.' he pursed his lips, thinking back, 'but I do know what you mean. I remember she was always so positive, always ready with a smile or a laugh, whatever the situation. However, she went through some terribly black moods back then, just occasionally you understand, and I think only those very close to her ever got an inkling that there was anything wrong.' This was a bit of news for us, as we had understood that once she had got over her sadness, there were no more problems. To learn there had been recurrences of whatever it was threw new light on things.

'How long did this go on for then?' I asked.

'Oh, for some months, actually. It got better after a while, but even two years after she had returned she would slump again very occasionally.'

'But you never knew what it was that was troubling her?' Tara asked again, 'she never spoke of anything or gave you any clues at all?'

He narrowed his eyes and his lips pursed again before he answered. 'I have gone over and over things in my own mind and I have ideas of what happened, but she never told me anything specific. However, I did some digging of my own back then. She had been married in Africa you know, and had borne three sons, all of whom perished at a very young age. Her husband, too, I think died in some tragic accident before she came to England. I imagine that is why she left her home in the first place, as it must have been awful for her living there amongst the ghosts of her entire family.'

Tara and I sat there open mouthed at this news, as we had never known any of this and couldn't remember anyone in the family saying anything before.

Gordon carried on though. 'I believe she blamed herself for the deaths of all of them. For some reason, she believed that something she had done caused them all to die. I did manage to find a news report of her husband's death, but it was very sketchy. It appears there was an accident involving a gun. He was cleaning it and hadn't realised it was loaded. When it went off, it killed him instantly. There was some speculation as to why an apparently sensible and capable man had made such a basic mistake, but it came to nothing. An inquest found that he had died as a result of a tragic accident and the matter was closed.'

'I can't believe we knew nothing about all this.' Tara was incredulous as was I, and I felt shock at this unexpected and disturbing news.

'Where was Nellie at the time, did it say?' I asked.

His voice lowered as he answered, obviously not keen to release this piece of the story; 'It said Nellie was in the room when it happened.'

'Poor Nellie,' Tara said, 'it must have been horrible for her.'

'How did she manage to hide all this for so long?' I asked no one in particular. 'I mean, there must be someone in the family who knows something of this. If you managed to find it out then someone else could have.' As I spoke, I realised that there was someone who possibly did know something. Mum. That's why she had needed to talk to someone before revealing what she knew. So who else knew, or did everyone know apart from us?

Tara was talking again as these thoughts trampled through my head. 'Can I ask a very personal question, Mr. Fonteneau?'

'You want to know if any of this had anything to do with Nellie and I parting ways don't you?'

Tara blushed, something she doesn't do very often. 'I'm sorry. It was very rude of me. I really shouldn't have asked?' She back-pedalled as fast as she could, but Gordon merely smiled at her.

'No, my dear, it's really okay. Yes is the answer to your question. Nellie was terrified that I would also meet a tragic end if we stayed together. She didn't ever say as much, but when she asked me to leave, she was very upset and said that she didn't want history to repeat itself. She said that sometimes you just have to believe that there is something else out there and that if you tampered with it, you stood the chance of great happiness or great sadness. She believed that she had upset the balance of things in some way and that whatever was out there was taking its revenge.' He stared off into the distance. 'But one wonders if giving up something dear to oneself is ever going to be the answer.'

We both looked at each other again as he spoke, Tara's eyebrows lifted as she looked at me in a silent message I understood immediately. However, more than thoughts of my own love life, we were both puzzled as the things he was saying just didn't make sense. Nellie was so down to earth and gave no credence to spirits or good and evil. She always said that it was just us here and the sooner we all got used to that fact then the better the world would cope and the more chance there was for peace with all our neighbours.

There were no further revelations during our visit with Gordon Fonteneau, but we left feeling depressed and shocked. The fact that Nellie had suffered so much personal tragedy in her life that we knew nothing about was a terrible notion now that she was dead and there was nothing we could do to comfort her anymore. The fact that Gordon had lived his life alone too was a tragedy in itself. I do believe now that Tara's thoughts about him not being able to meet anyone else because of his love for her were correct, but there was a small comfort to be had from the way he had accepted her passing, as if now happy that her nightmares would bother her no more.

We drove in silence back to Bishop's Down, Tara choosing not to hammer home her previously unspoken message about unrequited love. Although we had not discussed it, both of us wanted to go to Acacia again to be close to Nellie for a while. When we arrived, we automatically headed for the veranda and slumped down on the huge sofa.

'What does all this mean?' I spoke out loud, not really expecting an answer to the questions in my head.

'It means that there is a lot more to find out than we previously thought, isn't there?' Tara answered anyway, but I wasn't convinced that I wanted to find out anymore.

'This accident that killed Nellie's husband though, it all sounds a bit suspicious, don't you think? I can't for one minute believe there was anything more to the story than Gordon found out, but it just sounds wrong somehow. Do you understand what I mean?'

'Yes, yes I do actually. It sounds like the cover story for a murder in a detective novel. You know the sort of thing; wife kills husband and then sets it up to look like an accident, and of course, gets off the hook, at least for a while.'

'But this is Nellie we are talking about!' I almost shouted, 'We both know she couldn't have been involved in something like that, she just didn't have it in her.' I felt as if I was being pulled in two directions. Firstly, I knew that Nellie just couldn't have done it, but on the other hand, it all sounded too convenient.

'I know she couldn't have, we all do,' Tara reasoned quietly, trying to calm me down a little, 'but there could have been someone else involved, someone who wanted him gone but wanted it to look like an accident.'

'Hang on a minute, though. For all we know, it was just what it sounds like: a tragic accident, nothing more or less than that. We really shouldn't jump to conclusions and don't forget, the court, or whatever, gave a ruling that that's what it was.' I suddenly felt as if we were heading down a possible wrong track and really should be applying some brakes before we got too far.

'Well, we will need to dig up some old newspapers or court records then and see what we can find out. If we have decided to go to Africa, then I suggest that we do that sort of digging there, rather than look here in England where there is less likely to be a comprehensive record.' Again, Tara brought up the fact that only in Africa would we be likely to find the answers we were looking for.

'Before that though, I want to talk to Mum and find out what she, or anyone else in the family, knows about all this.' I stopped, the thought of Nellie having to cope with the deaths of her children and her husband hitting me all of a sudden.

'God, she really was tough wasn't she?' I said again to no one in particular.

'Yeah. She had a backbone of steel; hard to imagine how hard it all must have been for her.'

We arrived at Mum's a little while later and headed straight round to the back of the house, where we knew she would be on a sunny day like this. She was up to her eyes in weeding the flowerbeds around the edge of the garden, and jumped when we called a greeting from the house. I may have imagined it, but I think there was a look of trepidation on her face as we approached as if she was steeling herself for an ordeal.

I decided to relieve her of the pressure if she was going to tell us about Nellie's family, even though I was still angry that the information had been kept from us all this time.

'Mum, we have found out some things about Nellie that I am not sure if you know or not.' I said, gesturing to the comfy outdoor furniture on the back porch.

I told her everything we had found out and watched for her reaction. She didn't seem to be overly surprised as I had suspected, and so I pressed her for more.

'So what do you know Mum?' I asked firmly but quietly.

'I know what you just told me at least,' she replied with a thankful smile, that she at least didn't have to break that news to us. 'And I may know some more too.'

Tara and I unconsciously leant forward at the same time, paying Mum rapt attention, not wanting to miss anything.

'Firstly though, we are sorry that you haven't been told before. To be honest, I wasn't sure of most of this until very recently myself, before Nellie died, but not long before.

'So who told you then?' Tara asked the question.

'I'll come to that in a moment perhaps, but firstly, let me tell you everything that I know.' She paused and then continued. Her hands were palms together, held up in front of her face as if in prayer.

'Nellie was indeed married, but he was not a nice man by all accounts. The three poor children died so early and I imagine that sort of tragedy would strain any relationship, but he was violent towards Nellie and anyone else who got in his way.

From what I understand, there were money problems too. He earned well for those days, taking wealthy tourists out hunting and that sort of thing, but they lived in relative poverty and Nellie was forced to stay at home, looking after the children for as long as they lived and making ends meet where she could. I don't know where the money went, but I imagine it was on drinks and gambling, as there were apparently numerous local news reports of him being arrested for being drunk on the streets.'

Mum's knowledge seemed to be fairly well researched and I was dying to ask her how she knew all this, but didn't want to interrupt the flow, so I remained silent for now.

'The children's deaths were all unexplained, but in those days, mortality in that part of Africa would have been problematic to young families I imagine. There were all sorts of diseases that they could have caught, or it may have simply been cot death in all three cases.

Anyway, his drinking and violence got worse, meaning less money, more stress, and he got drunk more often. It was a vicious circle and something had to give. One day he came back to the house after a particularly long binge and he attacked Nellie, beating her so severely that she had to go to the hospital. What happened after that is unclear, as he disappeared for some time, no one knows where, but when he returned, Nellie was back at home. It was only a few weeks after that that he died and Nellie left for England.'

There were so many questions to ask from all this that I didn't know where to start, and nor for that matter did Tara, as she was as silent as I was.

'How on earth do you know all this though?' I was the first to recover and I asked the question I had held back earlier.

'Through a number of sources,' she replied, looking over at Tara, 'your parents told me some of it and Peter knew some of it too. The rest I got from Nellie over the years, she let little bits slip now and then and I just added it all up.'

'What was her husband's name?' Tara asked the obvious question.

'His name was Harry Porter and the children's names were John, Edward, and Anthony.'

None of these names rang any bells, so I was sure that Nellie hadn't mentioned anything to me over the years. 'Do you know anything else about him at all?' I quizzed her.

'Only that he was English, from round here somewhere I think, and that he went to Africa shortly before he and Nellie were married. That's all I'm afraid.' She stopped, and gazed at us both with a look of concern etched on her face. 'Are you two okay with all this? It must be a bit of a shock, I know it was to me.'

We briefly glanced at each other before I reassured her. 'We're fine Mum, although you're right, it is a bit shocking, especially the manner of his death.'

'Probably not that unusual in those days,' Mum said, practical as always, 'everyone had a gun back then, so these sorts of accidents must have happened all the time.'

She was right of course. I had read somewhere that in the USA, there were hundreds of deaths and accidents caused by careless use of firearms every year. No reason to suppose it would have been any different back then. Something still nagged at me and I wasn't sure what it was.

'Did you know about Nellie's boyfriend when she got back to England?' Tara suddenly asked. I had forgotten all about that part of the story, and I was intrigued to hear Mum's answer.

'God, no I didn't.' She seemed genuinely surprised at this news. 'How did you find out about that then?'

We explained how we had found Gordon and she insisted we give her his phone number and address, as she wanted to get in contact with him, just to let him know we were there, she said.

As we were leaving, Tara suddenly turned to Mum again. 'How did my parents know about all this? Did they ever tell you?

Mum's face dropped again with that same look she had when we arrived. 'I think you should talk to your parents about that,' she said, placing a comforting hand on Tara's arm, 'it would be better that way.'

Not knowing quite how to take this, Tara said nothing more and we departed.

Before we drove off in different directions to our own homes though, we decided to meet up again the next evening to determine when and where our trip to Africa was going to take place.

Tara said that she was going to call a friend of hers who worked as a freelance journalist, as she wanted to see if he could dig up anything on Harry Porter. 'Just a long shot,' she said, 'but as he was English, you never know.

I agreed that it was worth a go and said that I would check out flights and times to southern Africa so we could really start planning when we met the next day.

As I drove towards home, all the information we had gathered during this strange day whirled around in my head and I tried to piece all of it together. Nellie's doomed marriage, Frederick's story about diamonds, his dire warning to take care and then the happenings of the past couple of weeks. There were so many mysteries to solve and I hoped that everything would come together once we got a little more into it.

First though, I had to face my fears and talk to Eden. I wasn't sure how she was going to react when I told her I was now heading off to Africa without her. After all, the last few weeks had not been great between us and we had still not solved any of the issues swirling around us like a fog in the night.

I went to her place after rehearsing exactly what I wanted to say, despite that speech changing several times a day, proving to myself that I was still unsure what I did want. Once I told her that Tara and I were planning on going to Africa on family business she was silent – ominously so I thought. I hadn't really told her much about the mystery apart from some general comments about wanting to trace the family tree a little. She said that she knew I had some issues to sort out and that perhaps this trip would be the thing that would help me sort out my life. She also told me she had to do some thinking.

My carefully rehearsed speech didn't get a look-in. I was too scared to utter a word in case I tempted Eden into a rash decision that would end our relationship but as much I didn't want to commit to anything more than we had. That thing inside me was holding me back. I was in turmoil, trying to second guess the future – one second mourning my current comfortable, easy existence and the next yearning for a new settled life with Eden enjoying the love I believed we held for each other.

I left hurriedly, feeling like the coward I knew deep down I was; ashamed that I had treated Eden with far less respect than she deserved. God, what a mess. The worse thing was, I loved her deeply and couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

The other thing I felt, as I guided my car along the winding lanes towards the main road, was a strange foreboding, as if something dire was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SO TO AFRICA

"Flight number SA235 to Johannesburg is boarding now. All remaining passengers should make their way immediately to gate 34 for final boarding." The metallic, disembodied voice rang out through the terminal, alerting us to get moving from the spot where we had rooted for the past hour or so, sipping scalding hot coffee and munching on fairly unappetising pastries and sandwiches. We roused ourselves while picking up our hand luggage, including the leather bound book, now making its way back to the continent of its creation.

I also had the painting Nellie had left me. It was well protected in a black leather carry case bought specifically for the purpose, but I was unsure at the moment of its usefulness or otherwise. It was Tara who had suggested we bring it with us, for what reason she couldn't or wouldn't say. After a brief argument, I relented and packed it ready for travel.

It was three weeks since the day of revelations, as the both of us had now christened it and we had done some more digging in the meantime. Tara's journalist friend had come up trumps with a story from the "Times" from the 1920's. It concerned a certain Harry Porter, youngest son of wealthy and aristocratic parents whose business empire had been closely linked to burgeoning colonial interests in many parts of the African continent since the late nineteenth century. The family had moved rapidly up the social ladder and by the twenties, had two members of parliament and a lord as members of their clan. Harry, though, was a bit of a rebel by all accounts. Stories of his philandering peppered the gossip sheets of the day and his business activities were nefarious to say the least, dealing as they did in the remnants of the now very illegal slave trade, importation of drugs, and racketeering of all kinds. This was the story that broke in the Times, at least, because the focus of the text was on the fact that his parents and the entire clan had disowned Harry and also, on his subsequent disappearance from these shores. His assets were stripped from him, for what they were worth, as the newspaper reported he was effectively bankrupt. What he did have had been gained through illicit and immoral means, according to the family lawyers.

Despite a thorough search, Tara's journalist hadn't managed to find any follow up stories. This was strange, as you would normally expect either that the man had been found somewhere, dead or alive, or that he had returned begging forgiveness, etc. It was almost, so he said, as if the guy's record had been deleted. He surmised that the family had purposely kept all mention of him out of the public domain to minimise any scandal.

This Harry Porter just had to be our Harry Porter; we were sure of it and discussed it at length before concluding that with no proof either way, for our purposes at least, we would presume him to be Nellie's husband.

We hurried down the interminably long corridors they seem to install at all airports, heading towards what was, of course, the furthest gate from the terminal and our flight to South Africa. Our plan was to first head to Cape Town and see if there were any records there of Frederick and his family. Then we would trace his route, as near as we could, up through South Africa and into Zimbabwe. Mum had told us that she thought Nellie had lived somewhere northwest of Harare, so it was to the nation's capital that we would head first to see what could be discovered there.

The money that Nellie had left meant that we could afford to travel in relative luxury, so we had booked good hotels and grunty four-wheel-drive rental cars for the entire trip which was to last a little over three weeks.

As we settled into our business class seats and accepted the proffered glasses of champagne, I pondered what we might find out there in Africa. I was as excited by the trip as I was nervous, that strange sense of foreboding having never really left me. There was something else that I was worried about too. This trip was as much about finding treasure as it was finding the truth. What if the truth was something we, meaning the Braughton family, didn't want to hear? As much as I loved and trusted Nellie with every fibre of my being, that trust had been developed during a life where none of the tragedies of her earlier existence were known to me. I was sure that the deaths of her sons and husband were all innocent, but there was a nagging doubt that something was not quite right about it all, that there was a piece of this particular jigsaw that had fallen off the table and was lying somewhere on the floor waiting to be discovered and fitted into place. Only when it was, would the real picture be entirely clear and it was this thought that worried me the most; that perhaps the picture wasn't one I wanted to see.

I wondered again about the painting that Tara had insisted we bring with us and so I asked her the question.

'Well, now we are on the aircraft, I can tell you I suppose,' she replied, 'I was worried that you would think I was stupid and wouldn't bring it along.'

'Me, think you were stupid? Perish the thought.' I said in mock horror at such an absurd suggestion.

She gave me a sideways look and a frown before continuing, 'Well, it occurred to me that Frederick's diary said we should look behind the acacia, didn't it?'

'Yes.' I said slowly, not entirely sure where she was going with this.

'Well, the painting is of an acacia isn't it?'

Again, I wasn't sure that I fully understood what she was getting at, although a faint twinkling light beckoned at the end of the tunnel. 'So, you think the painting is of the acacia he talked about?'

'Hallelujah, the Brains Trust is on the case!' She could be so cutting sometimes, but I thought I might just have the upper hand here.

'So you think, and stop me if I'm wrong, that all we need to do is find the acacia in the picture and then we'll find the treasure.' This last bit I said in a singsong voice, like you might use when talking to a small child, a point she picked up on fairly quickly.

'If you're going to talk to me in that manner then I have nothing more to say to you.' She folded her arms, turned her head, and pouted. However, the debater in her got the better of the argument and she turned back, unfolded her arms both to hit me and to take another sip of champagne.

'Yes, actually, that's exactly what I mean. I mean, it may not be perfect as a clue, but it's all we've got at the moment, so it will have to do.'

I thought that she perhaps overlooked one or two minor points, upon which I began to elaborate. 'But let's just think about this a moment shall we. There are several elements in the painting that are very, very possibly not going to be there anymore. The old man and the girl we can assume will be dead by now, the tree itself is very probably dead, although admittedly, my tree knowledge is a tad sketchy when it comes to the exact lifespan of your average acacia, and the village is probably farmland by now and all traces will have been erased decades ago. In fact, the only things in the picture that will still exist are the mountains and they could be pretty much anywhere.' I finished my tirade with a flourish, the pitch of my voice rising with the levels of incredulity I felt at Tara's assumptions.

She of course, had something more to say. 'That may all be true, but there is one more thing in the painting that will still be there.' She was going to make me ask, so I did.

'What?'

'The sun.'

'The sun?'

'The sun! If you look at the picture, you can see that the shadows indicate it was painted in the morning right?'

I couldn't argue with that, as I had noticed the fact long ago. 'OK, Sherlock, go on.'

'So, we can see where in the sky the sun is in relation to the mountains can't we, and with that knowledge, as long as we can find the mountains then we can get a rough idea of the location.' She raised her glass in mock toast to her supposed brilliance and leant back in her seat with a smug and cheery smile on her face. I couldn't think of a reply, so I didn't give one. We had the painting with us now so it didn't make much difference because if it was useful then fine. If it wasn't, then I would win the argument and I would torment Tara with that fact for the rest of her natural life. Easy.

The remainder of the flight passed without incident or argument, the food was okay, the movie passed an hour or so, and we both managed to catch a bit of sleep in the large comfy seats. The scenery from the window caught my attention on more than one occasion; the vast expanses of desert as we flew over northern Africa and then the equally vast plains as we moved further south. The captain made note of the time we flew over the equator and the great scar that is the Rift Valley, extending from Jordan in the north to the Zambezi in the south.

Before we knew it, we were on final approach for Johannesburg and the adventure was truly about to begin. We were both quiet at this point, lost in our own thoughts, each wondering what the following weeks would bring. I was growing a little concerned at Tara's increasing fixation on the treasure, as I still didn't really believe it existed. If it did, I figured it would have been discovered years ago. She though, managed to bring the diamonds into nearly every discussion we had about our plans for this trip, and the fact she had insisted the painting came along was another minor event in a growing trend of behaviour.

These worries were wrought from my mind though in the melee that ensued as the aircraft finally came to a halt at the terminal building and the doors were opened. The building itself was nothing particularly special, just another international airport, although the armed guards were a trifle off-putting. As we made our way through customs, we passed what at first sight appeared to be a small group of Hitler Youth, but I realised were in fact some of the ultra-right wing Boers whose presence was increasingly being felt here in these changing times. One of their supposed leaders had been on the telly recently, but he came across as a bit of a clown, so I wasn't sure if he and his band of "warriors" were anything to be concerned about or not. Pretty much everyone ignored this particular group and they seemed a little ridiculous to me while dressed in quasi-Nazi outfits and carrying their little banners proclaiming a new "Volkstaat".

We soon passed them by and jumped into a taxi outside the terminal building. Jo'burg was like most big cities on first impressions. There were office buildings and apartment buildings crammed into as small a space as could be accomplished in the centre of the city. The suburbs were like suburbs anywhere, with neat houses on neat streets that were butting up in places to industrial areas, where small factories and warehouses marred the landscape.

One thing did strike me though as we passed through the suburbs, and that was the security apparent around each house. High walls and fences, topped with barbed wire gave way to inner cordons of more fences, with padlocked gates and more barbed wire. Large dogs could be seen roaming the grounds of some of these houses and poles were strategically placed around the properties, topped with closed circuit TV cameras, swivelling to capture as wide a view as possible. I hadn't realised before now how dangerous this city was. It surprised me that people chose to live like this, in self-imposed prisons complete with guards and spotlights, but I figured that there must be benefits outweighing these negatives, perhaps the relative luxury of these dwellings in comparison to what could be afforded in other parts of the world.

Our hotel was part of a new development in the suburbs to the south of the city proper, but was only a fifteen-minute taxi ride from the centre. On our arrival, we took some time to rest and recuperate and then met down in the bar for a drink before dinner. Tara came down just a few moments after me and we ordered two bottles of the local brew, Castle lager. I always think it is only polite to try out the local beers when arriving in a new country. After the waitress brought over our beers, we pulled out a map book of the country and pored over it, planning our route down to Cape Town.

We decided that in order to make the best use of our time, we should stick to the main highway, N1, all the way down. I pointed out though that I would like to stop at Kimberley, just as Frederick had on his journey north, so we settled on the N14 out of Jo'burg, past Soweto, and then through Potchefstroom (which neither of us could pronounce), then a stop at the Bloemhof Dam Nature Reserve before heading on down to Kimberley. After that, we would drive through the Karoo desert before linking up with the N1 to Cape Town.

We figured that we would take two days for the drive to Kimberley and a further two to Cape Town, although I reserved the right to make a dash for Cape Town after Kimberley. I didn't think there would much to see on that stretch and by then we would be eager to get to Frederick's old home.

We set off early the next morning, driving through the first signs of rush hour, luckily against the general flow into the city. When we got to Soweto, there was another surprise for us. We had imagined a sprawling mass of corrugated iron shacks, with dusty roads, mangy dogs and little else. What we saw, though, was a pleasant looking suburban landscape with attractive bungalows, paved roads, and little sign of poverty. I assumed that there must be some poorer areas there as well, but felt a little cheated that the western media had portrayed the entire area as run down and poverty stricken. I idly wondered what else would be news to us on this trip. There was talk in the press before we left England that Mandela was about to be released and we were quietly hoping that it would happen while we were here so we could witness this historic event first hand.

After we left the city outskirts, we soon fell in to that stupor that comes across you when you're on a long journey, and the countryside flashed by in a series of snapshot images. Fields of immense proportions, planted out in corn and wheat. Black workers were wandering along the roadside; advertising hoardings for a surprising number of western goods despite the supposed sanctions the country had been suffering from for some time. There were distant hills, purple in colour and some way off. After Klerksdorp, the railway line in the distance roughly following the road, or was that the other way round?

We peered from the car, hoping to see some signs of the wild, untamed Africa of our dreams, but it was all very normal and some of it could easily have been parts of rural England or Europe. There were no wildebeest roaming majestically across the savannah, or leopards resting in the branches of the trees, just fields and the road.

At Bloemhof, we found a pleasant little guesthouse and then went off to take a look at the reserve. The dam itself was huge; the blue waters gently lapping up on to its shores and the surrounding vegetation was lush and green. This was more like the Africa I had expected, although there was still a disappointing lack of wildlife around.

In the morning, we hit the road again, heading for Kimberley. I was looking forward to seeing the Big Hole where so much wealth had been created and so many men had lived and worked. I had read the story of the town back in England and its history seemed to epitomise the colonisation of Africa, men going to any lengths to find some worth in the land they had come so far to claim.

The town itself was open and pretty. Wide streets were lined with beautiful colonial houses and public buildings, some wooden and others brick and plaster. Wide verandas wrapped these buildings providing pleasant shade from the hot sun, and jacaranda trees gave the place a light and airy feel.

This was a strongly Boer dominated area, however, and although the receptionist at the hotel was friendly enough, the harsh vowels of her speech made her sound as if she was constantly bad tempered and we checked in as soon as we could before she started barking orders at us. There was a map of the town in the room, showing the local landmarks and tourist attractions, including, of course, the Big Hole. It wasn't too far from where we were, so I called Tara's extension and suggested we take a walk down there.

When we reached it, we were momentarily speechless. It was enormous at almost a mile across and deep enough to house a decent sized office block. We could see the terraces where men had chipped away at the rock over the years. There were signs of the varying claims that had been gradually bought up by the likes of Rhodes until the whole thing generated income for just a few select individuals.

There was an old man sitting on a bench overlooking the vast emptiness. Upon closer inspection, he could have been anything from ninety to a hundred and twenty years old. His face was deeply lined, the skin a dark leathery brown, looking as if he had spent many years in the sun. He simply sat and looked out over the hole and sat as still as the rock itself, lost in his own world.

We went over and sat next to him. I wanted to strike up a conversation, without knowing exactly why.

'It's truly amazing, isn't it?' I said, not being able to think of anything else to say.

'Ah, it is that, it really is that.' He replied in a soft Irish brogue that was unexpected here in the very heart of South Africa.

'Are you local, or just visiting like us?' I asked him.

He chuckled quietly to himself before answering. 'I'm local, you could say. I've been here for more than eighty years, so you could definitely say I'm local. Though the blacks might have something different to say about it I suppose, but I'm too old to care what anyone thinks any more, can't ya see?'

I could see and said so. 'Did you work down there?' I asked, gesturing to the pit before us.

'That I did son. It was hard you know, but not as hard as it was for the blacks mind. They had to do the really tough stuff, but there's many a ghost down there that could attest to how hard it was. Friends, enemies, strangers, they're all there you know.'

He spoke quietly, with a matter of fact tone, not in a manner that would make you think he was either sad or mad, but instead just recalling the facts.

'How many were there, working I mean, how many used to dig down there?'

'Thousands, son, thousands. Never could count them all.' He chuckled again, dissolving into a rasping coughing fit as he did so. I looked on nervously, not sure what to do, but he eventually recovered and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and proceeded to light one and draw heavily on it.

'You probably think these things gave me the cough don't you?' he asked with a twinkle in his eye. 'But I only took them up a couple of years ago. Never smoked a day in my life before that. Figure they won't have enough time to kill me at my age.'

This time we all laughed at his soft humour.

I decided to find out a bit more about the mining operation that had been here.

'I bet there were loads of diamonds stolen from here weren't there?' I asked, hoping to draw him out. I had wondered about the origin of the diamonds Frederick had written about and concluded that either this mine or others like it may have been it.

Again, the old man cackled softly. 'No son, there was nothing much stolen from here, I can tell you. There was so much security around this place you would not believe. There were guards guarding the guards and they searched everyone each time they left the pit, and I mean thoroughly too. Oh, they tried all right, many men tried. They stuck them in places you wouldn't believe, including up their arses. However, they were all discovered, there was no way they would ever get anything out and not many of them survived the punishments handed out.

I could tell you some tales, but the young lady would find them distasteful.' He laughed again and once more dissolved into a coughing fit.

We decided to leave him with his memories and after taking one more look out at this vast crater of contrasts, started to walk back up to the hotel.

I thought about everything he had said and was obviously miles away as I became aware of Tara speaking loudly and nudging me at the same time.

'Earth to James.'

'Sorry, what?'

'What was that all about? The questions about stealing diamonds I mean?'

I explained my theory that diamonds in the quantities mentioned in the diary would have had to come from existing mines, and big ones at that. 'As far as I am aware, there were no recorded diamond mines north of the Limpopo at that time, so it's the only answer I can think of.'

'But from what the old man said, there is no way they would have been able to get diamonds out, especially in the quantities we are talking about.' She was right, and for the moment, I couldn't think of a reasonable answer to the conundrum.

'What if the guards were in on it though?' I suggested, 'then they could turn a blind eye at the appropriate moments, but still catch enough men to make it look as if they were doing a good job.'

Tara was doubtful. 'But there would still need to have been a huge operation to get so much out, wouldn't there? It just doesn't make sense.'

I wondered if our modern, conservative, safe outlook on life could be blinding us to what was possible if man really put his mind to it. 'But think about the Big Hole behind us, Tara. Would you have thought that was possible? That was a hill when it was first discovered. Now it is a moon crater, all dug without the aid of mechanical diggers, just with the bare hands of men after a goal.' I felt quite impassioned by now and realised that the sight of that enormous pit had affected me, more than I had at first thought. It really was an incredible feat and a testament to the times in which it was dug.

We popped into the Kimberley Mine Museum on Tucker Street to see if there was anything further to be discovered about the theory of theft on a massive scale from the mines. We found more facts about the history of the area and how Erasmus Jacobs found the first diamond, the "Eureka", on the banks of the Orange River. That diamond was on display here and was actually yellow in colour, something I didn't know about diamonds. I had always assumed they were just clear, like glass. Tara snorted at my ignorance when I confessed to this fact.

Then the famous "Star of Africa" was discovered by a Griqua shepherd and traded for all the possessions of a local farmer, Schalk van Niekerk. It was after this discovery that the rush was well and truly on and tens of thousands of men flooded to the area to stake their claims of some thirty-foot square patches of land. The hillock, Colesberg Kopje, was soon reduced to nothing and then these men continued down a further two hundred and fifteen metres, dislodging some twenty-two million tons of earth. There was a photograph of the pit when it was still in operation and it clearly showed the individual claims, all at varying heights and levels depending on the speed and resources of the individual miner, creating a landscape part Grand Canyon and part New York skyline. There were also thousands of ropes and cables stringing out from each claim to the rim of the crater, allowing for the removal of earth and rock in buckets. By the time the mine was exhausted and work suspended, some two thousand seven hundred kilos of diamonds had been discovered.

The numbers were minzd-boggling and the wealth created saw men lighting cigars with bank notes and women bathing in champagne. However, one thing that interested me was that as more and more men flooded in, the complex mine workings became a hotbed of violence and chaos where regular riots broke out. This situation continued until Rhodes and Barnato took control of things and introduced some order into the place. It occurred to me that amongst the chaos and until the time that the entire operation was under Rhodes' control alone, after he bought Barnato out in 1888, there would have been ample opportunity for theft.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN – CAPE TOWN

We started on the road again through the Karoo desert, we settled once more into the stupor of the long distance tour. However, the time passed by pleasantly with the accompaniment of a lively road-trip music by the Eagles and other assorted artists. The scenery soon changed after Kimberley became arid and dry. Dusty, beige landscape, dotted with startling kopjes became unchanging mile after mile. There was something very soothing about it, as it enabled the mind to wander without being distracted too much. I did a lot of thinking on that stretch, but didn't manage to discover anything new. I filed everything away in a logical order in my mind, which I hoped would make it easier to retrieve if required at a later time. I wondered about Eden too – what she was doing now and whether or not she would be there for me when I got home.

When we had stopped for a few minutes' respite from driving and to munch on some sandwiches we had brought along with us, we came into close contact with our first African wild animal. Not that we needed the services of a big game hunter to protect us or anything, as this particular beast was small, slow moving, and fitted neatly in the palm of my hand.

I had never really thought of tortoises as wild animals before now, but here one was, just slowly and purposefully making his way across the hot asphalt. We figured he was only a baby because of his size, but could see no sign of any other members of his family, so guessed that tortoises are left to fend for themselves much as those turtles are you see David Attenborough peering at on beaches in the tropics.

This little fellow seemed to be content to sit in our hands and even nibbled on a bit of lettuce before we once again set him free by the side of the road, where he slowly disappeared into the scrubby grass and rocks. I wondered at his survival in this hot and dusty desert and couldn't imagine what he might eat out here and I thought that this might be the first small lesson of Africa. It's harsh, seemingly impossible, but no matter the size or capabilities, its inhabitants will always find ways to exist.

We left the desert landscape behind after several hours and things started to green up again. One memorable scene was when we rounded a bend after climbing a hill to discover an incredibly beautiful valley laid out before us. It was small, but it was like something from a storybook, with steep-sided hills all around and a winding river making its way along the valley floor. The vegetation was the most incredible array of greens I have ever seen and there were several Dutch style homesteads dotted throughout amid straight lines of grape vines, contrasting with the chaos of the native bush. The road made its way mostly along the northern side of the valley wall and then climbed to wind up the far end and then out again. Just before we drove around the last bend, I got a strange sense that I had been here before. I thought it would be wonderful to have a home here in this beautiful spot, forgetting, for the moment, about the valley Frederick had mentioned and only realising much later that they were probably one and the same.

Cape Town was less than an hour ahead. As we approached the city outskirts, I was mildly disappointed as the multi-lane highways, semi industrial developments, and overhead power lines could have been from any city in the world. I had seen pictures of this town that depicted a beautiful and elegant place, dominated by the grandeur of Table Mountain on one side and the endless ocean on the other. I needn't have worried though, for as we got closer to the centre, I could see that the pictures hadn't lied and the city revealed its splendour to us. With a mix of Old Dutch and English influence, it combined two architectural styles into a blend to soothe the nerves. That's what it said in the guidebook anyway, and who was I to argue?

Once at our hotel, we fell into the by now familiar routine of spreading the maps and guidebooks of the area out on a bed and planning our course of action. We had no time limit to stay here, as we were going to drive back up through South Africa and into Zimbabwe. However, as we thought about it, it made more sense to book a flight from Cape Town to Harare rather than drive back along the route we had just come. There was nothing more to be learnt along that road anyway and we could hire another car in Harare for any travelling in Zimbabwe. So, after booking a flight by phone for three days time, we decided to take the evening off and just enjoy the town before doing some more research the following day. We took a stroll down towards the central post office to collect any mail at the Poste Restante service. From the outside, the post office building was grand and imposing, but once inside, it looked much like any other post office, with grey and beige walls, glass partitions, and the subdued echoes of people shuffling around doing their business. The Poste Restante window was separate from the main area and we jumped into the queue behind several backpackers, complete with packs and faded T-shirts. Accents from all over the world could be heard in this queue, from Australians and New Zealanders to Canadian, English, French, and Scandinavian. It was easy to see who had got mail and who had not from the expressions as each person turned away from the little window. Those who had wore broad smiles as they recognised handwriting from friends and loved ones, their heads bowed as they ripped into the envelopes and devoured the news from home. The others just had heads bowed, wearing glum expressions as this vital link was denied.

We reached the head of the queue and handed over our passports to identify ourselves. The clerk went to the wall of pigeonholes behind him and picked a pile of envelopes from the "B" slot. After shuffling through the pile, he put the majority back and handed us a small pile. I was surprised that there were any at all, as we had only been away for a few days. The senders of this mail would have posted their letters before we had actually left in order for it to be here by now.

We slowly walked out of the building and into the busy street beyond. I quickly flicked through the little pile. There was one from Mum, another from Tara's parents, and another from Peter. Eden's neat handwriting appeared on another – I felt a butterfly of nerves seeing that. What could she have to say that she hadn't already said when we said our goodbyes in England? However, the fourth one really gave me a shock, as the handwriting was very familiar but impossible. It must just be similar, I told myself. I said nothing to Tara for the moment and popped the letters into my daypack as we headed for a café where we could order a cup of coffee and read in peace.

We found a place on one side of Greenmarket Square, a lovely cobbled space with leafy trees all around, which provided dappled shade for the tables set up on the pavement in what was an almost Parisian scene.

We sat down at The Famous Butcher's Grill, on an elevated terrace. It gave us a view across the colonial square. I handed Tara the letter from her parents as I once again studied the handwriting on the fourth letter. Tara noticed that I was staring at the envelope.

'What is it? What's with the minute examination?'

I handed her the envelope and her face went white. She had recognised the writing too.

Nellie.

Nellie had written to us, on another continent, from beyond the grave.

'My god!' Tara exclaimed, 'but it can't be, it's surely just someone with similar writing isn't it?'

'That's what I thought, but look at it. It's her; I'd recognise that writing anywhere wouldn't you?'

She shuddered a little. 'Yes, I would, but how..?' She paused not sure what to say or do next.

'We had better open it I guess.' I reached out for it, but Tara held on for a moment longer, just staring at the envelope. Then she placed it into my hand, her face still white and she was close to tears.

'Do you want to wait?' I asked her gently, 'until we are back at the hotel, in private?'

'No....no, do it now.' She stammered, fighting back her emotions.

I took a deep breath and turned the envelope over, where another shock was waiting. Nellie's name and address were written on the back, just as she had always done. Before I lost my nerve, I ripped into the flap and reached inside. There was a single piece of white writing paper inside, which I unfolded and began to read out loud.

" _My Dear James and Tara,_

If you're reading this, then you have begun to piece some things together that will have started you on a journey. I fear this journey will not be easy and not pleasant, but I feel that you two, of all the family, have the strength of will and character to overcome the problems and find the truth.

You will know by now of my husband and children, all of whom I may have met again by now, or perhaps just Harry.

Frederick was a remarkable man, but you must determine for yourselves what is true and what fantasy from his writings. I never found out, although I searched hard, as did Harry and that was what killed him in the end, I am sure of it.

For what it's worth, I always believed in the diamonds, but they may remain hidden forever now and perhaps that is the way it should be, as too much hurt and suffering has been caused already, there is no need for any more. Those who have searched recently have found nothing but the pain that so nearly touched you once before and I would not wish that on either of you again. I am immensely proud of you both and can see a bright future for you, whatever you decide.

All I ask you now is that you find the truth and take it back to England with you. Make sure that everyone knows it and please don't judge anyone, as those diamonds changed people and still do.

Take care of each other forever; I love you both so very much.

It was signed and dated two weeks before she passed away. I passed the piece of paper to Tara, stunned that Nellie had known we would be here, and knew we would discover her past. Tara glanced through the letter for herself and then just sat still, head bowed, trembling slightly. I pulled my chair over beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. She laid her head on my shoulder and cried.

'Oh James, I just can't believe it. She knew, she knew what we would do, and she also knew that she was dying. She must have known that before anyone; even her doctor was surprised at her death. Why didn't she say something? Maybe something could have been done to save her; the bloody, stubborn, stupid woman.' She dissolved into big heaving sobs now and the waitress who had been approaching us discretely turned away, for which I was grateful.

'I know, I know, she always was stubborn. Perhaps she was just ready to go. Some people just are, I guess, and they are not afraid of it. I can't imagine Nellie being afraid of anything, can you?'

'I suppose not.' She said in a little girl voice, broken by the sobs that were slowing a little now.

We sat there for another few minutes, just holding each other for comfort. I stroked her hair gently, resting my head against hers, just letting memories of Nellie flow through my mind.

'What did she mean by it though?' Tara said suddenly, her voice recovered a little as her brain kicked in again.

'I don't know, perhaps it was just her way of telling us to be careful.' I really hadn't thought of a meaning to it, it was just so stunning that it was there at all.

'No, there is more to it than that, I'm sure of it.' She straightened up and started to read the letter once more. The waitress, who had been hovering discretely, took this movement as a sign that she could return in safety. I had to ask Tara twice what she would like before she gave a rather distracted reply. I gave our orders and the waitress moved away again.

Tara spoke again; 'Look, there are several lines here that could be construed in different ways, depending on your point of view.

'Which lines in particular?' I was interested now and leaned over her shoulder for a better look.

'Firstly, she says "the problems" rather than "any problems" for instance.'

'I'm listening.' I said, once again feeling as if I was going to be playing catch up for the next few minutes.

'Well, it sounds as if she almost knows there are going to be problems; she knows what they are, but knows that we will be able to overcome them. If she had just said "any problems", it would mean that she didn't know there would be any, but if there were by chance then we would be okay. Do you see?'

I did sort of, but wasn't willing to commit myself too far for the moment. 'Okay,' I said, 'go on.'

'Well, the next thing is here, where she says she will meet her family again, or perhaps just Harry. That must mean she thinks he will be in a different place to the kids. They would certainly be in heaven, after all, they were only a couple of years old when they died, but he might be somewhere else. Why would she say that she would be in the same place as him?'

This was a bit unsettling and I was quiet as the impact of this soaked in. Then I asked; 'But what reason would there be for Nellie to be there too? She was as good as they come, saintly almost.'

Suddenly, Tara stared at me in horror at obviously just the same thought I had wondered already. 'You don't think that she killed him, do you?'

I wasn't sure how to respond. The fact that I had already pursued this line of thought damned me somewhat, leaving me with no option but to say it as I saw it. As I looked into Tara's face, I could see she was beseeching me to deny the possibility, no matter how faint or implausible, that Aunt Nellie, childhood friend, confident, cushion against all the problems in our lives, could have done such a thing, no matter what the circumstances. The look in her eyes told me that if I said what I was thinking, then Tara's faith in the goodness that was, that still is, Nellie, would be dashed and broken, fragile as an eggshell under a jackboot.

'Don't be so silly;' I told the lie, 'we both know that's not possible. Nellie wouldn't have been capable of it. If she had, then she would have owned up to it long ago and paid the price, and if that had happened, then we would already know about it, wouldn't we?' I managed to deliver this statement in that voice that brooks only one response. The voice that says, 'we both know this is the truth, so why even discuss it.'

Tara looked into my eyes for a moment, searching for the faintest sign that I might be telling a half-truth, but then her gaze dropped. 'I guess you're right. It was silly of me to even think it and worse and it was disloyal to Nellie.' She raised her head and looked into my eyes once more to challenge me. I stared her down; proving I had spoken nothing but the truth, so help me.

'She was probably just talking about the guilt she must have felt over the loss of her sons.' I speculated, happy that I had thought of something to explain Nellie's words. Actually, as soon as I said it, it occurred to me that it might even be the truth. It would have been hard for her as a mother to lose three children and I would imagine that there must have been the temptation for Nellie herself to lay some of the blame for their loss at her own door. I was no psychologist or historian, but even back then when the death of a child was so much more prevalent, it must have still been traumatic for the family.

Tara soaked this idea in and then nodded, seemingly having come to the decision that I was right and her initial judgment of Nellie's morals was the correct one. She couldn't have done anything as heinous as murder; it just wasn't in her makeup.

Then her attention returned to the letter. 'Okay', she said, 'let's see what else there is in here. Nellie obviously searched for the treasure herself, as she says she searched hard, as did Harry. However, she says that that was what killed him. What did she mean by that?'

'I don't know. It is a strange thing to say, especially as she was supposedly in the room with him when he had the accident with the gun. In a way, it just goes to further show that she had nothing to do with it.'

Tara frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, if she had done it herself, why would she then puzzle over the reasons for his death? I mean, it is very odd, almost as if she wasn't actually there at all, which may be true of course. We only have one old man's recollection of a newspaper article from decades ago to say that she was.'

'Yes, you're right. We really shouldn't assume any facts at this stage. Most of what we've heard so far has been either conjecture or hazy memories at best.' Tara had gone past her moments of doubt now and seemed to be back on track, her mind focused on the task at hand.

'But she did believe in the diamonds though, didn't she? She says so in the letter, and that backs up our thoughts that Frederick's account is too real to be anything but the truth...'

'Or imagined.' I interrupted to remind her. What she said next though and the way she said it would haunt me in the coming weeks.

'No, they are real and they're still there, where Frederick hid them and we are destined to find them.' She said this so forcefully there seemed to be no room for negotiation on this point. I shivered a little as she took her turn to stare me down, her eyes blazing, challenging me to argue the point.

'Okay,' I said carefully, 'let's assume for now that they are real and we can proceed on that assumption unless proven otherwise.'

'It won't be proven otherwise. They are real and that's all there is to it. Don't try and cheat me of this James, I will find them with or without you.' This really was creepy now; her eyes were wild and for a moment Tara disappeared, to be replaced by a stranger, and one I wasn't enamoured with.

I reached out and grabbed her hand. 'Hey, it's me you're talking to here. We're a team, remember, and we'll see this through no matter what, Okay?'

She seemed to relax a little, but her stare remained fixed with suspicion written across her face.

To calm things down a bit, I changed the subject and pointed at the next puzzling point in the letter. 'So what does she mean when she says that people have searched recently? Who's she talking about I wonder?'

Tara slowly returned her gaze to the letter, frowning and silent for a moment before answering. 'Sorry, I didn't mean what I said; I'm just a bit tense, that's all.' It was an apology of sorts and for now I accepted it.

'Maybe some of the family over here have been looking.' She said. 'We don't know if Nellie was the only one with the secret, do we? There could be others who have searched too and maybe they have come to grief in some way.

'No.' I was unsure why, but I knew that there was something more to this part of the riddle. 'She says that the pain nearly touched us before. That can only mean that it was someone close to us that searched and they got into trouble in doing so. But I can't think of anyone recently who has been in any bother, can you?'

Tara stared off into the distance and slowly nodded her head. 'Yes, actually I can.'

'Who?' I was puzzled, wracking my brains to think of whom she meant.

'It was my parents.' She said flatly, still staring into nothingness. Then she came back down to Earth. 'Don't you remember? When we were kids and my parents were away for an extended trip? Then when they came back, they weren't quite right for a long time. I told you about it.'

I nodded, remembering the time vividly, as we had spent some time together at Acacia with Nellie.

'There were all sorts of rumours at the time,' Tara continued to recall, 'I remember hearing snatches of conversation from other rooms. Mum and Dad were fixated by treasure hunts for ages, which wasn't like them at all. They were serious archaeologists, not treasure hunters. Then, don't you remember? They stayed at home for years, well, a couple more years at least, and I do remember they were not happy. There was always tension in the house and Mum cried a lot. I don't think she ever knew that I knew, but I heard her sometimes in her room, sobbing for what seemed like hours. It was funny that we never spoke about any of it though because we usually talked about everything as a family. They never told me what the problems were, and they got back to normal again after a long while. Later, I assumed that they had gone through some marital problems and I just sort of forgot about it. But now, it all makes sense, doesn't it? The treasure hunting, the time they spent in Southern Africa, which was not their usual area of expertise, and those two years of upset in the house.'

'God, yes it does doesn't it.' I agreed with her, that this was the probable answer. 'So, do you think we should talk to them then? I mean, they know we are here, so don't you think they would have said something?'

With that, Tara gave a little squeal and held up her letter. 'Maybe they have,' she said, 'I had to write to them to tell them about our trip because they were out of phone range, and this is the first response I've had. The postal service is a little slow in the desert.' She ripped open the envelope and started scanning the pages, her lips moving slightly as she read.

I looked on impatiently, wanting to know what they had said and my leg started to jiggle a little. I knew Tara had regained her sense of humour when she obviously noticed my agitation and finished reading. Without a word, she folded the letter away, picked up her coffee, and started to sip.

'Great coffee, don't you think?'

I wasn't in the mood. 'Just bloody tell me what they said, you bloody annoying bloody....' I ran out of words as Tara folded up in laughter and several people from nearby tables looked over at my outburst.

'You're just so easy,' she said through her giggles, 'no challenge at all.'

I sat and stared impassively, determined not to give her any more satisfaction.

'Okay,' she said, relenting, 'they have basically confirmed what we surmised, but although I think they are worried about us being here, they seem to be happy for us to find our own way. They have asked us to be careful, though, but not about anything in particular.' She opened the letter out again. 'They say that we should look out for each other, that as long as we are united and don't separate in any way, that we will be safe. They actually stress that bit that we should stay together at all times.'

'Oh no!' I exclaimed in mock horror, 'A whole holiday stuck with you and your warped sense of humour. This is not going to be as easy as I thought.'

She of course punched me, much to the amusement of the waitress who had come back to fill our coffee cups. The bottomless cup of coffee was a very civilised custom, I thought, something I hadn't come across back home.

'If you keep that up, I'll have to call security.' She joked.

'If she keeps that up, an ambulance may be more appropriate.' I retorted, rubbing my arm, which had by now gone numb.

'Are you guys here on holiday?' She asked, having filled both cups.

'Sort of,' Tara replied, 'we are here to track down our family and clear up a mystery or two.' I was surprised that she said this, as I didn't really know if we should be saying anything about mysteries.

'Ah, izit, that's great. So your family was from Cape Town?' she asked.

'From all over southern Africa, really.' I spoke this time. 'Mostly Zimbabwe though. Our great, great, great grandfather came to Cape Town in the mid nineteenth century, but his wife may have been here before that. That's something we will find out I hope.'

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said; 'I could help you if you like. I'm a student and I'm studying the history of the region, so I have got access to all sorts of records at the University.'

This was the first of a number of times when I was delighted by the spontaneous, friendly, and helpful nature of the people in this part of the world, no matter what their colour or creed. It just seemed to be the way they were, nothing was too much trouble.

'Are you sure?' I asked out of politeness more than anything. 'We don't want to put you to any trouble or anything.'

'Ag man, it's no trouble eh. I've got to finish up here just now, but then we can sit down and make a plan.' Although her turn of phrase had us momentarily stumped, we both thanked her as she turned away back to the bar.

When she returned, she introduced herself as Megan McAdams, which rolled off the tongue nicely I thought, and she sat down with a cup of coffee of her own, as well as a large plate of muffins, perks of the job she explained. We chatted for a while before she asked us what our surname was. Her eyes widened when we told her and she went on to explain her delight. 'That's amazing, what a coincidence. My great, great, great, grandfather's sister, married a man called Braughton, and I'll have to check the records, but I'm sure the man she married was a new arrival in the colony at the time. I have used my family tree as the background to the historical research I've done, it makes it all so much more interesting.'

She went on to talk about the family tree from that time on, but concentrated mostly on the McAdams side of the family, unsurprisingly. It was fascinating, but wasn't going to help us in our quest, a fact that Megan soon picked up on.

'Look, what we must do is meet up at the University tomorrow. All my research stuff is there and we can get access to the computer too.'

We agreed to this plan and after getting directions to the university, said our goodbyes as she weaved her way through the tables and across the square.

The rest of the day we spent exploring the town, which had a beautiful mix of Dutch Victorian and Georgian buildings alongside some modern glass and steel blocks in the city centre. I loved the Dutch Colonial architecture, with its sculpted frontages and sometimes bright colours. It seemed more colonial and foreign than the more familiar forms of Victorian red brick buildings we saw. We wandered through the Company Gardens and spent some time looking round the South African Museum, which was situated at the end of a broad cobbled avenue lined with oak trees that looked old enough to have been here when Frederick had arrived. It was strange to think that we were walking some of the same streets and looking at the same buildings as he had all that time ago. For me, it cemented the link between us all the more and Tara agreed that she felt closer to him and the Braughton family now we were here.

I had been worried earlier at the intensity of feeling Tara had displayed when we had been discussing the treasure. The look in her eyes had scared me a little and I recalled a sense of foreboding, almost superstition, when she had stared at me, challenging me to dispute the existence of the diamonds. There had been a depth to that gaze; something existed there, for just a few moments, which I had never seen before. It had disappeared so quickly that afterwards, I was sure it had been just my imagination, conjuring up something that wasn't there. When I looked at her now though as we wandered amongst the exhibits, there was no trace of whatever was there before and I soon forgot all about the incident and concentrated on enjoying the museum.

Later that evening I remember I hadn't yet opened Eden's letter. To be honest I was a little scared to do it, as I had a nasty premonition that any decision making was going to be taken out of my hands by what she'd written. I stared at the unopened envelope for a while before finally summoning up the courage to rip open the flap and pull out the folded paper inside. She started by hoping we were having a good trip, had enjoyed the flight and so on. But then got into the crux of it.

'We both know we have to make a decision about our future James. We can't go on in this half-world of a relationship as we have been. I love you. I truly do, but sometimes it feels as if you're hiding your feelings from me, holding something back that I just can't understand. I'm fairly sure you love me, but what is it you're not sharing? I wish you'd tell me. Open up a bit and talk to me. There's a gem hidden inside you that I dearly want to see, but only you can find it and let us be together. I believe this trip, in part, is for your personal search. If you can't find that gem then I don't think we have a future together. Please don't take that as me being hard. I want you to be happy more than anything but what we have now is not going to give either of us proper happiness. When you return I need a decision so please search as hard for that as whatever else it is you're looking for in Africa – it's just as valuable to me.'

So, there it was then. The ultimatum I'd been expecting. Strangely I still hadn't told her much about what we were doing in Africa – only that we were tracing family roots. So the fact she had guessed we were searching for something valuable was a surprise. Perhaps she'd been talking to Tara. Who knew? Certainly Tara wouldn't let on. I was fairly sure I loved her though, as she'd surmised. Not sure if I'd ever really told her that properly – so that there could be no doubt. There had been plenty of 'love you too's' and 'love ya's' – but never anything heartfelt from my side – never anything initiated by me. I loved her more than ever right now for the fact that she understood me enough to know that this trip was as much about me searching for me as it was anything else. She knew me better than I knew myself. So, now I had two mysteries to solve on this trip. I wondered which would turn out to be the most important and which would have the biggest impact on my life.

The next day, we met Megan at the gates to the University and she led us through endless corridors until we reached the library. We passed through the main room and into a smaller space at the rear where several desks were lined up against one wall, upon each of which sat a computer terminal. She put the bulky briefcase she had been carrying onto a large central table and spread its contents out on the table top. She rummaged amongst some files until she came across what she had been looking for, a large piece of folded paper that she proceeded to spread out. We all leant across, poring over a detailed and complex family tree whose first entries at the top of the page were dated in the 1820's.

'This is the time the first real English colonialists arrived here,' she explained, 'and our family was amongst the first groups here.' She went on to describe the link between us, pointing out where the two branches of the McAdams and Braughton family joined. Unfortunately, the Braughton side of the family had not been researched, as Megan had followed the McAdams line first and foremost. However, the greatest pleasure was seeing Frederick's name on this sheet and establishing that Megan was indeed a distant relation, the first we had met in Africa itself.

Next to Frederick's name, there was a red star, which I pointed out and asked Megan what it meant.

'Ah, that means there is some further information on him somewhere.' She explained. 'Let me have a look.' She rummaged again through the piles on the desk and then pulled out a large journal. Opening it up, she flicked through the pages until she came to a reference number. Then she went to the computer and booted it up. While we waited, she told us that there was so much information that she had stored much of it on computer disks to save space.

'There is a lot of it that I have not even had the time to read,' she said, but I have simply copied it onto disk so that I can get to it easily in the future when I need it.'

Once she had inserted the disk, she did a quick search and then a page appeared on the screen, bearing Frederick Braughton's name at its head. She scanned through the information and then started to read it out loud to us.

'It says here that Frederick went on a trek in 1877 into the interior with Selous, but that Selous only went as far as Tati before he turned back. At that time, he was on Rhodes' payroll, so he may have got new instructions from the boss. It happened a lot I think. Rhodes was like a god out here and if he said jump, you just asked how high.' She continued. 'He was gone for several months. Before he returned to Cape Town, he was in bad shape, according to this. A group of tribesmen found him lying on a riverbank and they took him to Pietersburg where a minister, who was on his way back to Cape Town, took care of him and eventually brought him home. This information was from the diary of the minister, so I would presume it would be fairly accurate. Did you guys know any of this?'

'We sort of did,' Tara answered, 'but this fills in some of the gaps that we didn't understand. Does it say anything more? Maybe about where he lived, anything like that?'

'No, sorry, there is nothing else here. But that's not to say there won't be something on the database, or at last resort in the library. There are thousands of papers there from way back eh, it just means a bit of time to go through them that's all. I had a hang of a job finding the information I needed to start with, but I've gotten used to it now.'

She turned back to the computer and started hitting keys until she was logged on to the university's database. Then she typed in Frederick's name and hit the return key. We waited for a few minutes before some results started coming up on the screen. 'This is information from the land registry for the area,' she explained. We should be able to trace any land or property he owned.' Sure enough, she pointed at one particular item on the screen. 'There we go,' she read from the screen,' Frederick Braughton married to Emily Braughton nee McAdams owned a property out at Simon's Town. That's all there is though. There are separate records held out there, so you may need to pay the town a visit to find out any more. Check with the town hall, they should be able to help.'

'That's brilliant,' I said, happy for the information we had already unearthed. This was more than I had expected so soon, and to have been helped out by family, so to speak, was even more special. 'Thanks Megan, I don't know how to thank you.'

'I tell you what,' she said, 'why don't you come along to a braai at my parents' place tonight, bring a few stubbies, and we'll show you how we eat out here. My Dad will love meeting you, he's a real anglophile for some reason, and always happy to meet new people. The fact that you are family is even better.'

'Okay, we accept,' Tara spoke for both of us, 'just could you tell us what a braai is and where do we get stubbies from?'

Megan laughed, 'Ag, I forgot you don't know any Afrikaans do you. A braai is a barbecue and stubbies are beers. We'll have some perlemon too, abalone you call it and we'll get you to try some biltong as well, you'll love it, it's lekker man.'

We just agreed that we would try whatever was put in front of us, whatever it was called, and only ask what it was afterwards. Then she gave us directions to get to Simon's Town and her parents' house for later.

'I would come along with you, but I have another job to go to. Us poor students you know, we need every penny we can get.'

We walked to the railway station and jumped on the first available train heading along the peninsula towards Simon's Town. As we trundled along, we marvelled at the views of Table Mountain and False Bay, or Vaalsbaai in the local lingo. Megan had told us that Vaalsbaai was a major breeding ground for Great White sharks. As I looked out at the clear blue waters, I was sure I saw a fin or two surfacing and diving in search of tourists to eat. We passed Muizenburg, which was where Megan's parents' house was, a little beachside resort, a bit like Bournemouth or somewhere like that, then we stopped and started at a number of suburbs. One place we decided to take a look at on the way back was a pub, right by the trackside, which jutted out into the sea. "The Brass Bell" looked like it would be a comfortable and welcoming place to rest after the day's exertions.

Simon's Town was the principal naval town in the Cape and several ships lay at anchor there. The main street ran parallel to the water's edge and the town hall was at the end of a street off that. We soon found the town's records, thanks to the friendly and helpful nature of the clerk at the front desk, but apart from the address of Frederick's land, there was little else to add to what Megan had already told us. We walked up to the address we had found, but the house was a seventies beach house with acres of glass facing the ocean and very little character. So, we jumped back on the train and headed back to the Brass Bell for a well-deserved beer under the African sun while listening to the reggae band playing Bob Marley classics in the shade of a large striped awning.

As Megan's parents' house was on the way back, we decided to go there straight from the pub. Once we had found the place, we knocked on the front door and after waiting for a few minutes, decided to try round the back. There were a number of people already there, polarised into two main groups. The men were huddled around the braai, which seemed to be working up a healthy cloud of smoke, and the women were all arranged around a long trestle table, preparing salads. Megan spotted us from the table and came over. She turned to the assembled groups and called out; 'Hey everyone, this is Tara and James from England. They're family, so be nice to them.' There was a general chorus of "hellos" and "welcomes" and "howzits" to which we sort of waved and said an encompassing hello back.

'Now, I want to introduce you to my parents,' she said, indicating a tall, tanned man and an equally tanned, but slightly shorter woman who were making their way over. We said our "hellos" and "thank you's for inviting us", before John led me over to the braai and Tara was led off to the trestle table by Megan and Wendy.

At the braai, there was another round of greetings and handshakes and a beer was thrust into my hands. I peered at the grill and saw a large shellfish sizzling away that I had never seen before. John cut a piece off and handed it to me.

'Have you ever tried perlemon?' he asked.

'I don't even know what it is,' I said, gingerly taking the proffered, rubbery looking piece from him.

'Ag man, it's lekker eh,' he said, 'you'll love it. If you're here long enough, you'll have to come diving for some with me; it's great fun.

He was right, the meat had been tenderised to perfection and cooked with garlic and herbs and tasted just wonderful. I wasn't so sure about diving for shellfish though, especially in shark infested waters, so I sort of nodded without making any commitments.

I looked over to the women and saw that Tara was talking to a little old lady who was sitting in a large wicker chair in the shade off to one side. She looked absolutely ancient, as old as Africa itself, her skin wrinkled into deep ravines and crevices, brown as a nut. Her hair was wispy and thin, but snow white and neatly tied with a bow at the back. She looked familiar somehow, and I realised that she looked a little like Nellie, but older and smaller. I asked John who she was.

'That, my friend, is Granny, except she is actually my great Granny, Megan's great great Granny. She is one hundred and six years old and bright as a button, smarter than half these blokes put together. Megan said you were trying to find out about the family's history and I reckon if your friend there talks to her for a while, anything that there is to know, Granny will tell her.'

I resisted the urge to ask what was in the water that bred such longevity in people in this country. Instead I asked; 'Has she lived here all her life?'

'Ya man, she was born here, and here, one day, she will die.'

I did some quick calculations in my head and realised that Granny had been born only some five years after Frederick's trek north and I wondered if she had known him. I was desperate to go over and talk to her, but John and his friends kept me busy at the braai, discussing cricket and the rugby, gently teasing me about England's usual poor performances in both sports. Tara was deeply engaged in conversation though, so I knew I would have to make do with her report when we had left.

The evening went well and I had a great time, enjoying the banter between the men round the braai and the women at the table and I think holding my own against the mickey-taking about the lack of England's sporting prowess. There was a good deal of debate about what would happen if Mandela was released, as had been suggested by some in the media recently, the reserved consensus being that all in all it was probably a good thing, but that we will just wait and see.

When it was finally time to leave, we took a long time over saying our goodbyes, feeling as if we had known these people for ages, rather than just the one evening. The generous nature of everyone there had been heart-warming and we were sad to be going.

As soon as we left, I collared Tara and said I wanted her to tell me everything that Granny had said.

'Wow, you should have heard the stories she had to tell.' Tara was shiny-eyed with excitement, 'Do you realise that she knew Frederick and his children? They used to play together when they were kids and she remembers him well.'

'It hardly seems possible does it?' I was enthralled by this revelation. Up to this point, Frederick had been a man from another era, a long lost story, hardly seeming real for the amount of time that had passed since his lifetime. But all of a sudden, there was a living, breathing link straight back to him, making him seem so real and solid.

'So did she know Nellie then?' I asked her, wondering if she had shed any further light on Nellie's past.

'No, unfortunately not. Don't forget that Nellie lived two thousand kilometres from here, and they were from completely different branches of the family. We have stumbled on this lot purely by chance.'

'I guess you're right; but what did she say then? Give me the gossip, all of it, and don't leave anything out.'

It took Tara nearly an hour to tell me everything, mostly because I kept interrupting with endless questions and she would have to keep repeating things to keep her place in her narrative. The highlights though were that as a child, Granny remembered Frederick as a slightly odd man, and she had been a little afraid of him. He had been prone to sudden outbursts, like someone shouting out in the middle of a nightmare, she had said, but when he had been awake. There was always a nurse in the house where they had lived, she remembered, but no one ever told her why that was. She had asked once if he was sick and had been told that he wasn't. For a young child, that didn't seem to make any sense though, so she asked his children, who she played with from time to time. They had been as difficult as the adults and said that he wasn't sick at all; he just had bad dreams sometimes and the nurse was there to wake him up when that happened.

She remembered, though, that adults used to stop talking when she entered a room sometimes and she had learnt to creep up to doorways, listening first to what they were saying before going in. She had heard that Frederick had a treasure, but he wouldn't tell anyone where it was. The adults used to get cross with him because they wanted to know about this treasure and they wanted him to lead them to it. She said that one day she had gone to Frederick's house to play and found him alone in the study. He had seemed very normal that day and so she had plucked up the courage to ask him some questions about what she had heard.

He had smiled, she said, a nice smile too, not a nasty one. He had talked gently to her, telling her about the lands to the north and about the wild animals up there and the Matabele warriors, so magnificent in their war costumes. She asked him about the treasure and he had been quiet for a while. Then he had said that Mlimo would look after it now, protect it from the white man who sought it and that Mboku would see that it was used, when needed, to save the Matabele people. Tara explained that Granny had told her that Mlimo was an important spirit in Matabele lore that appeared in human form. I asked Tara if she was sure about this bit. Was she sure that the names were right. Apparently, Granny was absolutely sure about that, as she had written it all down and still had the diary to this day. Mboku was the name he had said, but he had not told her any more than that, as someone else had come into the room at that moment and Frederick had not said another word. She said that he had had another attack after that, and people had rushed to the room to look after him. She was pushed out to play with the other children and not been allowed to go back in that day. She never got the chance to talk to him alone again, as there was always someone else there, but his children sometimes told her things about him. They said that he was nearly always normal, but that when he dreamt, he was always awake and he shouted the names of his companions from that trek. They had once gone into his study when he wasn't there and found his diary, but she didn't know what had ever happened to it, as when they had all grown up, no one seemed to know anything about it. One last thing she remembered was that he had once said that one day a Braughton would come back and try to find what had been hidden and that this search would end in tragedy, that the spear of the nation would fly and pierce flesh, ending the mystery for ever.

Not for the first time since I had been in Africa, I shuddered with something akin to superstition as Tara recounted what Granny had said.

'So what do you make of it all then?' I asked, watching her closely as she replied.

'It all sounds a bit melodramatic doesn't it?' she replied, 'I mean, what with spirits watching over the treasure and prophecies of doom and spears piercing flesh. It sounds as if he was suffering some serious delusions and was mixing up fact with fantasy. One thing though,' she paused, 'I'm certain now that the treasure does exist, and I'm fairly certain that it's still there where he left it. All we have to do is track it down and dig it up. We're going to find it James, we're the Braughtons he talked about and we're going to find it.' She smiled and gazed unwaveringly at me, challenging me with her stare and I couldn't help thinking that things may be getting a little out of hand.

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – COMING HOME

We left Cape Town the following morning aboard an Air Zimbabwe plane headed for Harare. Tara seemed to be back to her normal cheerful self again and my worries about her state of mind eased somewhat as the aircraft reached its cruising altitude. Her strange behaviour of the previous day had subsided. When we discussed things once again, she seemed to be in two minds as to whether or not to believe in it. I saw this as a healthy sign that normal service had been resumed and even when I quizzed her on it, she doubted that Frederick had been quite all there when he spoke or wrote about his experiences. Later, I was to wonder to why it didn't occur to me at the time that this change of mind had happened overnight, with no obvious external influences to change her point of view. However, at the time, I was just relieved that she was talking sensibly again.

We relaxed into our seats and once again snoozed, ate, read more, and snoozed more our way to our next destination. After a few hours, the Captain made his announcement and the plane's engines throttled back, the engine noise changing in pitch from a high whine to a lower rumble. The nose pitched forward slightly and we made our approach to Harare. As the tyres hit the tarmac, I looked out of the window and saw a non-descript airport, with the sort of low grey buildings you might find at any provincial airport. I'm not sure what I was expecting here, but the feeling of disappointment inside me was an indication that my expectations had been high for this arrival for some reason.

We taxied to a halt out on the tarmac and I watched as the usual assortment of vehicles started buzzing around outside to unload cargo, reload fuel, and draw up steps to the door. We took our turn in the line of people heading for the exits and started walking down the steps. The first thing that hit me was the heat that was like a damp, hot blanket being thrown over us as we cleared the air conditioned interior of the aircraft.

The second thing I couldn't have been prepared for, as it was a feeling I have never experienced in quite the same way before or since that day. As my feet hit the tarmac, there was an overwhelming feeling that I had come home. It wasn't just a sense of déjà-vu, as nothing was familiar and the actions of people around me were original and stirred no memories. However, for a second or two, the surrounding noise and movement faded into the background and I simply felt as if I had reached my home, spiritual if you like, but definitely home. The intensity was almost unnerving and I stopped still in order to gather myself. Gradually, the noise and commotion around me returned and I once again felt I was part of the real world, but that feeling remained like a vast echo of something, booming through me.

I looked at Tara and she gazed back, a smile slowly forming on her face. 'You felt it too didn't you?' she said, almost laughing now. 'God, what was it? It was so intense, it was incredible.'

I just shook my head, dumb with the emotion of it, but knowing that I would never experience anything like it again.

We were both brought crashing back to the tarmac as the people behind us started to shove and push as they tried to reach the bus that had driven out to transport us to the terminal building. We stumbled along, part of the throng, Tara grinning inanely and me just not quite there yet.

'Jesus, are you two on something?' A loud American accent assailed us as a large, chequered man pushed past, lugging bright red hand baggage, large enough to exceed any limit.

We both laughed at the retreating back of the bizarrely dressed tourist. 'Why do Americans dress like that?' I wondered aloud, 'is it some sort of law in the States that they have to dress badly in order to clear customs?'

Tara laughed out loud and we crammed ourselves onto the bus, holding on for dear life as it careened its way across the tarmac towards the ugly grey terminal building I had seen from the plane.

Once at our hotel, we sat at the table in our room and the maps and other documents once again came out. We started to plan our approach to what we figured was going to be the hardest part of the journey. We were now in the land where so much had happened. This was where Frederick's companions had been mercilessly killed; where the Matabele had hoarded vast quantities of diamonds; where Frederick had barely escaped with his life, and perhaps hidden a stash of those diamonds. This is also where Nellie had married, lost her children and her husband, and where, I worried, some dark secrets lay in wait for us to uncover and reveal.

I felt now, more than ever before, that we had been guided here and that our futures might rest on what we now discovered. It was a disquieting feeling that whether we failed or succeeded, our lives would almost certainly change. Tara was still acting normally and I hoped that she had got over whatever it was that had affected her before. The power of hindsight can work in two ways, either providing an extra sense of perception of events past, or allowing you to excuse those events and rationalise them. With Tara, I think I had rationalised her behaviour, minimised it so that what alarmed me before was now just an unsettling feeling, one I was able to put to the back of my mind.

We pulled out a list Mum had provided for us of family members in the area and quickly ran through it, wondering who we should or shouldn't make contact with. The revelations of Nellie's marriage had somehow put a different slant on these people as we considered the possibility that they might have colluded in the chaos of that union. This thought came from an idea I had voiced, that in those days, it was considered a wife should obey her husband. Here, in this harsh land, perhaps women were expected to be strong enough to not complain and just get on with things. We had discussed this possibility after watching a documentary on the colonial era in India and South East Asia where women were thrown into alien circumstances with little no support and simply expected to cope. By today's standards, it had seemed almost barbaric that any man could treat his wife in this way, but the programme explained that the people who populated the colonies were different and this was the life they had become accustomed to.

The thought that the same ethos had existed here in what was then Rhodesia was not an unreasonable one. Hence our worry now that the families to whom we were related here may have guilty secrets to hide, or perhaps worse, not consider their actions as anything to be ashamed of.

There were addresses located in town and country, but we decided for the moment to ignore the town's folk and instead contact a family who farmed several miles north of Harare, beside whose name Mum had marked an asterisk denoting a good place to start. Before that though, we decided to try and trace Frederick's journey through the country by re-reading his notes and cross-referencing to the large-scale map of the country we had bought at the airport.

'OK then,' Tara started, what's our first clue? He was five days out from the point where Selous left him when the Matabele warriors first approached and told him to go to GuBulawayo to see the king right?'

'Right, so we have to figure out how far they would have got in five days on horseback, at least I assume they were on horseback and not in wagons.' I frowned, looking through his notes to see if there was any reference to wagons.

'No, there's no reference here, and in fact, later he says that the horses were dying one by one, so for now, let's assume they had no wagons.' Tara made that decision easy. Then she continued; 'So, where was it that Selous left them?'

'Hang on a sec,' I scrabbled for the notes I had made at the university with Megan, 'it was Tati.' I peered at the map trying to locate the name.

'I can't see anywhere called Tati, but there is a place here called Old Tate, which could be pronounced Tati, I suppose.'

Tara leant over the map and pointed to the left of Old Tate. 'There's a place called the Tati Siding there, so it must be the right area.' She marked the map with a cross and underneath wrote neatly, "Selous leaves Frederick".

'Right, so how far would they get in five days do you think?' She asked, pensively, still closely inspecting the map and gently biting her lip in concentration.

'Well, it doesn't really matter, does it?' I said, 'We know where he started and we know that he went to GuBulawayo from there, so we already have our route.'

'Yes, but it would be good if we could trace his every step, wouldn't it?' Tara turned to look at me, 'Just for research sake and so that we can even follow it while we're here if we get the time.'

I smiled at her need for accuracy. 'Okay, you win. Come on, let's plot his every step then. You're right that it will be more interesting that way.'

'So back to our question then, how far can a horse go with a full pack and man on its back in one day?' Again she looked at me expecting an answer.

'Well...,' I stalled for time, frantically wracking my brain for any point of reference that I could use to work this one out. 'If a man walks at what, two or three miles an hour, then a horse should be able to walk at several times that pace, shouldn't it?'

Tara just stared at me, eyebrows raised in anticipation of the definitive answer. I frowned at her and continued my mental acrobatics.

'So let's say a horse can walk, unladen, at around seven or eight miles an hour?' I didn't have a clue if this was right or wrong, but persevered anyway. 'But if you put a pack and a man on its back, then it will slow down somewhat. But,' I raised a finger in the air in my best impression of an intelligent person, 'a horse can keep going for longer than a man; it would have more staying power, so its average speed over a long distance would be greater. But, they were travelling over rough ground, over rivers, etc, which would slow them down on average quite considerably. So, I conclude that a horse can walk at around, nearly an approximate speed of, in the region of about....four miles an hour!' I finished with a flourish, summing up as well as the best TV barrister in front of the jury.

Tara applauded and I bowed, neither of us knowing if my calculations were right or wrong, but it seemed like a reasonable figure, so we decided to use it for now. Then we went back to map and traced from Old Tate a line towards GuBulawayo. The next problem, however, was that we didn't actually know which direction Selous would have pointed them in. From our research before we came here however, we made the assumption that he would have suggested they head for the kings kraal, as any expedition into the territory would have to be passed by Lobengula first. Also Selous would have known that.

'Okay, but from what he says, they didn't travel in a straight line to the kraal, because the warriors pointed to the hills to the north of them and those were the Matoppos,' I pointed out, 'so they actually went more east-northeast from Tati and then headed north over the Matoppos. Then there's something else in the diary that has been nagging at me too. His description of the high shelf of rock where there were balancing stones and lizards. I'm sure I've heard that description before somewhere, but in a different context.'

Tara frowned for a moment and then said, 'You're right, you know that does ring a bell. Something we have read recently, now what was it?'

All of a sudden, the penny dropped and I shouted, 'It's where Rhodes is buried; it's the place Rhodes described as the View of The World or something. No, here it is on the map, "World's View". It was in the guidebook we read on the plane, as one of those must see places. The description was almost identical to Frederick's, but Frederick got there first. A coup for the Braughtons I think.'

We both laughed at the thought that our ancestor had bested the great Cecil Rhodes, discovering his final resting place before him, and noting it as a peaceful resting place himself. We made a note to tell everyone about that when we got home.

'Right then, back to the map.' Tara took charge again. 'So, they headed towards the village of Kezi first, which makes sense as it's on the river, a good place to rest I imagine. Then they turned north to the Matoppos, and then finally, up to Bulawayo, to give it its modern name. Now we just have to figure out where they went from there.

He says that the plan was to head west from Bulawayo, towards the ruins of Great Zimbabwe, that I assume Selous must have marked on a map for them, but the white man disturbed them on the second night out. So, if we use our estimated speed of travel calculations, they would have travelled approximately fifty or sixty miles, assuming two eight-hour days. That puts them north of present day Lake Cunningham, which then would have just been a river, as it shows on the map as a dam, so another obvious stopping place.' She grinned triumphantly at the progress we were making. However, now came the hard part, as the next part of the journey was broken and unclear. The horses had died one by one and Frederick's description had become much less clear. The only clue we had was what Frederick had reported of the injured man's conversation with them. He had said that the treasure was buried north and west of them about four days ride away.

I looked at the map and sighed at the size of the area this description could conceivably cover.

I measured from their probable camp the distance they could have travelled in four days on horseback, directly north. Then, I plotted points in an arc moving steadily westward, each point still the same distance from their camp, producing a curved line from Silobela, due north, to a place on the main rail line called Sawmills, which was east-northeast. Then I reasoned that we should allow for a margin of error in our calculations and so measured each side of that arc the equivalent of half a day's ride. This gave us an area, which I then shaded, of approximately forty miles wide by one hundred and forty miles long on its long upper edge. That equated to a total area of some five and a half thousand square miles. I slumped back in my chair and threw my pen down.

'How on earth are we going to find anything in an area that large?' I asked, already feeling defeated by the enormity of the task. 'We had might as well just go home now, it's impossible. We have to find a single tree, which may or may not still be there, in an area the size of Hampshire.'

Tara just looked at me and then at the shaded area I had marked on the map in front of us. 'I don't know how we'll do it,' she replied, still looking at the map, 'but if your tone of voice suggests you're ready to give up on this, then you had just better think again, because we have to keep going. We have to go there and see what we can find, no matter how hopeless it seems at the moment. So, just straighten up, would you, and stop feeling that way. We have to keep going; I just know we will get there in the end.' Her eyes had filled with tears as she spoke and I could see that the situation seemed as hopeless to her as it did to me, but she was determined it seemed. She wiped her eyes and turned to me again.

'We are not giving up, Okay? We are just not giving up!'

I looked into her eyes and there was none of the scary stuff I had seen there in Cape Town, just the deep, dark eyes of my best friend. She pleaded with me without saying another word and as usual I melted.

'Okay,' I said quietly, 'we'll give it a go. We can head out tomorrow and see what the area looks like. You're right; it might be easier to figure it out than it looks on this map. If only we had something to go by though, something that could narrow the search area down a bit.'

We both sat there thinking hard about everything we had learned so far; all the notes and information we had gathered, but could think of nothing that was going to help us. Then Tara suddenly pointed to the painting we had brought with us.

'Of course! The painting! That's what will help us find the spot. I knew there was a reason for us to bring it along. If we can find an area that looks like that picture, then we have probably found the treasure. Like I said before, we can use the position of the sun as a guide too.'

Her optimism was commendable, but I pointed out that it could be anywhere, and that the search area was still several thousand square miles of who knew what. 'It could be farmland, or mining territory, or military land, or probably worse, virgin bush.' I said, looking at the painting and wondering out its part in all this. I had to grudgingly admit it did make some sort of sense and that it did have a role to play, as it seemed as if Frederick had sketched it during that period his memory had blocked out. I wasn't sure how he had managed to do that though, as the time scale must have been incredibly short, a point I raised to Tara.

'But again, we have only assumed the time frame was short, haven't we?' Tara said. 'For all we know, he may have missed several days or even weeks from his memory. They say that periods of huge trauma or stress can make the mind do all sorts of funny things. Perhaps this is one of them. He may have had the time to re-hide the treasure, sketch the picture, and still make his way out of the area before he was spotted. We just don't know.'

I mulled this over and decided that she was right. We had made assumptions up to now that had proved to be incorrect, so it was time we, or maybe just I, opened my mind a little more to the possibilities.

The rest of that day we spent wandering around the city doing some sightseeing. We didn't plan our walk at all, and consequently, ended up not seeing anything of any great interest, but we did come across one or two pavement markets where local artisans were displaying their wares. There were sculptures and trinkets, little cars made out of old milk tins, toys, masks, and paintings of every description. Some of it was very similar to Nellie's treasures at Acacia, but some looked very new, losing some of that spirit I had come to recognise in the carvings I had grown up with.

One particular display caught my attention, as each and every piece looked old and just more authentic than any of the others. I knelt down and poked around for a bit before even thinking of looking up to see who was selling this stuff. The face that greeted my upturned eyes gave me a start, as it was staring at me with an intensity that bordered on hatred. He was old, with wrinkled and creviced skin; the hair on his head was thin and grew in grey tufts. He wore modern shorts and a t-shirt, but his feet were bare. It was his eyes that gave me the shock; they were red rimmed with almost no white visible around centres, which looked pitch black. There were depths to them that scared me, but I found I couldn't look away, and so we simply stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, until he spoke.

'Ingozi. Uyaphi? Ingozi.'

The words broke the spell and I glanced away for a second towards the next display, looking to see if anyone had heard him and could translate for me. Then he spoke again.

'Danger, great danger. Where are you going? You must leave, the spirits will see you. Great danger.'

He reached out and touched my hand. I felt a shock, almost electrical. Involuntarily, I took a step back and since I was still in a kneeling position, tripped backwards into the gutter. Tara looked up from where she was examining some trinkets and at first laughed at me floundering by the kerbside. Then she must have seen my face, as I once again stared at the old man, terrified at the sight of him and scared stiff at what he had said. She rushed over and helped me to my feet, peering at the old man whose gaze did not waver from my face.

'What is it James?' her voice was unsure as she tried to understand what was going on.

'Let's get away from here.' I said, still staring at him.

'Why, what's wrong?' I was scaring her and her voice trembled a little as I grabbed her arm and started to lead her away across the road to the park on the other side. When we reached the grassed area, I kept on walking fast towards a pool in the centre of the park, with fountains feebly spouting from its ornate stone ornament in the middle. We rounded the pool and found some benches on the other side onto which I slumped. The fear drained away a little, but I felt rivulets of sweat running down my face. Tara anxiously held onto my hand and looked me in the eyes, still scared and confused.

'What the hell happened?' she asked. 'You look as if you have seen a ghost.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat was dry. Tara grabbed a bottle of water from her bag and handed it to me. I gulped, gratefully, trying to collect my thoughts.

'He knows about us,' I said, sure that what I said was true. The old man had known why we were here and he was trying to warn us off, I was positive.

'Who knows about us, that old man, you mean?' She was incredulous.

'He warned me of danger and asked where we were going. He said the spirits would find us.' I looked back at her, trying to convince her of the intensity of what had happened.

I could see that she was torn between laughing at me and taking me seriously, but the look on my face must have won out. 'But how could he?' she asked, not unreasonably, 'How could he possibly know who you are and why we're here? Are you sure it wasn't just a show he puts on for the tourists?'

'No, I felt terrified when he looked at me; even before he spoke there was something there.' I couldn't explain what had happened and I knew that even as I spoke, the idea sounded ridiculous. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my face vigorously, trying to erase the feelings that swirled around me. Tara put her arm round my shoulders and waited for me to recover. After a few minutes, I felt clearer and even started to wonder if the whole thing had been a figment of my imagination. Perhaps looking at the artefacts on the pavement and then the shock of looking up into those eyes was most likely the result of too much booze or something.

I lifted my head again and smiled at Tara. 'Sorry,' I said, 'I didn't mean to scare you; he just caught me unawares, that's all.'

She looked unconvinced, but grateful that I was returning to normal again. She smiled back. 'That's okay, these things happen. Come on, let's go and get something to eat.'

We got up and started towards a row of restaurants across the road. As we walked, I thought to myself that these things don't just 'happen', that was the problem. This was something a bit out of the ordinary. I looked back over my shoulder across the park to where the pavement market was, but there was no sign now of the old man or his wares. He had vanished. I shuddered and tried to put the incident out of my mind.

The next day I was running across the open veld, a screaming group of warriors close behind, their assegais held aloft ready to strike and their spear arms free to pitch their lethal cargos into my retreating back. The sack I carried was heavy, and seemed to be getting heavier with each step, its precious load straining at the canvas material. I could feel its contents starting to move, restless and alive, writhing and clinking against my back, wanting to escape, not willing to be taken away from that place.

The death had been atrocious, the final horrified cries still echoed through my mind. The spear had gone right through the body, pinning it to the tree trunk which had provided inadequate shelter. Scared eyes stared at me, the life gradually fading from them; thick, scarlet blood pumped from the twin wounds front and back and dripped into pools on the ground. I had just stood and watched, unable to move or speak as death came at last.

I ran on, slowing down now, unable to run much further. The faceless mass of warriors behind me were getting closer but seemed to move effortlessly compared with the strain I felt with every step I took. I saw a figure up ahead and I tried to scream for help, but my throat was dry and constricted and no sound issued from my cracked lips.

Another person joined the lone figure, and then another and another and they all looked at me, smiling and not understanding the peril I faced. Inside I screamed, 'Why don't you help me? They are going to kill me, help me, for god's sake help me!' But they continued to stand and stare and smile. Mum, Nellie and an old black man, whose eyes were red and whose flesh was wrinkled. He raised his arm and pointed at me and he mouthed something I couldn't understand. As I turned to look at his toothless mouth, straining to understand what he was saying, I tripped and fell headlong, sprawling into the dust. The sack was sent reeling away from me and the stones skittered from its opening, disappearing into the ground like water into a sponge. They glistened like raindrops in the bright sunlight until one by one they were gone and all that was left was the parched, brown earth.

I rolled to one side and looked back at the warriors and as I did so saw twin flashes of dull steel as the spear flew and the assegai arced towards me....

I screamed and put up my arms to ward off the impact, but I was tangled in something; blankets, sheets. I woke fully then and sat in my bed, sweating and my heart racing, the old man's red eyes still visible and his words still ringing in my ears. Who had died though? I struggled to remember whose body that was, but it was indistinct, greying, rapidly towards nothingness.

The morning came, bright and sunny and the nightmare slowly faded away. It had amplified that feeling of disquiet I still couldn't shake off, but I decided to keep t from Tara for now at least.

After picking up the Toyota 4x4 rental, we set off towards the northwest on the Kariba road. Our first stop was to be at Mum's cousin's farm near Chinhoyi, about a hundred miles north of the capital. We had tried phoning Katie and Albert several times from the hotel, but had had no luck. Mum had told us that the phones out here were a bit old fashioned and that we might have problems getting through. In the end, we decided to drive up there and just pitch up on the doorstep. Mum had already written to them to say we would be in the country, so it shouldn't come as too great a shock when we arrived.

The road north was in reasonable condition and there was little traffic, so we made good time, stopping at little roadside grocery stores for drinks only a couple of times. These shacks were very basic affairs, with wooden frames covered with sheets of corrugated iron and the ubiquitous Coca Cola signs everywhere we looked. The red signs could be seen from miles away as they contrasted so starkly with the natural shades of the surrounding countryside. Inside these little stores, there was not generally much for sale. A few dusty tins were stacked on shelves behind the counter and some fruit and vegetables were available from boxes on the floor. Every store, though, sold the staple of the local diet, mealie meal; ground corn meal that was prepared as a thick, glutinous porridge and eaten at every meal. It was the stuff that could be seen on any TV report on rural Africa, as there was always a child somewhere stuffing it in his mouth with his hands.

At each place we stopped, there were always groups of people milling about or just seated at the assortment of tables and chairs usually found by the roadside in front of these stores. We received cheerful grins and waves from these folk and we chatted with them as we took slugs of thirst quenching fizzy drink.

I had decided not to tell Tara about my dream of the previous night, mostly because it was just a dream and just a product of my own fevered imagination, and partly because I didn't want to worry her about my state of mind any more than she possibly already was. It was a strange state of affairs when I thought about it, as only a few days ago, it had been Tara whose mind seemed to be becoming a little loose around the edges and me doing the worrying. Now, however, the situation had reversed and Tara was the lucid, sensible one of the two of us. Now, this was okay while one of us at least was acting normally, but it worried me that at some point, should we both suffer from a slight case of loony-tunes, we could be in serious trouble. So I kept quiet but that didn't stop me mulling over and over yesterday's events and the subsequent dream sequence, as for some reason, I felt the two things were linked with stronger bonds than just the brain cells in my head.

We eventually came closer to the township of Chinhoyi and started to look for any signs for the Leopard's Leap farm, owned by Katie and Albert Stromberg.

Katie was the daughter of Mum's aunt Jane, whose own mother was Nellie's sister, and represented part of the family that had chosen to stay in Africa. She had also decided to stick to tradition by changing her surname to that of her husband, whereas Nellie and my mother had kept their own name, which is why I am still a Braughton. Albert was a Swiss immigrant, who had come to Africa as a young man and once he had met and married Katie decided it was the place to stay. They had taken over a small family farm and through hard work and ambition, also created two further farms in the area, literally carved from the bush where tobacco was the main cash crop.

This was the extent of my knowledge about them as we searched in vain for their farm. We decided to stop at the town of Chinhoyi itself and pulled off the tarmac onto a wide area of bare earth in front of a number of small stores and other assorted buildings, including a police station. Our arrival seemed to cause a small ripple of interest amongst the people out doing their shopping or carrying out their business on the site and I watched with interest as a group of young men stared at us unsmilingly as we parked in front of the police station. There was some commotion amongst these men and I saw two of them disappear behind a corrugated building, the others now smiling at us as I continued to stare in their direction. They seemed to lose interest in us then and so we walked over towards the station door.

The station building itself followed the apparently standard design around here, except that there were some whitewashed stones arranged in a path to the door and there were a couple of bedraggled plants in pots, standing guard each side of the opening. The step was painted with blue edging and an earthy red centre and I thought somehow managed to provide a marginally more welcome entrance than if it had been bare. Inside, the concrete floor was bare, but swept clean and a row of battered, steel-framed chairs lined one wall opposite a roughly made reception desk. Behind this was another door that was closed as we entered and a window covered from the other side with a thin curtain.

We approached the unattended desk and waited for a minute or two before timidly knocking on its surface and calling out in the general direction of the door. Another minute passed and as we were about to leave, the door opened and a large man stepped through, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he did so.

'Ah, my friends, I am sorry, I did not know there was someone here.' He said in a heavily accented and booming voice, his mouth cracking into a wide smile, showing off a set of very white teeth.

'How can I help you today?'

I ignored the fact that we had been waiting for so long and asked if he could point us in the direction of the Leopard's Leap farm.

'What is your business there? Are you friends of Albert?' he asked suspiciously, ignoring the first question for the moment. We explained who we were and his tone changed instantly. The smile returned and he grabbed a scruffy piece of paper and the stub of a pencil that had been tucked behind his ear and proceeded to draw us a map with full instructions on how we would reach our destination. We thanked him profusely for his help and shook his proffered hand.

'Anything I can do to help the family of Albert and Katie Stromberg. Please pass the regards of Sergeant Sibanda,' he said as we headed back into the sunshine again. For an instant, as we were blinded by the bright light after the dim interior of the police station, I couldn't see a thing, but I sensed a sudden movement over by the four-wheel drive we had hired. I put my hand up to shield my eyes before sliding my sunglasses on and saw two men running across the square with a black case under their arm. It took a second or two for my brain to get into gear and realise that the case was from the back of the car and contained not only the painting, but Frederick's diary, and all the notes we had made. I ran, shouting after the two men, but by the time I reached the far buildings and scooted around the side, there was no sign of them. A young woman was standing nearby and I furiously turned to her asking where they had gone. She looked scared, as I all but shouted at her, but merely shook her head at my questions. I called out to some other people who must have seen the whole thing, but I was greeted with a wall of silence as they all just stared at us. I marched up to another small group, again asking what they had seen and if they knew the men who had stolen the case. One older man came forward then and quietly said that he had seen the men, but didn't know who they were. He was local, and if the two had been from this area, he would have known them, but they were probably from a gang up from Harare to see what mischief they could cause out in the country. He explained that the young woman I had accosted first of all had been threatened by another of the gang; a knife had been held to her throat. 'She will not say a thing to you,' he said, 'for fear that they will find her and kill her.'

I stood in the middle of the dusty square, not knowing what to do and furious that we had let this happen. The friendliness of the people we had met on the trip up from Harare had lulled us into thinking that locking the car doors was unnecessary, but that was obviously an error of judgement that had cost us dearly. I walked back to the car where Tara was dejectedly going through our things to see what else had been taken.

'They've stolen my camera and your Walkman,' she said, 'but I think that's all, apart from the entire reason we came here in the first place, of course.' She started to cry then, and in order that I didn't join her, I swung a fist into the side of the car, simultaneously denting the metalwork and cracking a knuckle in my hand. I yelled out in pain loud enough so that even Sergeant Sibanda came running out of his office to see what the commotion was all about. We explained what had happened and he took us inside to fill out some paperwork and got on the radio to see if he could summon up any help to catch the thieves.

After about an hour of forms and an endless stream of radio calls and conversations, he admitted defeat for the moment, promising us that they would be caught sooner or later. He promised too that he would keep in touch with us as long as we stayed at Leopard's Leap. We thanked him again and left, feeling dejected and believing that our journey may well be over. Without the painting, the diary, maps, and the other notes we had made, it was even less likely that we would be able to find Frederick's hiding place in this vast land.

#

# THE PRESENT

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN \- GATSHENI

Gatsheni made his way slowly through the streets of the capital, the carvings he had displayed on the pavement were in a large suitcase that he half carried and half dragged along behind him.

The incident with the young white man had disturbed him and he knew that the old stories passed down to him by his father and from his father's father before that were again coming to pass. He feared what would now happen, as he understood that his own life was expendable and despite a long and mostly happy life, he did not wish to die. But he had another reason to take action: revenge!

The words he had spoken to the white man had come from deep within him, and he knew not what their source had been, only that they were not of his mind or body. He believed in the spirit of Mlimo even if the spirit's human form had long since departed this earth. The last time he had visited the hidden valley, there had been many people there; women with children, hawkers selling carvings and Coca Cola to the tourists who flooded the area. Nothing stayed hidden forever.

He reached a city bus stop and caught the bus that would take him to the huge bus terminal outside the city. There he felt safe, where no white man ventured. This was a huge area of dusty ground where country busses departed for every part of the land. There were always crowds of his people here, mixing with the hated Shona who now ruled his nation. The smells of diesel fumes, cooking pots, and human sweat mingled in the hot, dusty atmosphere where organisation struggled from the chaos. Vehicles constantly came and went, belching great clouds of black smoke, their interiors filled with black faces and their tops loaded with all manner of goods destined for the small towns and villages dotted around this vast land. No signs told passengers where to go or which bus to catch, but rarely did anyone miss their connection or climb onto the wrong vehicle. The hawkers did the rounds, selling food, drink, knives, and excess goods they had been unable to sell in the city, preying on those waiting for their own transport to rev up smelly engines and weave their way from the terminal.

The old man unerringly made his way to the centre of this maelstrom, picking the bus he needed from rows of identical vehicles lined up along one side. He slung the sack up on top and climbed on board, finding a seat near the back where he could think about what he needed to do in the days to come.

As they left the noise of the bus station behind, his mind went back to his childhood, when his father had first told him the story. The first of many tellings of this tale, he remembered the expression on his father's face and the passion he had seen there, and so had remembered it word for word from that day to this.

Our ancestor was Mboku and he was a brave warrior, never flinching from a task if it was to help the king and the nation. Once, he worked in the great pit of Kimberley where the white man dug in the earth for the stones that glitter like raindrops in the sun. He worked there for the nation though, not for the white man, and he became respected amongst the other warriors, helping to gather together a great treasure for the king.

Mboku discovered a plot against the king though and he chose to risk his life to stop the traitors who were eventually brought to justice and slain like the dogs they were. He was a spiritual man and it is said he spoke directly with Mlimo who gave him instructions that he followed all his life.

The great treasure was hidden in a secret place in this land, but one day, a white man came there and took some of it away. Mboku saw this as a chance to hide all the treasure from the traitors and so he helped the white man bury the stones, but then called the spirits to rub the memory of the hiding place from the man's head.

But the white man held the memory in his heart as well as his head. When he understood this, Mboku chased him from the land until he was swallowed up by the great river and saw no more. The traitors were caught and slaughtered. Mboku returned to the Great Kraal in triumph for capturing them. However, when he spoke again to Mlimo, he told him that the stones would always remain hidden, for their time had passed. They will bring only misery to the nation until a time when the dogs rule the land and our people,when false rulers starve the people; when greed stops food growing in the fields; when the nation is cheated by its own; when the warriors who never fought take over the land; when the wise are taught by the ignorant. Then, the stones will find their use.

However, Mlimo said that the white man, who had died, had lived again. That he would return and then there would be danger and death would result.

Mboku waited for the man to return, but he never did. He passed the story to his son, who passed it to his son, and then finally to you, my son...Gatsheni.

Gatsheni knew that Mlimo had protected the diamonds from that day to this, but he was worried about his power in these days when the people had lost their faith in the spirits, for it was only the strength of the people that fed the strength of the spirits. His own belief had never wavered and he knew of others who thought in the same way, but would there be enough of them to succour Mlimo? This question waited to be answered.

At Kadoma, to the southwest of Harare, he got off the bus just long enough to talk to some youths who were hanging around the bus stop, looking for any way to make some money, whether by legal means or otherwise. Anyone watching the scene may have noticed some notes change hands, but the transaction was over so quickly that it would have been easily missed.

The bus then trundled on along the highway towards Bulawayo. After they left Kadoma, the road turned round to the south. He looked out of the right hand window and sensed the treasure, out there somewhere, but he knew not where. He had to act, he knew that, but he was only an old man, what could he do? He thought again of the others whose belief was as strong as his own and he knew that he must go to them, call the indunas together, and summon Mlimo one more time.

# CHAPTER NINETEEN \- LEOPARD'S LEAP

Following the Sergeant's instructions, we turned off the main highway about two miles from the town and onto a single strip of tarmac running down the centre of a wider unmade road. A couple of times, we had to pull over onto the dusty, red earth to avoid oncoming traffic, but apart from that we saw no one. Five miles along this road, there was a sign to the right that pointed to Leopard's Leap Farm. This time, the luxury of Tarmac was left behind; instead, we found a rutted unmade track with arable fields closing in on either side. There were irrigation ditches along each side of the track and rows of trees in places, forming an avenue, shaded from the bright sun. These trees, I found out later were blue gum that were not native here, but planted for their fast growth and use for firewood. They were beautiful though, their pale trunks rising straight and true and topped by the blue-green canopy, which gives them their name.

We eventually rounded a bend and came to an open gate with a second sign that proclaimed that we had found the farm at last. The thing that struck us as we approached the entrance was the high fencing, topped with barbed wire that could be seen around the main house. I assumed that it was a relic from the war years of not that long ago, as there were gaps here and there where new developments had taken place.

I pulled the car into a yard of what looked like the back of the house and we both jumped out. There was a door open with a fly-shield over it and Tara politely knocked on the frame. A black face peered round the corner, seeming somewhat surprised to see us standing there and even a little unsure of what to do next. We later found out that visitors never came to the back door and the unwritten protocol being so obviously flouted had momentarily confused poor Michael, the houseboy. He soon recovered though and gestured for us to come in where we quickly explained who we were. He smiled uncertainly and led us down a corridor to a side door into what was obviously the farm office, with filing cabinets and bookshelves stood along one wall. A man sat with his back to us, pouring over paperwork spread over the surface of a magnificent desk made of what looked like oak. He was dressed in khaki coloured shirt and shorts, with woolly socks on his feet. He looked tall even when sitting down and his tanned skin showed through the thinning, greyish-brown hair on his head.

Michael coughed politely and said, 'Boss, there is some family here for you.' The man swung round in his chair, eyebrows raised in surprise. Again we explained who we were and instantly he jumped up and came over to shake our hands. His face was open and friendly, blue eyes twinkling as he smiled, tanned wrinkles accentuating the broad, white-toothed grin.

'We just got your mother's letter yesterday.' He said, not obviously upset about the lack of warning. 'God, when did you arrive here? Where have you been? What have you been doing?'

We laughed at the torrent of questions, but before we had a chance to reply, he headed for the door while calling his wife and gesturing for us to follow him. Michael backed away; now smiling broadly as he had obviously done the right thing by letting us in. We followed Albert through to a large living area that seemed to extend the whole depth of the house. It was cool and dark at the rear, but the sun streamed through the front section that opened to a manicured lawn, beyond which, a very English looking garden could be seen.

At the repeated calls from Albert, Katie appeared from a door on the far side of the room. She was a small, but obviously energetic woman, whose smile as she came towards us easily matched those of Albert and Michael. An attractive face was framed by light brown hair and her eyes twinkled as she smiled, a quick wit and intelligence shining from them like a beacon.

'My word, we didn't expect to see you so soon.' She said, giving us both a hug and kiss and then standing back to assess her two guests.

'We're really sorry,' Tara tried to explain, 'we tried to phone from Harare, but we never managed to get through.'

'Yes, well, the phones here are a little rustic,' Katie smiled ruefully, indicating the wooden box fixed to the wall, with a winding handle firmly attached to one side. 'We are on a party line here and we have to listen for our particular ring to know the call is for us. Unfortunately, with several others using the same line, it can often be engaged and that's only when the line is working in the first place; the joys of rural Zimbabwe, I'm afraid.'

'But, it's absolutely not a problem that you're here: we're always delighted to have visitors, especially family we haven't met before.'

'Come and sit down: Michael, could you get us some tea and biscuits please out on the verandah?'

She led us towards the front of the room and we saw that part way across it went from being part of the original house to a wide verandah, with fold-back doors extending right across the front. The similarities to Acacia were striking, but when we saw the sofa sitting in the corner and the vast table in front of it, we both gasped with delight.

'Wow, they are just like the ones at Acacia.' We both chorused almost simultaneously.

'Of course, Nellie had the other set, didn't she? I'd quite forgotten.' Katie said. 'They were made nearly a hundred years ago by Nellie's father and grandfather. I don't know why they made two of each, but I think they were both here at one time, going by the old photo's we have.'

'You mean Nellie used to live here?' Tara exclaimed, as surprised as I was by this revelation.

'Why yes dear, didn't you know? This was where she was born and she lived here until she eventually left for England back in the twenties. Then the farm was passed to her eldest sister, Emily, my grandmother, and so on through her daughter, my mother, and then to me.'

Isn't it a bit strange that the daughters inherited the farm though?' I asked, 'Why didn't the sons get a look in?'

Katie smiled and then explained. 'Well, it would have I suppose, but Nellie's only brother Albert went to live in the town to pursue a career in business, so that's why she got it. Then when she left, there was only Emily left to inherit. She would have left it to her only son William, your Grandfather, James, but he also left for England, which is why his only sister Jane inherited. The same thing happened with Maurice, my brother, as he had no interest in farming and so Albert and I stepped into the family farming shoes, so to speak.'

This peek into the family history was fascinating and I was keen to know more, but for now we were peppered with questions about our trip and our lives, so we all chatted for the next hour, drank tea, and munched on some delicious homemade biscuits that Michael had whipped up that morning.

They were both horrified to hear of the theft of the case and Albert immediately went to his office to contact Sergeant Sibanda to ensure everything was being done to recover our things. 'However,' he warned, 'the camera will almost certainly disappear for good, probably has already been sold in Harare if I know these rogues at all. They won't have much use for the other stuff though, so you never know.'

We had elected to tell them very little about our reasons for being here by telling them a broad version of the truth, managing to leave out anything to do with hidden diamonds. We left them with the impression that we were simply retracing family movements into the country and the landscapes of the painting we had brought along.

When tea was over, Albert returned to his paperwork and Katie took us for a walk around the farm, pointing out the small kopje to the side of the house from which the leopard had leapt when Nellie's father had originally found the place. That was the good luck sign for him to stop looking and set up shop,' she explained, 'as it jumped clear over his head and landed right where the house is now, then ran off without so much as touching him.'

The farm dealt predominantly in tobacco and we toured the various sheds where the cut crop was graded, dried, baled, and stored before it went off to the auction house. The sweet smell of wood smoke mingled with the equally sweet smell of drying tobacco, giving the place a pleasant aura and we passed the time away chatting and walking, smiling at the workers who scurried around completing their chores.

Katie told us about the problems they faced living in Zimbabwe under a leader whose aims were not always entirely clear.

'This is such a prosperous country,' she said, 'the farms are well run and the tobacco trading floors are the biggest in the world, turning over one million kilos a day. I love the atmosphere at the auctions, you know, the auctioneer's chant and the hustle and bustle. It is as much a social occasion as a business one, a rare chance for us to meet up with old friends from all over the place. Zimbabwe actually sells surplus food to other countries as well; this is no basket case African economy like some of the others.

But Mugabe is starting to ruin things. In small ways at the moment, perhaps, but I can envision the day when all his birds will come home to roost and then we will be in big trouble. Prices are already starting to rise, inflation fuelled by government squandering mostly, as there seems to be little else forcing these prices up. To make things worse, the "Zim" dollar has been dropping like a stone recently, good for you guys, but terrible for us.

There has been talk of land reform too, mostly just talk for now, but he could stir things up for his own gains if he wanted and then many people could lose everything they have worked hard to achieve and own. Mugabe's cronies are put into positions of power and that ethos has filtered down the ranks of public office until you have got situations where white policemen of many years experience are being sacked and replaced by new recruits who happen to be in favour with the right family somewhere up the line.'

'Is Sergeant Sibanda one of those?' I asked.

'No, actually, he is all right. He's been in the force for a long time and is a fair and intelligent man, if a little lazy at times. However, he has had others forced on him who know nothing of effective policing, who chose the stick every time as the best way to apply the law.'

She smiled a rueful smile and said, 'But for all that, we love this land and will choose to stay here as long as we can, no matter what the trials and tribulations.'

We carried on walking and came to the workers' village. This practice was common on farms out here, she told us.

'The farmer builds the houses for all his workers and they live here on the farm with their families in a community. They often decide to build their own huts, though, as they have here and they have some land for crops and animals too. It works well for both sides as they have a secure job and a place to live, and we have the convenience of a workforce always on hand. They are paid well, even though some decide to leave and go to other farms or to the city, but most are more than happy to be here. There are some families here whose ancestors came to work for Frederick's son when all this land was worthless bush. Now we have hundreds of acres of crop producing land, 250 acres irrigated, which is no mean feat out here, but a lifeline during the regular droughts we suffer from.'

We looked on at the village scene in front of us that could have been seen at any time in the past couple of hundred years and immediately saw that change came very slowly to these country people. The round, thatched huts were decorated with natural pigments that blended into the surrounding bush, giving the impression that it was all part and parcel of the same creation.

Women and children milled around, some cooking over open fires and the children shyly approaching us, intrigued by the new visitors to their homes. That smell of wood smoke again filled my nostrils and I knew that this aroma, out of all others, would be an instant trigger to transport me back to Africa, no matter where in the world I found myself in the future. The scene was so similar to the one depicted in Frederick's watercolour that for a moment I found myself assessing the angles and the positions of the huts, trying to fit the images with the one in my mind. I looked across at Tara who just laughed, knowing exactly what it was I had been trying to do.

That evening we sat on the verandah once again, gin and tonics in our hands, and the sounds of a scratchy old 45 record playing on an ancient wind-up gramophone. Animals chirped and rustled outside and the gentle breeze wafted the warm fragrant smells of magnolia and honeysuckle into the room. This was how I had imagined colonial Africa to be and I smiled to myself at the thought that this scene had been virtually unchanged for the past hundred years. I hunched down in my chair a little more and took another sip from my glass.

Albert had had no luck with the police and our stolen goods and so we had to decide what to do next. We had an invitation to stay here at the farm for as long as we wished, but we didn't want to outstay our welcome and there was a lot of country to see, with or without the choice of hunting down the diamonds.

The enormity of the loss hadn't hit either of us until we got the chance to relax, but then it occurred to me that there was more at stake here than just the waste of our time, coming here and not being able to search properly. This was to do with the whole family, including the two people whose home we were sharing at this moment. We were probably letting Nellie down in a big way too, as she had entrusted us with the task of solving the mystery once and for all and we had basically blown it. I thought back over the generations of Braughtons who had wondered about the treasure, who had dreamed of it, and some even who had come looking for it. Tara had gone very quiet as well and as I looked at her nursing her drink, her eyes cast downward, long hair shielding her face from the room, I realised that she must be thinking about her parents and their aborted attempt to find their fortunes with the attendant misery their search had caused. I reached over and grasped her hand, giving it a little shake and trying to bring her back to the room. She looked up at me and smiled briefly uncertainly before her eyes dropped once more.

Katie and Albert obviously sensed that something was wrong and tactfully went to bed, leaving the two of us on the verandah alone with the sounds and scents of the African night.

'What are we going to do now, James?' she almost pleaded with me for an answer.

'I'm not sure, but we can't give up yet, can we? There would be so many people we would be letting down if we did.'

She looked up and smiled again, glad I think, that I had read her mind and understood her misery.

'Thanks, I'm glad you're here with me in this.' She said softly.

'Ah, it's nothing; I didn't have anything else to do this month.' I tried to lighten the mood somewhat; suddenly scared that Tara's mood could change again to the darker version of her I really wasn't that keen on.

'Don't joke about it,' She was having none of it, 'it isn't nothing at all; it's very much something. I think you and I are something special and we should always stick together.'

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, not sure how to respond. Before I had a chance to say anything, I felt her warm lips on mine. She drew sharply back as I opened my eyes in shock.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that!' She exclaimed as her hand flew to her mouth, and she sat back in her seat, just watching me for my reaction.

My mind really was reeling now, I was struck dumb and so sat stock still, just staring back.

'I don't know how to feel about this,' I heard my voice say words I can't remember thinking, 'This can't happen.'

'Because we are cousins?' she asked.

'Yes, because we're cousins. But also because I have a girlfriend, remember? The girlfriend that you were trying to get me to commit to...until recently that is.

I stuttered and stumbled over my words, unable to explain the inexplicable. I thought she had never looked so beautiful, but we were both emotional and upset and I worried that all this raw emotion could destroy the bonds we shared and I longed for us to be just Tara and James, cousins, friends, and nothing more than that.

Instead of saying all that of course, I just said, 'I'm sorry Tara, this can't happen.' And that was that.

There was a silence for a few minutes and then she simply nodded, smiled a quick nervous smile, and then asked again what we should do next about finding the diamonds.

'I think we should sleep on it and see what we come up with in the morning.' I avoided the question neatly and brought a close to the day all in one sentence and so rose from my seat and closed the doors to the garden.

'Time for bed I think and then we can talk again tomorrow.'

# CHAPTER TWENTY - THABAS INDUNAS

The early morning mist shrouded the hill, several miles to the southeast of Bulawayo, the old heart of the Matabele nation. There were no tourists at this time of the day; they wouldn't start heading into the area for another two or three hours, so Gatsheni was relaxed as he sat and waited for the others to arrive.

On his arrival in Bulawayo, he had wasted no time in making contact with the indunas, such as they were these days and calling for an indaba, a council of leaders here at the Thabas Indunas, the Hill of Chiefs. This group of men were relics of a long forgotten past, but they clung on to their beliefs that one day the Matabele nation would rise again and rule the lands of their forefathers, ridding the people of the yolk forced upon them by the Mashona jackals.

Gatsheni looked up as the first of the old men arrived and stood to greet him.

'I see you Zawane, son of Chakundwa, there are deep matters to discuss here and we must be firm in our decisions.'

The induna responded in the traditional manner and one by one six further old men joined them until there were eight of them, seated in a circle, conferring leadership on no one man, allowing each to speak and judge as he saw fit.

'The time Mlimo prophesied has come to us, my brothers.' Gatsheni spoke first. 'The great treasure of Lobengula is threatened by the approach of the bunu. The white man is here already with a woman who is of his blood and they search for Mboku's place.

We, the remaining indunas, the blood of our ancestors, the warriors of the Matabele, must act soon if we are to stop these people, for I know that they will destroy the secret we have kept for so long. I have already sent some amadoda against them, but these warriors are little more than boys and I fear they will only slow the intruders for a short time.

I say that we must summon Mlimo once again and use the power of the spirits to help us protect the stones.'

He sat down, head bowed for a second before raising his eyes and looking at the other men one by one in turn, waiting for them to speak. There was a nervous pause, though, and he sensed that the old men had lost their heart for a fight. They looked at each other, hoping that someone else would be the first to stand and speak. Despite his age, they all feared Gatsheni, as they believed that he could talk with the spirits and wondered at the retribution they could face if they chose to ignore the threat he spoke of.

'Nkosi, we, the men of the Matabele are unsure of the course of action to take. The man you speak of is only one person and the woman can't pose a threat to us. Please explain to us why there is a need for Mlimo, when the amadoda could deal with them. Help us so that we can understand.' The first man to arrive, Zawane, spoke, trying to appear conciliatory and not wanting to antagonise Gatsheni.

Gatsheni took some minutes to speak, holding his head low and breathing deeply until the others feared that he had fallen asleep right there in front of them. They murmured and fidgeted, unsure whether to wake him or not.

Then he stood, rising from where he had sat in a single strong, fluid movement, which if they had not seen it with their own eyes, the other men would not have believed Gatsheni to be capable of such a thing. His head was still bowed and his eyes fluttered as his arms lifted above his head. His frail body seemed to almost vibrate with life and energy; muscles rippled and crooked joints straightened, as he stood there silent in front of them.

'You are like the amekazi of the Matabele.' The words came from Gatsheni's lips, but the sound was terrifying to the old indunas, loud and shrill, echoing around them, seeming to emanate from the very earth itself. Being likened to mothers of the tribe, worrying about the children and the goats was galling, but not one man spoke out against it.

'You would let the bunu destroy us all? I spoke once of this threat and now you must act to guard against it or I will act against you, erasing you and your families from the earth.'

The men trembled and cowered as the words echoed around them.

'This man's family have come before and each time there has been death, but still they come, but no more, you must stop them for good now. Bulala umbuna, bulala kusasa.' they shrunk back even further at the Ndbele instruction to kill the white man, knowing how it could destroy them if they were discovered, but that the spirits could destroy them if they failed.

As his words echoed and faded into the earth and trees around them, Gatsheni collapsed back to the ground. He once again looked like an old man with rheumy red eyes and he looked up at them challenging anyone to speak out against him now.

No one moved spoke, or dared look him in the eye as they contemplated what they must do.

# CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - MORE SECRETS

The morning came early on the farm and I was roused just before the sun came up by the sounds of life in the house and out in the garden. I lay there for a minute or two, digesting the events of the night before and dreading having to face Tara this morning after what had happened. I couldn't imagine what had prompted Tara's actions, except that it further pointed at a trend of strange and unsettling behaviour over the last few weeks.

Once I had showered, I walked into the dining room where everyone else had already assembled, including Tara. She looked up at me with a broad smile, for which I was thankful, and I sat down in the empty seat.

There was already a large quantity of food on the table, including a large pot of mealie porridge that I was keen to try. Assuming that a plate of this thick cereal would be enough for one breakfast, I helped myself to a full bowl, missing the amused look that passed between Albert and Katie.

'That's good,' Katie said, 'I like to see a man with a big appetite.' I smiled at her and reached for the sugar to sprinkle on top, but before I could get there, Katie passed me a large earthenware jug, brimming with thick, yellow cream.

'Pour some of that over it; it's from the farm, you know, fresh as it comes. Sugar is wasted on this, try some home grown honey instead'

I did as she suggested and then dug in to the huge, rich bowl of porridge without uttering a word. Unfortunately, for my stomach at least, the porridge was just the start of an average breakfast here. Next, there came plates of thick bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and mushrooms, all from the farm. Then came thick pancakes with maple syrup and enormous slabs of fresh warm bread with lashings of creamy butter to spread on top. All very Enid Blyton I thought. To go with this was an array of jams, honey, and glazed ham. Every single thing on that table was produced here on the farm and it made me appreciate all the more, the wonderfully healthy lifestyle these people lived and how self-sufficient they were.

As each new plate of food was put in front of me, I grew more and more uncomfortable until at long last, as I washed everything down with cups of dark black coffee and fresh orange and mango juice, the procession of dishes came to an end. I slumped back in my chair wondering how on earth I was going to be able to move anywhere within the next two or three hours.

Katie explained that breakfast was the main meal of the day here, as the men would often be out on the farm all day and needed to be fed to the gunnels before they set off.

'I wondered if you were going to fit it all in with the amount of porridge you ate.' She laughed.

I thought I had better put a brave face on things and jumped up out of my chair. 'I'm ready for anything.' I boasted, striking a heroic pose as if going into battle.

'He won't make it past ten o' clock.' Tara put her two pennies in, but for once, I was glad to be the butt of her acerbic comments, as it put us back on a regular footing as far as I was concerned, relegating last night's kiss to history.

'So, what are your plans, you two?' Katie asked, ushering us out of the dining room so that Michael could clear away the breakfast dishes.

'We thought we might stay one more day, if that's okay, and then head off again tomorrow morning.' Tara said, looking to me for approval of this plan, eyebrows cocked, head to one side.

'Um, yeah, I guess that sounds fine to me, if it's all right with you and Albert, Katie?'

'Fine by me,' she replied with a smile, 'it will be nice to have you here for a little longer, I want to find out all about you both.'

We looked at each other, perfectly aware of what the other was thinking.

'Have you got any suggestions for a bit of sightseeing around here?' I asked.

'Not unless you like looking at acres and acres of crops, or old barns, or perhaps rusty farm equipment.' She smiled at us. 'It's not really a tourist trap here as you can see; just good honest farming country.'

'That's okay,' Tara said, we can go for a walk or something, or is there anything we can do to help you? I wouldn't mind getting involved a bit, feel like we're earning our keep.'

'Of course you can help. Come with me and we can feed the animals, and then I have to go and check on the farm shop, make sure it's well stocked.'

So, for the rest of the day, we spent our time with Katie, chatting about everything and anything not to do with family secrets, relationships, or strange old black guys. Katie truly was a bundle of total energy, striding around the farm issuing orders, getting things done at breakneck speed whilst at the same time, keeping us amused and entertained.

When at last we returned to the house that afternoon for a delicious glass of homemade lemonade, I broached the subject of Nellie's husband and children to see if Katie could tell us anything more. I noticed Tara tense up as I asked for Katie's opinion, but carried on anyway, determined to find out anything that Katie could impart.

She looked a little surprised that we should bring this subject up, but asked what we already knew, which we told her.

'There's not much I can add to what you know to be honest. The accident happened in this house of course, so there were no witnesses as far as I can gather. They were evidently too poor to afford servants by then because Harry's drinking and gambling had rid them of all their money. There was some talk that Nellie had killed him, but it was only talk. The police were called and Harry was found to have been drunk as a lord at the time. They said that all the evidence supported Nellie's story and so no more was done about it.'

'You have to understand that back then, and even now to some extent, these things happened often and the police were only really there to see there was no danger to the public at large. Their investigation would have been as thorough as it needed to be and they would have been able to quickly see if Nellie had done anything wrong.'

Somehow, Katie's story didn't settle my nerves on this issue as much as I had thought it would. It sounded as if Nellie could easily have murdered Harry and the police would have let her get away with it if there was no danger to anyone else. Rough justice, I suppose.

I must have been frowning because Katie turned to me.

'You mustn't think badly of Nellie, you know. Whatever the real truth, and I happen to believe her story anyway, but even if she had finished him off, then her actions must be judged by the standards out here when it happened and not by the moral standards in the England of today.'

I thought about this for a moment before replying, but realised the sense of what she said. 'Thank you Katie, I think I understand what you're saying. For the record, I don't think she did it either, but as you say, it was a different era, so who are we to judge.'

Tara smiled at this, as she had obviously been satisfied by what Katie had said and visibly relaxed, but then Katie continued.

'Of course I never got to the bottom of the other business, but you probably know something of that too.'

Tara's head nearly swivelled from her shoulders as she turned from looking out over the garden to stare directly at Katie.

'What do you mean the other business? What other business was that?'

Katie looked surprised again that we had known about one thing and not the other, and instantly looked as if she regretted saying anything.

She stared at Tara, guilt was written across her face, making Tara even more anxious to know what there was to know.

'Katie, tell me, you're scaring me a little. What is it?' She looked across at me with fear and apprehension in her eyes, but I could do nothing but shrug my shoulders.

'Katie, you have to tell us now. What else happened?'

Katie sighed and looked from Tara to me and back again, unsure whether to speak about the mysterious "other business".

I'm sorry Tara, but I thought you would have known about it. You seem to know so much else. I hope I am not breaking any promises by telling you this, but I honestly think you should know.'

The tension in the room had reached fever pitch by now as Tara and I eagerly waited for whatever Katie was about to say.

'You two must have been fairly young at the time, I don't know, you would have been around nine or ten years old, James. I got a call from your parents Tara and they said that they were coming out here for a while. Something about the way they talked was a little strange though, I remember feeling a bit odd about the whole trip, but I could never put my finger on exactly what was wrong.'

She paused, summoning up her memories. 'Then I got a second call from Nellie, which is when I thought that something very odd was going on because it was the first time she had ever actually phoned us here. You saw how difficult it was to contact us just from Harare, but an international call to this line would have taken a huge amount of patience and several tries to get through.'

'So what did she say?' Tara asked, her face looking a little pale as she sensed this was not just going to be a story about a nice holiday trip to Zimbabwe that her parents had taken years ago.

'She asked me about the conversation I had had with your parents and wanted to know exactly when they were coming and what they had said their plans were. I was surprised that she had needed to phone me for that sort of information, as it would have been easier for her to contact them there in England.'

'I told her what they said to me, which is pretty much what I told you a moment ago; that they were coming out for a holiday and wanted to stay here for a few days.'

'Nellie kept pressing me though, asking exactly what they had said and the way I had felt about the call. It was all a little strange and in the end, we lost the connection and then I didn't hear from her again until she turned up one day, here at the farm.'

Tara and I looked at each other, puzzled at this, mainly because as far as we knew, Nellie had never revisited Africa in all the time we knew her. To find out that she had was intriguing, especially as her trip seemed to have coincided with Tara's parent's travels to this part of the world.

'How long was she here for, because we didn't know anything about a trip?' I asked.

'It wasn't long, not long at all actually.' Katie replied. 'She arrived late one evening; I remember that because Albert nearly shot her thinking she was an intruder. The effects of the war you understand,' she explained, reacting to our surprised look. 'Back then, if you didn't assume a late night caller was up to no good, you were really risking your life. There were many farmers who learnt that lesson too late and their graves, and those of their families, lie testament to their folly.'

This was an aspect of life out here that had not really occurred to me. Living through a civil war must have been tough, not knowing who your enemies or friends were and expecting the worst at all times. I could see the reason for the remains of the high fencing and barbed wire now.

'Anyway,' Katie continued, 'she arrived late, as I said and then she stayed for just one day before she set off again. Robert and Tina, Tara's parents,' she explained unnecessarily, 'had already been here and gone again. Nellie only stayed for as long as it took to find out where they had gone and then organise transport to go and find them.'

'How did she seem to you, when she got here, I mean?' Tara asked.

'She was agitated,' Katie nodded as she remembered, confirming her thoughts as she spoke, 'very much so actually. It was almost as if she thought they were in some kind of danger, but she never really let onto anything, even though we asked her several times. Albert even offered to help, to go with her. He was worried that if they were in some sort of trouble, then Nellie would be putting herself in danger by going to help them.'

'So did she say anything to you about what the danger might be?' I was sure that something must have been said. These were people used to serious trouble, life and death stuff, literally, so it seemed odd that they knew nothing of what was going on.

'Well, there was another, more disturbing clue to the whole business,' Katie frowned, ' but to this day I am not sure that it meant anything or not.'

We both leaned forward, eager to hear this.

'We have a witchdoctor here on the farm, most do you know. I mean, they're not full on witchdoctors like they used to be, I suppose, but they act as councillors to the people, applying local remedies for minor ailments and they also do a bit of fortune telling. Well, ours came to the house and was eager to tell us about a dream he had had.'

'We're not usually into all that, although we respect his position with the people you understand, but the fortune telling is all a bit hocus-pocus for my liking. Anyway, this dream he had was strange in that he seemed to get some things right that he wouldn't have known about.'

We were both on the edge of our seats by now, silently urging her on. Any pretence at Braughton pragmatism had seemingly fled for the while.

'He said that he had dreamt about a family who were obsessed with a secret, although he didn't know what. He said that the lady from the acacia would help to provide the answer. Well of course, I immediately thought of Nellie's house in England, and the fact that she was here already was a bit of a coincidence. Then he said that this lady would not answer anything now, but rather through others much later. However, in his dream, he said that he had seen an acacia tree and there was death there, but he wasn't sure if it was old death or new death, which is a bit odd, don't you think?'

What else did he say? What did he mean by new or old death? Did he say what the family was obsessed with?' Tara peppered her with questions, not giving the chance for an answer.

'No, he didn't say anything much more than that.'

'But he did say something else then?' I jumped on her inconclusive answer.

'Well yes dear, but nothing important. He just said that it was raining, but the sun was shining. I assume it was something to do with a rainbow, although he didn't actually say that.'

'And where did they go?' I asked, taking Katie off guard by my sudden reversal of topic.

'What? Oh, you mean Robert and Tina. It was up to north Matabeleland, the Lupane area or thereabouts.' She stopped and I sensed she was holding something back.

'What is it Katie? Is there something else?' I asked gently, not wanting to push too hard.

'Look, I don't want to start rumours or make two plus two into five, but a couple of things happened that made us wonder.' She stopped again, wringing her hands and frowning.

'Go on please,' I said, 'we have to know.'

She took a deep breath and then continued; 'Robert and Tina returned a few days later, with Nellie as well. They didn't say they were coming, but just reappeared one afternoon, just as I was going out. They insisted that I carry on with what I was doing and they made themselves at home. But they looked very nervous, drawn and upset at something. I was in too much of a hurry to ask them anything then, so I went on my way.'

'When I returned later, Albert had come in early and was there with them chatting on the verandah. They still looked very tired and were a little quiet, but again, said nothing. We tried to get them to tell us what the problem was, but they said it was nothing and that we shouldn't worry about it. However, they were just not right, you know when you get that feeling and no matter what someone says, you can't shake it off?'

'So what did you think was wrong?' Tara asked, 'you must have had some idea I guess.'

'Well not really. Like I say, we asked them several times, but there was nothing they said that gave us much of a clue.'

'It was only later when they had eventually gone that Albert said something that made me wonder. He said that they reminded him of people in the war. When farmers were attacked and had to defend themselves, sometimes they had to shoot and kill to protect their families and their properties. No matter how tough you think you are, when you kill someone, it affects you and it is obvious to those around that it has done so.'

'Albert said that Nellie, Robert, and Tina had that look, the look of people who had taken a life and were now suffering the consequences.'

We all fell silent at this, letting the enormity of what she had said sink in. Was it possible that the three of them had indeed gone out into the bush somewhere and killed someone? And if so, who and why? The questions swirled around the room, silent and unanswered.

Then Tara sobbed. 'No, it's not possible. Albert was mistaken, there is no way that my parents would have killed anyone, he is just guessing from the way they acted. There could have been any number of reasons for their behaviour. They could have argued amongst themselves, fallen ill, or maybe just killed an animal of some sort, or any number of reasons. There is nothing to prove what Albert said, nothing at all.' She looked at us with eyes moist, pleading for someone to back her up.

I was just about to do just that, thinking that she was right and that it was only Albert's assumption that something terrible must have happened, when Katie spoke again.

'I agree with you totally,' she said, reaching for Tara's hand, but there is one more thing you should know.'

Tara closed her eyes, unwilling to hear any more, trying to block out the light of this beautiful sunny day and the dark secrets she was learning.

'No, there is nothing more, nothing! They didn't kill anyone, they couldn't have done it and there's nothing more to say.' She was nearly shouting by now and then she jumped up and ran from the room into the garden. Katie stood as if to follow her, but I reached out and put a restraining hand on her arm.

'No, don't worry for now; she'll be better on her own for a while.' I said, also eager to know what more Katie had to say and not wanting to break her train of thought.

'Tell me what you were going to say. What else is there?'

She sat down again; obviously worried about Tara and the upset she had caused her by telling us about such goings on. 'It was a few weeks later,' she began, 'and we were at the club up in the town. It's where all the farmers get together on a Friday night for a drink. A bit of an institution really, and the best place to get the news from around the district.'

'Anyway, there were a couple of fellows from further afield visiting one of the local farms for some advice on something or other. It's a good network we have here and you can always get help from another farmer if you have any problems. They were talking about a disturbance near their land some weeks before. They had been out near the perimeters of their own land, checking fences, when they heard some shouting and screaming and then some shots being fired. They wondered about it at the time, but did nothing more, as there were often flare-ups between the locals. Even when guns came into play, it was seldom that anyone was hurt, as the protagonists were nearly always drunk and their aim was shaky to say the least. However, they heard in town a couple of days later that a body had been found out in the bush, by then badly mauled by the local wildlife.'

I was afraid to ask, but did so anyway. 'So how is this connected exactly? Where did this all happen?'

'It was near the Lupane River and the time it happened coincided with the time Nellie and Tara's parents were there.'

# CHAPTER TWENTY TWO - DEFENDING THE STONES

When the last of the old men had left the hill, Gatsheni at last allowed himself to collapse to the ground. The strain of the act he had put on for them had severely weakened him and for some minutes, he could not move a muscle. He rubbed his throat, trying to ease away the soreness he felt there after throwing everything into his performance. He knew he could not perform again for some time. Perhaps he wouldn't need to.

The others had quickly fallen into line after his rouse and they had established a plan. They would need help and it was suggested they use a witchdoctor they knew of from the Lupane, always ready to do some extra work for the appropriate payment.

'Money!' spat Gatsheni, the curse had infected his people too and any amount of commitment to the cause could be bought for the right amount, even as real loyalty to the Matabele nation was impossible to find.

It was strange, he thought, that he had never managed to kill any member of this white family, even though he had tried many times. It was as if they too were protected by the spirits. This was a matter he had puzzled over many times during his lifetime, wondering if the spirits were testing the people to see how loyal they were by sending them time and again.

There had been deaths of course. The children had died, he remembered now, three of them, all descendants, he supposed, but surely innocent.

Then there was the man. He didn't know quite how, but he had been able to tell long ago when the husband of the strong woman had come in search of the secret, that he was not of the blood of this family. This man was evil; he had sensed it then and knew already that his children had died as a result of his envy. This man had killed Gatsheni's first son too, out there near the river where Gatsheni had sent him to protect the secret. However, he had still had the strength to summon the spirits upon him then, and he knew that the man's death had followed, as he had heard in the village of it, the blame being put on the white woman, something even he had not counted on, but was glad of. His rage increased even further, though, when he heard that the authorities had found her innocent of any wrongdoing. If only they had talked to him, he would have told them just how guilty she was. How she and her family had caused the demise of the Matabele people, an indefensible crime, and for which there was only one penalty.

But this woman, she was different and she had come again twenty years ago with two others. The man had been of the family's blood and so, as before, even when he had lured them out to the Lupane, he had not managed to kill him; his wife had survived too, a mistake he vowed he would not make again. His own grief from that occasion filled him once more as he thought about what had happened and what he had lost: another child...the end of his line.

Now this time, these two scared him because he could sense something in both of them. The man had it stronger, but the girl was also capable he knew, of causing great problems for them. It was the girl that he wanted to die first though; personal revenge would be sweet for him after so much grief.

He also pondered on the fact that no one actually knew where the treasure was. His father had not known and nor his grandfather, but it was there, he knew it. A thought struck him. Perhaps these two were here now to lead him to it. Perhaps this was the time when it would be used to help the great Matabele nation back from a long and ignominious slavery at the hands of first the white man and now the Mashona dogs. Maybe this was a time of change throughout southern Africa. After all, wasn't the Apartheid government in South Africa letting Mandela free, which could only mean the end of white rule there. Perhaps after so long, the time had come for his nation too. It was a good thought and he smiled as he considered the possibility that this could happen in his lifetime, at a time when he was guardian of the stones.

However, now he focused again on the task at hand, he worried about the other indunas, as they would only be fooled for so long by his charade. As soon as they realised they had been tricked, then it would be all over for him and perhaps for the nation. This deception was necessary though he knew. The people didn't believe any more but while doubt remained in the minds of the elders then he could manipulate them enough to achieve his aims.

For whatever his faults and motivations, Gatsheni was a true believer in the legend of the stones and their meaning to his people's future. He was distraught at the loss of genuine contact with the spirits, spending night after night out on the veld waiting for a sign that he had not been abandoned by the world beyond this one. There was no Mlimo anymore, despite what he chose to tell the other indunas, since the white man encroached further and further into the lands of his ancestors, so the human embodiment of the spirits was forced to flee the advance. But, small signs like that he had experienced when the white man had appeared at his stall, told him there was something still there and spurred him on.

The old ways had been slowly forgotten and so had the pride in the nation established so long ago by the great Mzilikasi and continued by Lobengula. He cursed the young men of today who would never be part of the amadoda, warriors, part of a great impi sent out to attack their enemies. They would never feel the joy of the "washing of the spears" in the blood of their enemies and the thrill of the great cry, "jee, jee", that the ranks of warriors would call before battle. Beating their spears against their shields, stamping their feet against the hard earth, creating the thunder and striking fear into the hearts of those enemies. He felt sad for them and at the same time he felt ashamed of them too as they were weak now, like women, or worse like the dogs who ruled over them, some of them even crossing to the other side to obtain the power of leadership. Those in particular would pay the price one day, when the spirits chose the time of retribution.

He stirred himself now though and rose from the spot in which he had lain for the past hour. The first tourists were arriving and he did not want to be seen here like this, the chance that they would believe him to be a beggar too great a risk for him and his pride. He quickly made his way down the hill, keeping clear of the brightly dressed white holidaymakers here to see how their ancestors had ruled over his people, to revel in the glories of the past, with hardly a thought to the consequences for the nations that had been trampled underfoot in the headlong rush for land and riches.

First of all, he had to ensure that the witchdoctor was ready to play his part. There were spells to weave and potions to mix of course, but Gatsheni was realistic enough by now to understand that more worldly methods would have to be used as well. The others would have to fulfil the promises they had made and this was his greatest concern. Even if they did what was asked of them, would they be able to persuade the people to give them the support that would be needed?

The plan was simple really, he was happy with it as it was, as it used the tactics employed in many so battles by the amadoda of years gone by; a classic attack with the great head of the bull in the centre and the two horns on either side, gradually closing in, encircling the enemy until at last they met giving their foe no chance. This time, there were only two people and though the lessons of the past were of no real use, he decided to stick to the traditional ways. He considered it be the cunning of an old man with a willingness to complete the task. He would kill the white man and his woman who came to steal his people's future away from them.

Once they had led the witchdoctor to the secret place, they would be lured to the place chosen for the killing. Then he would start the attack silently, leading at the bull's head, calling for the horns to encircle, closing off any chance of escape before their quarry even knew of the danger. The warriors would then pour in from all sides, surrounding the two, coming closer and closer until they could stab them with spear and assegai. They would destroy them; stamp them into the ground, leaving nothing but a red, bloody smear where their bodies had been. He laughed out loud at the thought of this final victory, a loud cackle that cracked the early morning air, causing tourists and wildlife alike to stop for an instant, wondering what beast had emitted such a terrible sound.

# CHAPTER TWENTY THREE - TO THE LUPANE

We left Leopard's Leap as the sun was coming up the next day. Albert and Katie waved us off as we headed back along the track and even Michael made a brief appearance at the window as we passed by. I had pondered on the fact that servants were still part and parcel of normal life out here, worrying at first that I should feel guilty about something, but not sure what. However, the freshly laundered clothes waiting for me in the morning, the food on the table whenever we were hungry, the turned down, freshly made bed ready for me each evening soon made me see reason.

Both Michael and Fortune, the garden boy, were just doing a job like most of us, working for someone else, making a living. It was only European style modern morality that had any issues with this sort of thing, and so made it more my problem than theirs. I decided then that it wasn't actually a problem, that Michael wasn't lying when he said he enjoyed doing what he did and so luxuriated in the type of personal service I would have to pay through the nose for at a swanky hotel anywhere else.

Tara was quiet, still upset over yesterday's revelations and unwilling to discuss the possibility that there may be something in what Katie had said. We had at least talked last night and decided that the best thing for us to do now was to head towards the Lupane, as this was the only real lead we had now that the diary with all our notes was gone.

I was particularly upset about the painting though. It was a real reminder of Nellie and "Acacia", and of my own youth. Although worth nothing in financial terms, its value to me was incalculable and I fretted on the fact that I had managed to lose it after it being in the family for over a hundred years.

Albert had said that he would call Sergeant Sibanda again today to see if there was any news, although he didn't hold out much hope. He told me that these gangs of thieves quite often came up country, away from the main towns, just to see what they could pick up, and they had networks of buyers and sellers ready to quickly dispose of any hot items. By now, our gear could be hundreds of miles away, in another province, or even another country. Just as I was thinking this over yet again, a truck came roaring towards us, lights flashing. I just had time to pull over as it slid up to us in a cloud of dust and squealing brakes. My nerves were obviously starting to get the better of me as I instantly started to back the car up, thinking that we were about to be hijacked when Tara caught my attention and urged me to stop.

'James, it's that policeman, from Chinhoyi: I think he wants us to stop.'

I turned to face the front and saw a puffed looking sergeant waving at us frantically, grinning all over his face. I stopped my crazy getaway attempt and eased the car forward again, stopping near enough to show willing, but far enough away to quickly get away once more if any trouble ensued.

'My friends, my friends, I am sorry if I frightened you with my driving. My wife says it will be the death of me one day, although the way she nags me, perhaps it would better be the death of her too.' He grinned again, breaking into a loud guffaw at his own joke.

'Well, you were a bit quick, I must admit.' I was calmer now, sensing that he did come in peace.

'Sorry, sorry my friend, I have some good news for you. Through the miracle of what you might call networking, we have managed to find your things, minus one or two bits I am afraid, but come and see what we have here.' He led us to the back of the truck and opened the door. Inside was the black case we had been carrying the painting in. It looked a little the worse for wear, as if a truck had run over it actually, but was basically intact.

'Wow, that's amazing,' Tara reached forward for it, 'how did you find it?'

'Ah, my friends, it is a long story that I will attempt to make short. Mr Albert is very well known in these parts and I think he may have talked to some other people, as did I in an exhaustive search for the fiends that did this thing.' I grinned at Tara at the boast, but let him carry on.

'I put the word out to many other policemen from here to Harare and one of them called me yesterday afternoon. A farmer from his district had been handed these things by one of his workers who found them in a ditch, near the main road. I think the thieves must have thrown them away, not believing them to be of any value. Your camera is unfortunately not amongst these things, but that is to be expected. So anyway, Mr. Albert had told this farmer of your plight and so he knew to whom these things belonged. The policeman called me and I went to collect them yesterday. I was just coming to the farm to give them to you and had radioed Mr. Albert to say I was coming. He told me you had left and that if I hurried, I would catch you before you got to the main road. So here I am.' He grinned again, obviously delighted with the work he had done.

'We don't know how to thank you for this,' I smiled broadly as Tara pulled out the diary, painting, and all the notes we had lost, 'these things are worth much more to us than the camera anyway.'

'Yes, I thought they might be.' He replied. 'This book is very old I think, and the painting too, although the painting is not so fine, if I may say. I paint myself and this is by an amateur artist who has not really done the best work.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but I would have to disagree with you. This painting is the finest work I have ever owned, it means a lot to me.'

'Ah, it is worth something to you on the inside, I see. But I still say there are some things wrong. The paper is too thick too; why would anyone use paper so thick?'

I didn't answer his rhetorical question, but instead, shook his hand and asked if there was anything we could do to repay his kindness.

'No, nothing for me,' he said, 'but if you are coming back this way before you leave our country, then a small toy for my little boy would make him very happy.'

'We would be delighted to find something for him.' I replied, making a mental note to be sure to do so, 'Thank you sergeant.'

With that, we jumped back into the car and carefully made our way around the policeman's truck, once more heading for the main road and on to the next part of this strange journey.

I looked across at Tara who had once again lapsed into silence, but now she seemed to be deep in thought rather than merely moping as she had been.

'What are you thinking about?'

'Oh, nothing much.' She replied, a little unconvincingly.

I paused, but decided to let it pass for the moment, instead looking to how we would now proceed.

'So, we should probably stop somewhere and go through the notes again to get a better idea of where we should be heading.' I was greeted by silence and I looked across at her again, thinking she hadn't heard me. However, she was already looking at me, fully square in the face, which gave me a bit of a start, it was such an intense look that I turned away for a second.

'Okay, good idea.' She said after a moment or two before turning to face the front once again, concentrating on the scenery.

I was worried now as that burning look in her eyes reminded me of the way she had acted when we were in Cape Town. I wasn't sure how to handle her when she was like this; it was so out of character and there was something there that didn't seem to come from the Tara I knew, but was something else, from somewhere else. I stopped myself then as I started thinking crazy thoughts that didn't make any sense. I must have misjudged her; she was just excited to get the stuff back, that was all.

As the journey wore on, though, I tried making small talk, but got no real response, just monosyllabic answers, giving the minimum away and increasing my anxiety every mile we drove. After Chinhoyi, we headed down the back road towards the main A5, Harare to Bulawayo highway. We passed close by Zwimba and then through Selous, named presumably after the great hunter with whom Frederick had started his own expedition way back in 1877. Just before we reached the main road again, we stopped in the country town of Chegutu, from which point, the road and railway ran parallel all the way to Bulawayo.

We bought some food and drink at one of the little trading stores by the roadside and then found a shaded area just off the roadside to once again plan our attack. The diary and our maps and notes had obviously been sitting in water at some point, as there was some dampness in the paper and a faint musty smell emanated from inside the bag where it had not dried out properly. Luckily though, everything seemed to be still legible, the smudges did not interfere in any great way with anything important. I spread the map out and traced the road we had just come down, judging the best place to leave the main road and head towards the area we had identified and shaded on the map before.

Tara was a little more animated now and joined in, pouring over the information laid out before us.

'Well,' she said, still peering at the map, 'my guess is that we should be heading for the Lupane River end of the search area. That was where Katie told us my parents and Nellie were headed, so perhaps they knew something we don't.'

'Possibly, but I don't understand how they would.' I couldn't think that they would have had information and not have shared it with us by way of the letter they had written to Tara in Cape Town.

'Have you got any better ideas?' she smiled at me, knowing I would be able to say nothing.

'Well, no I don't, as it happens: I just don't think we should jump to conclusions, that's all.'

'Like the conclusion you jumped to yesterday, you mean. That sort of conclusion jumping can cause all sorts of trouble, can't it?' She glared at me now, eyes suddenly blazing, obviously still mad at me for believing her parents could have committed murder out here.

'I'm sorry, you're right. I...we, shouldn't have thought that way. It was a long leap from people in a funny mood to thinking they could have murdered someone. Plus, I really don't believe your folks could have done it, it just all seemed to fit, that's all. I wasn't really thinking too hard about the personalities involved, just the story and the facts. I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?'

She still glared at me and I knew that she would hold this one over me for some time, but eventually she relaxed and let a faint smile play around her mouth.

'I won't forgive you yet, it was a terrible thing to think and you are not getting off the hook quite so easily, but let's not worry about that now. We've got some treasure to find and sitting here is not going to get it found is it?'

I smiled back, knowing that there was some more work to be done to get her forgiveness, but also happy that the storm had been weathered, at least for now.

I turned back to the map and as a concession, traced a route towards the Lupane River where it crossed into the crosshatched area we had marked out.

'I guess the river is as good a place as any to start. At least it narrows things down a bit.' I mused out loud and then grabbed a pencil, marking the route out as if making the decision official.

The river entered our search area on the northwest edge, neatly dissecting it into two almost equal halves before, on the map at least, petering out near the village of Nkayi. We would turn off to the west at Kwekwe and then drive through Silobela before reaching Nkayi, but the road looked to be fairly minor on the map and I wasn't too sure what we could expect. At best, I imagined a single track road like the one down to Leopard's Leap. It was already late in the afternoon and so we decided to drive just as far as Kwekwe tonight and find a place to stay, setting out again early the next morning.

# CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR - GATSHENI HURRIES TO THE LUPANE

Gatsheni hurried along the track towards the village of Nkayi. Before he reached that tiny settlement though, he left the road and headed off into the bush. He wanted to choose his killing ground ahead of time to be sure of a clean kill, far from prying eyes.

It had always irritated him that no one knew the location of the treasure. He was sure that Mboku must have possessed the knowledge and passed it on to his son, but somewhere in the passage of time, that knowledge had become confused. The only time he could remember his father looking for the place, the search had resulted in weeks of wandering in the bush digging here and there, but with no success. He wondered how such important information had been lost and cursed the stupidity of his ancestors for losing it, for not listening and not telling the story as it should have been. The Lupane was the only clue he had ever had, but that was a big area of hundreds of square miles.

It never occurred to him that perhaps Mboku had deliberately misled his son as to the treasure's whereabouts, or even perhaps that the haul of diamonds had not existed in the first place or been discovered in the long years since it was first hidden. The power of the oral tradition of storytelling was, to him, sacrosanct and every word was to be believed as truth, unquestioned, and unquestionable.

So now, more than one hundred years later, Gatsheni, had no idea where the stones were buried, or even the location of the cave in which they were released from the rocks brought up from the great mines south of the Limpopo. However, he worried that the white man did know and was more determined than ever to stop him.

He had spent the time since the indaba well, cajoling and encouraging his people and convincing them of the need for action. He ignored the laughter behind the hands of some of them at his arguments, instead, concentrating on those who gazed at him with respect, deserved of the wisdom of years and his standing in the community as one of the last indunas. He told them of the proud history of their tribe and their ancestors. How their warriors would wash their spears in the blood of their enemies and how those victories brought great respect to their families. There would be hundreds of warriors present at the kill, they had promised him they would come and he believed them. The cause was just and the fight was a good one. He knew he had persuaded them with his smooth oratory. He had visited the shabeens and the churches, the villages and the markets seeking out the young men to fight alongside him and they would come, he could feel it deep inside. They would come and then the white man and his woman would bother them no more: he would have his revenge and the stones would be safe, the future of the nation ensured.

He walked through the bush looking for the ideal spot in which to finish the story, choosing in the end a wide clearing in a shallow valley. There were low hills all around and acacia at one end, mixing with some great baobab trees, standing solidly, their stubby branches unmoved by the stiff breeze. The ground was ideal for hiding warriors, covered as it was with long yellow grasses, and mopane trees . The entire aspect of the place would allow the bull's head to forge its way along the length of the valley floor, while the horns encircled from the valley sides, storming down upon the enemy giving no chance for escape.

He was happy with this place and for some time, stood at the spot where it would all end, visualising the battered bodies of the white couple at the centre of a crowd of cheering warriors, happy to have washed their spears at last. He envisioned a new start for the amadoda, a return to the old ways when the King would throw his war spear at the end of the festival of the bull, marking the direction of the next raids. He grinned at the thought and saw himself sitting at the right hand of the King, elevated to the status of senior induna, the power and the glory of it washing over him as he stood, arms raised to the spirits, shouting the warrior's chant, jee, jee, the sound echoing around the hills, striking fear into all those who heard it.

# CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE - FEVER

It made sense that we spend a bit of time in town before we moved on to ask around and try to get an idea of the hazards we may face in the area we were heading for. So after a hearty breakfast at the small and basic motel we stayed in for the night, we took a walk through the town to see what we might find.

Tara was getting back to normal now, but there was an intensity there that still worried me even though I had no idea what I could do about it. It occurred to me that she was suffering from the same sort of fever that prospectors of old were used to. I remembered seeing footage of old men, sitting out in the middle of nowhere for years, just searching and scraping away at the earth, forever holding the forlorn hope that they would find the rich seam or strike the pot of gold and renewing that hope each and every day they woke up. Each day became the day that the search would be over, every night they went to sleep dreaming about the next day. This sort of behaviour was surely a sickness as much as any other and it affected people's entire lives, condemning them to years of solitude and misery. Even now, there were emerald prospectors in the centre of Australia, living in the desert hoping to find the big haul that would elevate them to the realms of the super rich, but instead, finding just enough to keep them ticking over, day after day, year after year.

This was the worry I had about Tara then, that whatever happened in the next few days, she would not be able to give up the hunt. That she would destroy her life looking for the family treasure, which for all we knew may not even exist anymore, if it even had in the first place. I kept a careful eye on her for this reason, checking that her "condition" didn't get any more severe, but this new intensity clouded things, making it hard for me to get close to her at all.

The town looked to be what I imagined a fairly typical country town would be like out here although it seemed to be very industrial too. The motel receptionist informed us that Kwekwe was one of the biggest steel producing towns in the country, and there were also gold mines near here. There were wide streets flanked by shops and warehouses selling everything you could need for the successful country life, from tractors to seeds, from groceries to clothing.

The pavements were shaded by overhanging corrugated roofs, all the way along the street, allowing people to walk in comfort even in the fierce heat of the midday sun and it all looked very colonial to me, just as it should be.

We came across a bookshop at one point and Tara dragged me inside.

'I want to see if they have any books on trees in here,' She explained, see if there's anything about acacias that might help us.'

It seemed like a good idea, so in we went. After a quick browse, we soon found what we were looking for, "Common Trees of the Highveld", so we purchased it and left the shop.

Halfway along the main street, there was a side alley, narrow and dark, but with an intriguing sign at its entrance that led us to explore further. The sign advertised the services of a "witchdoctor" who would, for a small consideration, tell you your fortune or misfortune as was appropriate. It was an opportunity too great to miss, so after a brief discussion, we walked up the narrow passage until we reached a door, set into the wall and with a similar sign to the one on the street, hanging from a hook in its centre.

I pushed the door open and walked inside, to be greeted not by a room of any sort, but instead by an open yard, long from front to back, but only as wide as the one building to which, I assumed, it belonged. Hanging from the wooden fencing on both sides were all manner of tribal artefacts from sculptures, feathers, skins, and weapons, giving the place a fairly authentic look I thought.

There was not immediately any sign of anyone there, so we started to walk toward the back of the yard, away from the building. The very end was partially hidden by a rough fence of bent sticks, twigs and grasses woven around a frame of stout looking branches. I called out for attention and thought for a moment that there was no one around. Then there appeared a figure from behind the screen, tall and strong looking, dressed in a traditional costume of furs. I say figure because it was difficult to determine the sex of the individual due to the large mask worn on its head, which stretched down to the person's midriff. When he spoke, though, it was unmistakeably a man's voice: deep and sonorous, which seemed to vibrate the very air around us and that I could feel in the pit of my stomach.

'My friends, you have come seeking truth and the future. You are from a land far from here and are new to our customs, but have no fear, as I will help you in your quest. Please come with me and we will look together for what you seek.'

The way he said all this and what he actually said made us both stare at him and then each other, sensing that he knew something about the reasons for us being here. I felt again like I had in Harare in the presence of the street seller who also seemed to know more about me than he could possibly have found out from the little I had said. It was a little eerie and we held each other's hand as we walked round the screen.

I expected something more than I found when he followed us into the shadow of his little private room. In fact, it was just the same this side as it was the other. There were two mats on the ground though, upon one of which the witchdoctor indicated we should seat ourselves, and the other where he seated himself. As he sat, he removed the mask and I was surprised to see a fairly youthful face looking at me. He was probably not much older than me, and nothing like the wrinkled old man I had expected, but his eyes were bright, the whites matching the intensity of colour of his teeth, which showed when he smiled. He was also very fit looking; his arms were muscle bound and his stomach flat with abs protruding like a second set of thick ribs.

'You look very young to be a witchdoctor.' I said to him, making my voice lighter than the mood indicated.

'I am indeed a scholar in the arts of the spirit world,' he admitted, 'but if you find my service less than adequate, then I will refund your money.'

He coughed discretely at that point and nodded to a sign on the fence, setting out the fee he was expecting. I nodded and dug in my wallet for the appropriate sum and handed it to him. Somehow the act of payment made me feel a whole lot less nervous, making me merely the buyer of this strange man's services. That feeling dissipated, however, as soon as he started his performance. He was silent for a while, shaking small bones from a leather cup onto the dusty ground between us and poking at them with a stick. Then he dripped what looked suspiciously like blood onto the bones and again agitated them with the point of his stick while at the same time, quietly muttering something under his breath, of which I caught the odd word, but still understood nothing.

At last he finished his prodding and he slowly looked up at us, gazing first at me and then Tara before speaking.

'There is danger in what you seek here. You seek something old, something that is yours but not yours, something from the earth but like rain from the skies. You will find what you seek, but it will not be what you expect it to be, I think. However, I must warn you again, there is death here: yes, someone will die a violent death.'

At that point, he simply stopped talking and there was silence as Tara and I took in what he had said and he merely waited. To say I was shocked is an understatement. I was shaken to the core, not just at the fact that he knew why we were here, but by his vision of death and a violent one at that. It seemed that there had been enough death already mixed up with these diamonds, right back from Frederick's time, to Nellie and Tara's parents' mysterious trip. There was no way I wanted either of us to die for the treasure, no matter how valuable it might be and so this man's words made me feel like running for the hills, getting on the next flight back to England, and forgetting all about the whole thing.

As soon as I looked at Tara's face, I knew that we were not going anywhere in the near future. She stared at the man in front of us, that intensity I had seen earlier pouring from her in almost visible waves.

'Who is going to die?' She asked so bluntly, without emotion of any sort that it seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to ask. It didn't occur to me to say at that point that it really didn't matter who died, because even one death was too many.

The witchdoctor simply looked at her and was silent for a moment. Then in a gentle voice, almost too quiet for me to hear, he replied, 'It is not clear, I do not know.'

Tara hadn't finished though. 'When?' she asked, 'when will this person die?'

'That is not clear either,' he said as gently as before, although I thought the look in his eyes had hardened just a little, probably feeling a bit uncomfortable under the famous Tara glare.

'I have told you all there is to know. You must discover whatever more there is for yourselves; if that is the road you choose to take. It is for you to decide.'

With that he rose and it seemed as if our consultation was over. I didn't think it was prudent to ask for our money back even though I was thoroughly disturbed by what he had said and he had failed to answer Tara's questions. We left the yard and walked back out onto the sunny street, the bright sun made what had just happened all the more unreal.

Before I even had a chance to say a thing, Tara spoke.

'We will still go on James. We can't take any notice of a silly witchdoctor spouting superstitious nonsense. You do agree don't you?'

She had that look in her eyes again and before I even knew what I was saying, I had agreed with her. She was probably right anyway, the stuff he had come out with could have been construed in a number of different ways, he probably said the same to every tourist who wandered down the narrow alley and came knocking at his gate.

Looking back now I am not sure if I really believed that at the time or whether I was just under a spell from Tara or the witchdoctor or maybe just Africa herself. However, the truth was that I was keen to go on and if Tara was able to shrug these warnings off as easily as that then so was I.

We carried on down the street, looking in the shop windows, but not finding anything more to help us. We bought a large-scale map of the area though and some extra strong mosquito repellent before we turned to walk back to the motel where the car was parked. Strangely, when we came to the alley again, the sign had gone and there was nothing to suggest that anything was happening in its dark shadows.

It was nearly midday by the time we drove from Kwekwe along the minor road towards Silobela and Nkayi. The bush, which before had been exciting and beautiful, now seemed to be dull and forbidding as we drove. Miles of nothingness, covered with tall yellow grass in places and short stubby mopane trees in others. In the distance we could see a range of purple hills, "marching across the landscape" as they say and there was something about them that stirred something within me, but it was more of an unconscious thought than anything else and whatever it was, couldn't break through the atmosphere in the car.

Tara was now fully focused, the brooding intensity of earlier had been replaced by an almost hyperactive concentration on the task of finding this one little spot in the vastness that is the African bush. She read and reread the diary and all the notes we had made and pored over the maps as we drove, silently working toward some conclusion of which I was not sure I was going to be made aware.

'Have you worked it out yet?' I asked her partly just to break the deafening silence and partly to elicit any information from her that I could.

'No, just drive, would you.' Her reply was curt to say the least and I stared out the front of the car in a huff.

A short time after that, I noticed that Tara was gazing fixedly at the view, or more accurately, at the hills in the distance. She suddenly reached round behind her where the painting was sitting on the back seat and grabbed it, looking first at the view and then the painting and back again.

'Stop the car!' She suddenly screamed, scaring me half witless in the process. 'Just stop the car, would you?' She was insistent, so I did as I was told. She jumped out and ran to the roadside, holding the painting aloft, lining it up with the view in the background.

'Look, James, come and look. Those are the hills in the painting, I'm sure of it.'

I jumped out and walked over to where she was standing and looked at the picture and the landscape behind it, trying hard to find a match.

'I can't see it myself. I mean, there are similarities, but the shapes are all wrong.' I said, still trying to make a comparison between the two.

'You're wrong; they are the same, look again.' She was more insistent, but as much as I looked, I could see no real comparison.

'Sorry, but I just can't see it at the moment.' I looked into her face apologetically, but she merely glared back at me accusingly.

'You can see it, I know you can, it's just so obvious. You're just trying to be awkward.' She almost spat the words at me. 'Why would you try and block me? We will find it you know. Those are the hills in the picture; we just have to find the right angle, that's all.' She stalked back to the car, and after one last look at the distant hills, I followed her.

'Look Tara, we are on the same team here you know. I'm not trying to block you, and you know that. I don't know what's got into you, but I wish you would calm down a little. We will find it if we can, but it will be harder if you're constantly fighting me like this.' I held her stare this time, not letting her escape with a blink or a word.

The returning gaze was intense for a moment before her shoulders seemed to drop, just slightly, and the lids of her eyes flickered. 'I'm sorry James; I don't know what got into me. You're right; it will be easier if we're working together so I'll try to calm down a bit.' She smiled at me and reached out, placing her hand on me arm reassuringly, which for some reason I found only slightly reassuring. That was too easy; she hadn't fought anywhere near as much as I had expected, but for now, I would take any victory, no matter how hollow it might seem.

'Right, let's have another look at that painting then.' I held out my hand and she passed it over, her smile a little broader at this act of submission. I made pretence of comparing scenery with painting again and actually found myself thinking that there could be a resemblance, although it occurred to me I would be able to see the same level of similarity in almost any range of low hills in southern Africa. 'You're right,' I acquiesced, 'we just need to find the angle, so let's drive on and see what we can see.'

I pulled the car back onto the tarmac strip and Tara sat smiling to herself, once again examining all the clues we had collected. She opened the book on trees we had bought previously and leafed through until she found the page on acacias. There were three types listed, but the flat-topped variety was most like the one in the picture.

"'Known in Ndebele as umohlo",' she read out loud, "'this subspecies is widespread in tropical Africa. Most frequent in wooded grassland and on alluvial soils in river valleys".' Then she mumbled the next bit to herself, skipping over the stuff she was not interested in. "'The wood burns well, but the thorns make it very difficult to handle, which is a drawback in its use as a fuel".' She snapped the book shut and looked at me triumphantly.

'There you go, that just proves it, doesn't it?'

I was at a loss to know quite what it proved, but I waited for her to expand on this new theory.

'It grows in river valleys and we're on the way to a river for one thing,' she said it like I had missed an extremely obvious point, 'and it's unsuitable as a fuel, meaning Frederick chose an acacia as he knew there would be a better chance of it not being chopped down by the villagers, so there would always be a marker to show him where he had buried the treasure.' She finished with a flourish and a little self-satisfied giggle.

It was nice to see her smile again, but the continuous ups and downs in her emotions were getting harder to predict and worse, to understand.

I drove on, convinced of nothing except that there was trouble up ahead, and with the feeling that there was nothing I could do to stop it.

# CHAPTER TWENTY SIX - AMASSING THE WARRIORS

Gatsheni made his way to Kwekwe and went directly to the narrow alleyway where he knew he would find the witchdoctor and his apprentice. He always felt a slight thrill of fear when he came here, as he did when he had to deal with any of the witchdoctors in this country. He felt they were unpredictable, holding too much influence for the amount of real power they held. Since the time of Lobengula and Mzilikazi, the witchdoctors had been tolerated at best, used when it was prudent, but often murdered when things went wrong. There was a fine line between those who genuinely contacted the spirits and those who went beyond, who used magic as a force.

He entered the yard at the end of the alley and after finding it empty, he sat on the ground with his back to the fence, facing the entrance and prepared himself to wait.

It wasn't long before the gate opened again and two men came in, dressed casually in t-shirts and shorts, barefoot, and each carrying a small bag. One was the young apprentice, to whom Gatsheni paid little or no attention, instead focusing his gaze on the older man, a tall thin figure, almost wizened, who would seem feeble until you saw his eyes. He glared at the old induna with undisguised contempt, remembering his ancestors who had suffered at the hands of the kings and their indunas over decades past.

'The white man and his woman were here.' He said without any pretence at preamble or polite conversation. 'They saw Mthoko,' he pointed towards the younger man, 'and then they left.'

'What did they say? What did he say?' Gatsheni still refused to acknowledge the apprentice, but was anxious for an answer.

'They said nothing, but Mthoko warned them, he saw their plan within them and he mixed a potion that will weaken them.' The witchdoctor seemed proud of his young assistant.

'That seems good,' Gatsheni acknowledged, 'and where are they now?'

'They head for Nkayi. We must leave soon to catch up with them again.' Mthoko spoke for the first time and Gatsheni turned to face him, just briefly recognising his presence.

'Then let us not waste time. We must go now.' Gatsheni turned and headed for the door, not waiting for the other two men to follow. Two pairs of eyes blazed at the old man's retreating back and they didn't move for a moment, torn between fulfilling a promise they had made and simply killing this man who treated them like the dirt on the ground.

Gatsheni though had a weapon powerful enough to clear their heads. 'Come now,' he called over his shoulder, 'or I will pay you nothing for your services.'

He was happy at the way things were going now. He had called the other indunas who had all sworn allegiance to him and had assured him that their warriors were on the way to the killing ground. The white man would die soon. That they had promised.

He smiled as he walked back to the street from the alleyway, silently conversing with his ancestors, assuring them of a victory drenched in the blood of the two invaders.

# CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN - IN THE BUSH

We drove through the little settlement of Silobela and on towards Nkayi, all the time watching the hills, waiting for a match between them and the painting that Tara still clutched firmly next to me. As the miles unfurled though, she grew more despondent, the view of the hills not changing dramatically mostly because of their distance from where we were.

About twenty kilometres from Nkayi, the road crossed the Shangani River and we were now officially in Matabeleland. Despite my pessimism, I felt a slight thrill knowing that at last we were entering the lands of the Matabele Nation, as this was truly the land to which Frederick had trekked so long ago.

After this, but still before Nkayi, the road took a wide sweeping turn to the north before it entered the town itself and at this point, Tara seemed to perk up a bit, although she still said nothing. By now it was late in the day and I was all for stopping here for the night, carrying on with the search the next day. She was having none of it though.

'No James, come on, we've come this far, we just have to go on now. We've got the camping gear in the back; we can sleep out in the bush tonight. It'll be great.'

She sounded almost normal at this point, her insistent tone more like the Tara of old and the sharp orders she had been giving earlier had disappeared for a while. I thought about it for a second or two. We did have the camping gear, borrowed from Katie and Albert, and the thought of sleeping out in the bush was appealing, a bit of an adventure in itself. It didn't occur to me that we had already been having an adventure, part of which included a promise of someone's imminent death. The Braughton in me had probably pushed those thoughts into the land of improbability, so I agreed.

'Okay, you win, but let's just get some provisions here first and then we can go on.'

'Great.' She smiled again, just like the old Tara.

Out of the corner of my eye as we loaded the food into the back of the car, I spied a 'bakkie' drive slowly into the settlement on the road we had just come in on. I couldn't see who was inside because of the sun's glare on the windscreen, but I felt as if the occupants were watching us. The truck pulled in behind a small shed further up the street and disappeared from my view. I gazed up the street, waiting to see if anyone appeared from the side of the building, but there was no movement. Tara tugged my sleeve in her impatience to get going, so I shrugged off the feeling of disquiet and jumped into the front seat again. We drove slowly out of the town and I kept an eye on the rear-view mirror, expecting to see the bakkie reappear, but there was nothing. I relaxed again after a while, concentrating on the road ahead.

'The Lupane is about twenty K's out of town,' Tara said as we drove, plotting our course on the large scale map we had picked up in Kwekwe, 'so I suggest we head off into the bush at that point and make a camp near the river itself. What do you think?'

'Sounds like a plan.' I replied, actually glad now that we were at last getting close to something, although I realised that we were still only guessing at the location of Frederick's hiding place.

As I looked out at the unchanging scenery, I saw that in places there were stands of acacia trees, a point that Tara picked up on too as she delightedly grasped my arm, her face lighting up again.

At precisely twenty kilometres from Nkayi, I slowed the car and looked for a suitable place to leave the road and head out into the bush itself. I found a spot where the ditch had filled in a little and turned the wheel, navigating over the bumpy edge and out onto the flat earth. Instantly everything changed. All we could see in front of us was nature, nothing manmade came into view at all and I realised just how remote this area really was. I swallowed hard and flicked the switch to engage the four-wheel drive and gently pressed my foot down on the accelerator, the powerful engine revved as the car surged forward into the wilderness.

It was only about fifteen minutes into our bush drive when the night suddenly came sweeping down on us. From the first signs of dusk, it was fully dark in what seemed liked minutes. This was the way night fell here in Africa I had noticed suddenly, and without warning. I had switched the headlights on already and the twin beams reflected off the tall grass ahead of us. I was worried about hitting a rock or driving into a ditch or hole out here and so I slowed the car down and eventually stopped.

With the engine turned off, the full impact of the silence of the African night pressed in on us. It was not silence as you might find in the countryside in Hampshire though; it was bigger than that, and at the same time filled with the noises of the creatures that came out at night. The mechanical whirring of the cicadas was most evident, but underneath that constant din there were other sounds, unidentifiable, and impossible to pinpoint.

'I don't think we should drive any further tonight.' The sound of my voice was loud in the car's interior. 'I'm worried we may damage the car, so we'll just have to pitch camp here and carry on when it's light.'

'Okay, that's a good idea.' Tara sounded just a bit nervous now that the full enormity of the bush at night had become apparent to her too.

We hopped out and I went to the back of the car to get the tent and other equipment.

'Why don't we just sleep under the stars?' Tara suggested, 'It's a warm night and the hassle of putting the tent up now just seems too great to worry about.'

It seemed like a good idea, so I just grabbed the sleeping rolls and spread them out on the ground. Albert had shared some basic tips for camping out in the bush, the first being that we should always cook and sleep in separate locations, at least twenty or thirty yards apart. If any animal smells the food and comes to investigate, you don't want to be too close to it at the time, fast asleep. That made good sense to me, so I took the little gas stove some distance away and lit it, putting a kettle full of water on top. We decided to sleep near to the car though, so that it would be easy to get inside if anything did disturb our night's rest.

After a delicious meal of baked beans, eggs, and bacon washed down with a nice cup of tea, we turned in. I looked up at the sky as I lay there, in wonder at the stars that seemed to be so much brighter than I had ever noticed before and in such large quantities. The Milky Way was starkly apparent, splashing its way across the sky. I looked for the Southern Cross, the one constellation I had learned about after Frederick's mention of it in his diary. I fell asleep just staring at that great landmark and drifted dreamlessly into unconsciousness.

It could have been a minute or an hour later when I felt something moving next to me. I froze instantly, scared out of my wits, but ready to jump up and run if needs be. As I waited for the movement to come again, I felt a weight on my legs, a weight that moved slowly from one side to the other in a long slithering movement. I held my breath, not wanting to antagonise the snake that was investigating this new lump in its territory. I felt it heading towards Tara who lay close, wrapped in her sleeping bag and at this moment, still sleeping soundly.

I prayed that she would not wake as the reptile got closer to her and prayed again that she would stay still and silent if she did wake. A sudden muted yelp from my left told me she had woken, but the ensuing silence told me that my prayer had been answered and she too had frozen while the snake checked her out.

'Just don't move a muscle.' I whispered, probably needlessly as she seemed to be doing just that anyway.

'I'm bloody well not.' She hissed back.

After another minute or so, I heard her relax and I assumed that our nocturnal visitor had disappeared. Just then there was a wail in the far distance, maybe a bird or another night animal, but too far away to bother us I figured. That was enough for Tara though, she gave a little shriek and rolled over to me, pressing herself to me and wrapping her arms around my body in a fierce hug.

'Oh Jesus, we're going to get eaten.' Her voice quavered as she clung on tight.

I laughed gently, dismissing her fear. 'Don't worry, there's nothing here to eat us, it's just a couple of animals doing their rounds.' I reassured her. 'Would you rather sleep in the car?' I asked.

She hesitated for a minute, obviously listening out for any more strange noises before committing herself. 'No, it's okay,' she said, 'as long as you don't mind me sleeping here like this.' She snuggled in a little more, making herself comfortable and giving me little choice in the matter.

'That'll be fine,' I answered her, 'just don't hold on too tight or you'll cut off the blood supply to my brain.' She gave a little giggle at that and then was silent, almost immediately dropping back into a deep slumber.

I lay there wishing I could do the same, but soon found myself drifting off. Just before I finally fell right under, I thought I heard a distant car engine. I strained to hear more, but that African silence enveloped me once more, so I assumed it was just someone out on the road somewhere, heading home for the night.

# CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT - ON THE TRAIL

The three men left Kwekwe, squeezed onto the bench seat of the old truck. Mthoko drove, with the witchdoctor sitting in the middle and the old man from Bulawayo on the far side.

Mthoko mused as they drove, about the reasons for them chasing the two white tourists. They had seemed harmless enough when they had come to him and Gatsheni had not told him why they must be followed, or why they should die. He assumed that was to be the outcome of this adventure, although he had not been told as much yet. He had no problem with killing another man or woman if the reasons were right, but he did have an objection to causing the death of innocent people, so he determined that before he took part in anyone's death, the old man would tell him why he was doing so.

As they crossed the Shangani River and back into Matabeleland, Gatsheni gave a sigh of relief: he didn't like to be outside the traditional, albeit arbitrary boundaries of his homeland for too long. He always felt a surge of energy fill his body when he returned and he said a silent word of praise to the spirits.

He could feel the atmosphere in the cab and knew that these two men with him were only here because of the money he had offered. He also knew that they would carry out his bidding only as long as they believed that payment would be forthcoming. That was a problem he would have to face when he came to it, but for now, the advance he had given them should be enough to convince them of his sincerity. Perhaps he would simply have the amadoda kill them too as well as the white people. Yes, that would indeed be a neat solution to the problem.

He could also sense the chase now he was getting closer to his quarry and he could almost smell the couple up ahead somewhere, so he had to restrain himself from urging the young driver on too fast.

He mustn't tip the white man off too soon, as he was counting on them to lead him to the diamonds before he ordered their destruction. The diamonds would save his people: he couldn't stop the thought coming back to him again and again and he once more day-dreamed of the time when he would present them to the people and accept their adoration for the work he had done.

They reached Nkayi, and as they came into the village, Mthoko spotted the white couple's car up ahead, outside the store.

'Quickly, drive behind that shed there.' Gatsheni ordered, pointing to a shabby building by the side of the street. As they turned off the road, they could all see the white man staring back at them, shielding his eyes from the sun trying to pierce the glare coming off the glass in front of them.

'He knows of us.' The witchdoctor spoke, 'This one has the sense; he can see what cannot be seen. We must take care with him or he will find us out.' He looked Gatsheni in the eye, but the old man continued to watch his foe until the shed blocked his view.

'He will be no match for me.' He said, perhaps to himself as he looked at no one. 'The Warriors of the Matabele Nation will wash their spears in his blood and celebrate as the earth reclaims him.'

The other two men simply shrugged at the old man's words. 'We should wait until they have driven out of the town.' Mthoko said. 'We can track them easily wherever they go from here.'

So they waited, only continuing their journey when the hired 4x4 had disappeared from view. They carried on along the narrow road, always ensuring that they drove slowly. Once or twice they spotted their prey far ahead in the distance, but each time they stopped for a few minutes to give the others time to get ahead again. There was nowhere to go from this road, no turnoffs for miles, so all they had to do was follow along behind and wait for the others to make the first move.

Gatsheni guessed they would leave the road at some point and so they started to concentrate their energies on watching for the signs of where that point was. They didn't look closely enough however, and after another twenty or thirty kilometres, they decided they must have missed them and had to backtrack.

It was dark by the time they picked up the trail once again and they pulled over to the side of the road, checking the terrain for any hazards before risking the bakkie. As they stood there, they heard the far off call of a wild dog, but paid it no attention. The time to follow again would be tomorrow. With a rev of the engine, they pulled off the road and stopped a few metres in, just out of sight. Then they threw down blankets onto the ground and promptly rolled themselves up and fell asleep.

# CHAPTER TWENTY NINE - CLOSER

We woke the next morning with the sun just starting to peek above the horizon, gently warming our faces. Tara had continued to hold onto me during the night and I must admit the feeling had been nice. It reminded me of when were just kids and had slept out in a tent in the garden. I could feel the cold of that night even now, and the way Tara had curled into me for warmth then. Even in the warm light of the African morning, the fact she was so close didn't worry me at all, it felt natural and I basked in the glow of the protector looking after his family.

I still wasn't sure what to do about Tara's earlier behaviour though: it highlighted the fragile state of her mind. It was hard to reconcile the loving friend beside me now with the emotionally unstable individual I had been travelling with for the past few days.

As she stirred, she turned her face towards me while at the same time opening her eyes and simply smiling the most beautiful and natural thing in the world. I smiled back, wondering if perhaps I was mistaken about her mental state.

Just then a shot rang out. It wasn't nearby, but close enough to shock us both into instant action. We sprang up like lovers caught out by unwitting parents. Tara's eyes were wide, staring at me, uncomprehending but in shock.

'Quick,' I said, let's just get out of here. I don't know what that was about, but I don't fancy taking any chances.'

Tara didn't need any convincing, so we clambered out of our sleeping bags and started to throw things into the back of the car. As soon as the last item was in, I jumped into the driving seat and started the engine, waiting only long enough for Tara to shut her door before I set off as fast as the rough terrain would allow, in the direction of the river.

I kept an eye on the rear vision mirror for the second time in as many days, expecting to see the bakkie from Nkayi speeding along behind us. It occurred to me that these mysterious occurrences were not just random events, but that there was something going on about which we had no knowledge and which could represent the danger we had been warned of on at least two occasions now.

Tara's face was still, but her eyes betrayed the fear she was feeling as she stared firstly at the grass and earth in front of us and then repeatedly in the door mirror outside her window, examining the country behind us for any signs of chase. We drove for about fifteen minutes before either one of us spoke a word.

'I think we should stop and turn off the engine.' I said, without slowing down for the moment. 'If there is anyone back there, we will be able to hear the sound of their engine.'

Tara simply nodded her agreement to this plan, but for the next few minutes, I couldn't quite summon up the courage to actually slow down to put the plan into action. Eventually though, I felt Tara looking at me and when I turned, she was smiling nervously.

'Are you actually going to stop then, or did you plan on just running out of fuel and then checking out what's behind us?' Her sense of humour had obviously returned, although her voice was strained, betraying the fear she obviously felt.

'You're right, sorry, I was miles away there.' I slowed down, concentrating hard on the rear-view mirror again, ready to accelerate at the first sign of trouble. None came and eventually I stopped the car and switched off the engine.

We both slowly opened our doors and stepped out into the bush, the heat of the sun clutching at us with renewed vigour now. We listened hard for any sound at all that might send us on our way in a hurry again, but there was nothing, not even a faint breeze to rustle the grass. I looked across at Tara, who was still peering intently at the horizon behind us and I laughed.

'God, I feel so stupid. That shot could have been from anywhere, nothing to do with us. Sound must echo around these plains for miles. I can't believe I was so scared.'

Tara smiled gratefully at me. 'Well, you can't be too sure can you?' she said, generously letting me off the hook for the sudden flight we had taken. As she spoke, she looked around and then her face lit up as she gazed into the west. I followed the direction of her eyes and saw that the land gently sloped away from us, down towards what looked like a shallow valley, at the bottom of which I could faintly discern a narrow ribbon of water flowing through the landscape.

'That's it.' She turned to me and smiled again, 'That's the Lupane, it must be. We are so close now; I just know we are so close. Look James, over there.' She pointed further to the north, along the river valley's length at a stand of acacia, standing tall and proud, at least twenty metres tall, tiny white flowers growing in spikes showing up on its flat-topped canopy.

I have to admit that at that moment I felt as if we really could be close to the treasure that the Braughton's had dreamt about for over ten decades and I ran to Tara and hugged her before we jumped into the car again and headed off towards the river.

# CHAPTER THIRTY - THE SCENT OF BLOOD

The three men woke early too, before the sun had risen. They took their time, knowing that the white couple would not be moving for a little while yet. They ate a quick breakfast of some dry biltong and then climbed back into the cab of the bakkie. Mthoko turned the key in the ignition, but the motor just turned over without firing.

'It has got damp during the night.' He cursed as he tried again to get the old engine to fire up. It showed some signs of drying out, coughing and spluttering before at last it turned over and started. Just as it did, though, it backfired with an enormous bang, making all three of them jump in their seats and then crack the faintest of smiles in recognition of their nerves.

'You must be careful that they do not see you.' Gatsheni again issued the order to Mthoko, who took a deep breath, trying to curb his temper at the continued arrogance of this old man, who assumed that anyone younger than him must also be stupid.

'Yes Nkosi.' he replied with more than a trace of sarcasm.

Gatsheni chose to ignore the impertinence of this youngster, satisfied that before the week was out, he would stand over his body too and watch his blood drain away into the earth.

They moved forward slowly, following the tracks left by the other car. After a while, they reached the spot where the couple had spent the night and halted for a while as Gatsheni scouted around, looking for any signs that may help them. There was nothing here though, so he started back towards the truck. As he did, he looked to the northwest and saw a faint dust trail far up ahead. He pointed it out to his two companions, asking their opinion.

'They must be moving quickly to throw up so much.' The witchdoctor said. 'Perhaps they have seen us and are hoping to escape.'

Gatsheni knew instantly what had caused their flight.

'It was this stupid truck of yours.' He spat the words at Mthoko, the noise it made this morning was loud enough to wake the spirits.'

Mthoko said nothing, just stared at the old man with a cold look in his eyes that made even the brave old warrior blanch for a moment. He quickly recovered though and ordered them to continue.

'They are leaving us a perfect trail,' he said, 'it makes no difference how quickly they travel; we shall be able to follow until the end.'

The double meaning of these words was not lost on anyone as they once again followed the tracks further into the bush. Gatsheni fancied that he could now smell the blood of his prey, feel the nerves that had driven them on at such speed. This was going to be so easy, he thought to himself, they are terrified of the shadows. The amadoda will track them down and lure them to their deaths and at last, Mboku's legacy will be delivered.

He thought about the warriors, who by now would be close by, led by the indunas of the Matabele nation. He could see them in his mind, running through the bush, the tirikeza, the double march, would move them swiftly into position. He could see their spears and shields, held aloft as they ran, the blades of their assegais glinting in the sunlight. Those that see them, he thought, will know that the Matabele nation has risen once again; that our enslavement is over and the dogs that dared rule over us will soon pay dearly for their impertinence. The rivers will run red with their blood, the streets will be piled high with their rotting corpses until there is not one of them left and then we will rule once more.

# CHAPTER THIRTY ONE - CHANGE OF PLAN

As we got closer to the water, I could see that this valley was actually no such thing. It was more of a wide depression in the otherwise flat expanse of veld all around it. We decided to drive along the river's edge as close as we could get, in the direction of the acacia trees Tara had spotted earlier, and just see if there was anything familiar there, we could tie in to either the painting or the other clues in Frederick's diary.

As the morning wore on and the sun climbed steadily in the sky, the heat started to build. It was soon too hot to have the windows open and I mentally thanked the hire company for pushing us into paying a little extra for the air-conditioned model. Closing the windows though had the effect of cutting us off from the landscape and we both rolled them down again after a short time, letting the warm dusty air back into the car.

It was obvious as we grew close to the trees that these were not the ones we were after. They grew in a slight hollow, where the underlying water had perhaps allowed the earth to settle a bit. The effect of that, though, was that we could not see the mountains and the trees at the same time no matter where we stood.

Disappointed, but undaunted, we continued along the river's course, slowly but surely checking out each new tree we came across. After some time, we noticed that the landscape became a little rockier, and large boulders were visible here and there. In the distance on the far side of the river, we could also see the occasional kopje, standing proud on the flat veld, sprouting crooked trees from every available crevice. They were like ancient sentinels overlooking acres of brown and yellow flattened landscape.

Noon came and went and still we slowly motored along. Midway through the afternoon I realised that we had not yet eaten, so I called a temporary halt to proceedings. We sat by the water's edge, dangling our feet in the slow moving flow, fairly sure that the moving water would ensure there was no chance of getting the nasty bilharzia bug, which could burrow into your skin, causing all sorts of nasty ailments.

'How are you feeling?' I asked.

She looked at me, her deep dark eyes fully focused on mine, the amber flashes shining brightly in the dappled sunlight. 'I'm okay.' She said softly. 'I'm happy now.'

It was a strange way to answer, but I found myself unable to take the conversation any further. Instead, I picked up the map and made a show of studying it intently, much as Tara had done in the car before. 'Good,' I said, 'I'm glad.' I looked into her eyes again and smiled and she simply rested her head on my shoulder.

We just sat there like that for another ten minutes watching the water drift gently by, but time was getting on and I was aware that we had a lot of ground to cover. 'Come on sleepy head, let's get cracking again.'

The day wore on in the same way as it had so far, just driving and checking and looking and comparing. As the sun started to get low in the west, we decided it was time to find a good camp for the night, and also this time, pitch the tent to keep out the snakes and other creepy crawlies that might take a fancy to our sleeping bags. We found a flat piece of land close to the river and sheltered by an outcrop of boulders, which in turn, were surrounded by trees.

Once the tent was up, we carried the gas stove a little further downstream where a flat rock made the perfect kitchen bench. The menu hadn't varied much from the previous night, but after a long day that had yielded nothing of any interest, we were hungry enough to enjoy anything at all. We popped open a couple of chocolate bars for dessert and sat happily munching away watching the African night fall all around us, quickly and silently replacing the bright, heat filled day.

I was thinking about the clues we had to the whereabouts of Frederick's stash again and ran them over and over in my mind, trying to see if there was something we had missed, something that may get us closer. The way we were going at the moment, we could be out here driving around for weeks and not find a thing. I wondered if that was what happened to Tara's parents when they came here and returned again empty handed. Perhaps that was why they returned to Leopard's Leap feeling morose and depressed. I think I would have been the same if I came all this way and found nothing, but spent weeks doing it. The build up of emotions and expectations had been great even in me, and I had tried to keep things calm and in perspective, never really believing the treasure would be found and not counting any chickens.

Tara, on the other hand, had perhaps believed fervently in Frederick's story and her emotions had been through the proverbial mill as a result. I worried about what would happen if, after many days or weeks of searching, we came up with nothing. How would she take it? Would she be able to let it go or would she become one of those poor old prospectors, doomed to search forever? I hated to think of her ending up like that; I had to try and wean her off the idea as gently as possible while there was still time.

But for now, I was still willing to search for a few days. It was actually very pleasant here, the weather was warm, but being close to the water meant there was a cooling effect. I didn't have any objections to spending a few days out of touch with the modern world, just drifting and enjoying nature. Who knew, it might even be cleansing for me, make me a better person or something.

I thought of the diary again and grabbed it to take another look. There was something nagging at me that we had read in there, but had maybe not taken into consideration as yet. I went through it again and then it struck me. Frederick said that they ran from the cave in the direction of the great cross in the sky. That could only be the Southern Cross, the great constellation that so many people in the southern hemisphere identify with.

I nudged Tara and told her my findings. 'Look, we missed something here. We need to find the Southern Cross and then figure out which direction they were running in.'

'Yes, but first we need to know where they were running from, otherwise it means nothing.' She replied with obvious common sense, highlighting the one flaw in my theory that I couldn't answer at the moment.

I thought again for a while. 'But most of the kopjes seem to be on the far side of the river, don't they? So, why don't we make an assumption that that was the direction they came from?' I was grasping at straws, but you never know, it might work and we had nothing else to go on.

Tara suddenly looked interested, as if there might be a grain of something in this plan after all. She looked up at the clear blackness of the night sky, searching out the pattern of four main stars that make up the cross. She pointed, 'There it is, straight up there.'

I looked and could see the formation close to the bright path of the Milky Way. Once found, it was easy to see why it had become such a beacon for people, even appearing on several flags, New Zealand's and Australia's to name but two. It was as obvious as the Plough was in the northern hemisphere and we both just stared at it for a while, marvelling at the beauty of the sky as a whole, here where the lack of light and pollution made everything clear and bright.

'So, they ran roughly south then, maybe a bit off south, depending on what time of night it was I guess.' Astronomy was not my strong point and I could never really figure out how to get directions from the stars.

'So all we need to do is find the kopje and then track roughly south from it and we should be in the right vicinity.' The way she said it, it all sounded very easy, but despite it being my theory, all of a sudden it seemed a lot harder. However, it was better than just driving aimlessly as we were now, so I figured we should at least give it a go.

'Right then, we'll need to find a place to cross the river tomorrow and start checking out the kopjes over on the other side.' Another plan easier said than done, as although the river was not particularly deep or wide here, even the 4x4 would have difficulties crossing anywhere we had been so far.

'There must be a crossing place somewhere,' Tara insisted, 'how would the first wagons have got over otherwise? We just have to be patient and find one, that's all.'

With this simple, but impossible plan settled, we turned in for the night, so tired that we both fell into a deep sleep within minutes.

# CHAPTER THIRTY TWO –

# GATSHENI TELLS HIS STORY

Mthoko pondered again as they rested for a second night, at the fervour with which the old man tracked his prey. It seemed strange that in this day and age, anyone would wish death on another simply because of superstition and old beliefs. He had become a cynic even at such a young age and believed that no one did anything that would not further their own cause in some way. Altruism, he had decided long ago, did not exist in the truest sense; everyone wanted something for themselves.

So what was it that drove Gatsheni, he wondered? What could be so important to him that he would travel halfway across the country and then raise an army to track two tourists into the bush? He was old after all, not a young "warrior" as he liked to think of himself, and it must be hard for him, spending days on the move, sleeping rough in the veld, constantly alert. He decided that he would find out and find out soon. He had become increasingly worried that this old man would double cross them, that he wasn't all that he seemed and that the deaths of the white couple was not merely to stop them doing whatever it was they were doing, but that there was something more to it than that.

In the morning, he accosted the old man, demanding that he tell them what he was after. The old man simply nodded, sat down, and stared at the ground before he answered.

'You are young and your life has got long to go. You will achieve many things in your time, or maybe you will not, but you have the choice. Your father may be proud of you or not, but he has the choice of what he feels, what he sees in you.

Mthoko frowned. 'I don't understand, what are you saying?'

'I had a son, like you, tall, strong, with his life ahead of him. He was to be the one to take the secrets forward, to his son and so to his son's son. But he is gone. He was young. He had no choices and I have no choices.' Gatsheni almost whispered the last few words so that the others had to strain to hear what he was saying, but they heard the unmistakable sound of anger there, of grief and fierce anger.

'These two killed your son?' The witchdoctor asked the question, sure that the white man could not possibly have been old enough to kill the son of this aged induna.

'Not him, no not him.' He replied quietly. 'She is the guilty one, guilty through her father and her mother. The daughter will pay for the sins of the parents: that I have promised.'

Mthoko looked at the witchdoctor, who in turn stared at the old induna, with pity and with sadness that his life had been dedicated to the destruction of another.

Later, Mthoko pulled the witchdoctor to one side and whispered into his ear. 'We cannot be part of this anymore. These people are guilty of nothing and to kill them would be against all laws. If it is found that we killed white tourists, then we will be hunted down and killed too. It is a bad thing we do here, we should leave and let the old man do what he must.'

'Do you not think it would be better if we stayed to perhaps save these people?' The witchdoctor replied. 'It is maybe our duty to protect them against this madman.'

'No, it is not our business to be here. We should go now and leave him to make his own mistakes.'

'I think there is something more to this than just revenge for the loss of his son.' The witchdoctor turned to gaze at Gatsheni, who was staring out over the veld for any sign of the other car. 'I think we should stay and see what that is, it may be to our advantage.'

'What else could there be?' Mthoko asked.

'I think it is big, but I know no more than that. We should stay.' His words broached no argument and after a pause, Mthoko nodded briefly in agreement.

Later that day, the three men caught sight of the 4x4 up ahead in the distance. It seemed to be following the course of the river, slowly making its way along the bank where it was possible and only turning away from the water when the ground became boggy or sandy or the banks became low cliffs. They kept their distance, mostly using the occasional dust clouds thrown up by the chunky tyres of the vehicle in front to mark where they needed to follow. It looked anyway as if they could keep close just by following the riverbank too, so there was no chance of losing them.

'They seem to be looking for something.' Mthoko pointed out as they watched from a safe distance. 'They are moving much more slowly than they need to here.'

'What might they be looking for Gatsheni?' The witchdoctor asked. 'What might be out here that could interest them?'

Gatsheni was silent, refusing to answer, but alarmed that these two might become more curious as time wore on.

'Is it the same thing that interests you perhaps?' The witchdoctor pressed him, trying to get a reaction. He managed to do just that and Gatsheni turned sharply to look at him, masking the nervous look in his eyes just too late before the others noticed it.

'What they seek is of no interest to you. It is of no value to anyone except the people of the Matabele.' He talked smoothly, hoping to cover up the feelings he held inside. Whatever happened, these two must not find out about the diamonds, they would turn on him instantly if they knew the value of what was hidden here. Again he promised himself to ensure that the two men would die as soon as their usefulness was at an end.

As darkness cloaked the African landscape, Mthoko moved silently towards the tourists' camp. Barefoot and naked except for a pair of black shorts, he was almost invisible in the blackness. He could hear the voices of the white people and fell to his belly, slowly crawling closer until he could make out what they were saying, only a few short yards from them now. He stayed there until the couple had gone into their tent, waiting for long enough for them to fall asleep before carefully making his way back to the bakkie, some two kilometres away.

'They have maps and papers there,' he told the others when he returned, 'I think that whatever it is they are looking for, they will find soon. They talked of going to the other side of the river and they talked of the great cross in the sky too, using it as a guide to find their way back to the hiding place.'

What Mthoko was saying got Gatsheni thinking, but he let him continue for the moment.

'I say that we do not have to wait for them to find whatever it is they are looking for. I say that we should take their maps and papers from them and find it ourselves.'

It made sense Gatsheni thought, with one slight change. They would lure them to the killing ground first and once they had been disposed of, he could seize the papers and take his time over finding the stones. It would be so much simpler.

He must make contact with the other indunas, who together with the amadoda would be waiting for them a short distance from here by now.

'I will go and find the impis,' he told the pair, 'you must go to them tomorrow and lure them to the valley. We will be waiting for you to arrive.' He showed them where the valley was on a large-scale map similar to the one James and Tara had bought and then disappeared into the darkness, confident that his revenge was close at hand. Soon, both the white man and woman would pay the price for the actions of others of their family.

# CHAPTER THIRTY THREE - PROPOSAL

It was late morning by the time we found a place where the river was shallow enough for us to attempt a crossing. We decided to help the 4x4 out even more and threw some branches into the flow in the centre of the river so I could drive over. I had already waded across, the cool water coming up to my knees at its deepest point, so I felt fairly confident of a successful crossing.

We pulled and hacked some branches over from the trees and piled them as best we could in the shallows before dragging them even further in to the middle. Before that however, we emptied the car and carried everything across, placing it all in a dry spot on the opposite bank. When the time came to drive the car across, Tara stood in the water in order to guide me through, but even after all our careful preparations, my heart was beating loudly in my chest and a faint sheen of sweat had appeared on my brow. It was foremost in my mind that if anything went wrong here, the nearest telephone was many days walk away, through the native African bush.

I eased the vehicle down the gently sloping bank towards the water, ensuring I stayed in low gear and in full four-wheel drive. The mud near the edge was quite sticky and the tyres spun a little as they bit into it. When I reached the water itself though, the stones on the bottom gave me a little more traction and the 4x4 surged confidently forward. Tara continued to guide me through, keeping an eye on the water level and what was sitting on the riverbed. I gently pushed the accelerator down a little more as the front wheels reached our makeshift drift of branches and I felt the front of the car lift slightly. With gaining confidence, I hit the gas a bit more and the engine roared as all four wheels dug deep, propelling the vehicle up and over the branches. Unfortunately, we had laid some of these parallel with the flow and the wheels slid along their length, pushing the whole car sideways down the river. I cried out for Tara to get out of the way as I put my foot down hard and used every bit of power the engine could give. For a moment, I thought I would continue to roll sideways along the riverbed, but in a spray of water and mud, the knobbly tyres bit one last time and the car leapt from the water and up the other side, where I quickly hit the brakes, bringing the whole thing to a slithering halt. I whooped with joy at the dramatic climax of the crossing and then looked back to the water just in time to see a very wet, muddy and decidedly unhappy Tara dragging herself up onto the bank.

'Come here Braughton.' She called, sounding mad as all hell.

'Now, I'm sorry that you got wet there, but there's no need to get angry, is there?' I struggled to hold a straight face as she stood there with hands on hips, dripping from every part of her body.

'Just come here now!' She shouted, scaring the hell out of me. I went over to her actually a little worried that she had finally flipped out.

'Are you okay?' I asked, holding my hand out in a gesture of friendship.

She said nothing, her face was the picture of fury. Then she leant forward, grabbed my hand, and pulled with all her might. I was flung forward, totally off balance and cannoned into her, upon which she grasped me with both arms and gave me a big wet, muddy bear hug whilst breaking into peals of laughter. I was soaked now too and struggled to break free, sending us both crashing to the ground where we rolled down the bank into the sticky mud at the water's edge. As we stopped rolling, I finished up underneath, Tara pinning me down and grinning away through a mask of wet mud. She looked up for a second then and the grin faded from her face. I looked in the direction of her gaze and my own grin vanished as standing there on the other side were two men, silently watching us, not saying a word.

I stared at them, rigid with the shock of seeing someone, anyone, out here, wondering what their motives were and whether we were in any danger. Tara suddenly gave a little shriek as the reality of the situation sunk in and struggled to her feet, me following suit before turning to face the intruders. I suddenly realised that the younger of the two was the witchdoctor we had spoken to in Kwekwe, but the older man was a stranger.

'What do you want here?' I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

'We have come to help you.' The older man spoke first, his voice deeper than his wiry frame suggested.

'How can you help us and with what?' I replied, still unsure as to what they wanted and trying to keep Tara behind me.

'You are searching for something here and we can help you to find it.' The younger man spoke this time, smiling briefly in an almost friendly way.

'Why do you think we are searching?' I asked.

'Do you tell me that you are not?' The older man replied. 'In that case, we have wasted our time,' he paused, 'but I don't think that is the case.'

The conversation reached a stalemate and I wasn't sure what to say next, not wanting to give anything away, but also not wishing to pass up any chance of help, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

The old man continued though. 'There is one here who wishes you harm. He has come here to see you both dead, but we do not think you should die for the crimes of your ancestors or your parents, so we are here now to protect you.'

'What crimes?' Tara stepped out from behind me and her eyes flashed as she shouted the question at the two men.

'Perhaps we can come over there and talk to you.' The older man said, this time smiling and holding his hands out with palms up in a gesture of openness.

I looked back at Tara, asking the question with an arch of my brow. She nodded quickly and we both stepped back from the river and climbed the bank where we had the height advantage. The two men started to wade through the water, the younger holding the arm of the older, guiding him over the remains of our drift.

We sat on the grass near the car and the two witchdoctors, I guessed the older man was the teacher of the younger, came and sat facing us, but keeping a reasonable distance.

'What crimes?' Tara repeated the question, a little more quietly this time.

'This man, the one who comes for you has told us of these crimes, and we do not say that we believe him or not, just that we now tell you what he said. You will know the truth of it and you can judge the danger you are in.' The old man spoke more softly now, making me feel more at ease in spite of myself.

He continued; 'He says that your ancestor,' he looked at me, 'did some wrongs many, many years ago, affecting the Matabele people and perhaps even his own ancestor. He did not say what this wrong was, but I will guess that the thing you now seek will give you the answer to that question.' He smiled at me, reminding me of the wise old Chinese man in that martial arts movie, inscrutable and gentle, but hard as nails all at the same time.

'Your parents though, they have hurt him more directly than that.' He turned towards Tara, whose own face had taken on a mask again, fear and fury merged in her eyes as she stared at him.

'This man says that your parents caused the death of his son, many years ago, and he wants to take his revenge for that death.'

'He's lying.' Tara's voice was low and quiet, but the intensity of feeling contained within those short words was menacing and her face had contorted into an ugly mask of hatred and rage.

'That is probably true,' the old man responded, surprising us both, 'but what matters now is that this is what this man believes to be true and his actions are driven by this belief.' He spoke quietly too, but in a soothing way that had the effect of relaxing Tara's guard somewhat.

'Why would he believe something that isn't true?' she asked, still dangerously quiet, but without the level of menace that had been there before.

'That I cannot answer, I am afraid. His reasons are lost to me, but he believes in more than just that tale.'

'What else does he believe?' I asked, sensing that we might be getting nearer to the point of this conversation.

'He believes that there is something hidden out here, something that was stolen from the Matabele people long ago.' He stopped, scrutinising our faces for any sign that we knew anything of it. We both held fast, managing to maintain poker straight expressions, waiting for whatever he had to say next.

He nodded, imperturbably and then continued. 'He also believes that this thing that is hidden here is of great value to his people, that whatever it is can bring them back to prominence, perhaps even to lead this country.' Again he paused, but for only a moment before he came to his point.

'Now my friends, what I believe is that you have some knowledge of this thing and that you may even know where it is hidden. I think that you have a problem in that this man intends to cause you harm, death even, and we can help to save you from him.'

'Go on.' I said slowly, knowing the old man wanted something from us.

'What I propose, therefore, is that we help each other, as people must do out here in the bush to survive. We will help you to avoid this man and you will share with us, whatever it is that you are looking for.'

There it was, the good old fashioned "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" scenario and I wasn't overly surprised at his offer. I did, however, have cause to doubt his word and needed to talk with Tara before we decided what to do.

'If what you say is true, that this man is out there somewhere looking for us, how did you manage to get away from him to come and find us?' I asked, hoping to find a chink in his story.

'He is preparing your killing ground.' he said simply, making the chilling truth sound matter of fact. 'He has others to help him and he sent us to lead you into a trap.'

It sounded plausible, but there was something else I needed to clear up. 'How do you know that we will be able to find whatever you say is here? What happens if we can't find it?' I was apprehensive of how he would answer this and braced myself for what he said next.

'Then we will leave you to your fate.' Although he was talking about our deaths, he still managed to remain unemotional as he spelt out how the deal would work.

I shivered and looked over at Tara who still stared at the men, the look of distrust written across her dark features. 'I think we need to talk.' I said, gently holding her arm to lead her away.

'Please talk, but do not take too long as the man expects us.' The young man spoke this time, his words both instructing and threatening in one go.

Tara and I walked a few yards away before sitting down again in the long grass out of earshot, but within eyesight of the others.

'What do we do?' Tara spoke first, obviously scared, but with a glint of steel under her fear.

'I don't think we have a choice,' I said, 'we are pretty much alone out here and whether or not these two are telling the truth, they seem to know a lot about what's going on, too much for it to be just coincidence, don't you think?'

'Yes, I suppose you're right, although I hate the idea of anyone else walking away with the diamonds.' The steel was now showing more. 'They won't get away with this, we have to play along, but we will win in the end.'

I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by this, but chose to ignore it for now and be thankful that she wasn't going to cause any immediate problems.

'Okay,' I called to the two witchdoctors, 'you have a deal. What do you plan to do?'

# CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR - THE PLAN IN ACTION

The old witchdoctor approached the valley cautiously, Mthoko by his side ready to fight anyone who mistook them for the enemy. They were unsure of Gatsheni's precise battle plan and it would not do to surprise the amadoda now as they would be primed for a kill and could attack at any provocation.

The approach seemed still and silent and the two men were impressed at the way the warriors had hidden themselves, as there was no evidence of the skilfully laid ambush. They reached the head of the valley by the baobab trees and held their arms aloft to show they were not armed and called out, 'Lotjhani, hello.' They stopped and waited for a reply, ensuring that they were clearly visible from any point in the valley. There was silence. The breeze wafted through the yellow grasses, whispering the words of the spirits, but of mortal man, there was not a word.

'Gatsheni, it is us. Can you hear?' Mthoko called again, but again silence enveloped them, causing them to tremble, waiting for the first strike. They looked at each other and started to walk slowly further down the valley floor, their arms still raised high, nervously looking all around them as they went. There was still no sign of the impi and not a sound from anywhere.

Suddenly, Mthoko stopped and grabbed the old man's arm. 'Look, there,' he said, pointing to a spot at the far end of the valley, 'who is that standing there?'

The old man looked and his tired eyes just managed to discern a sole figure, standing alone, without movement or sound. They looked at each other again in bewilderment then continued to make progress towards the figure.

As they got closer, they could see that it was Gatsheni, just standing looking up at the vast blue sky but with tears streaming down his face.

'What is wrong, old man??' Mthoko asked. 'Where are the amadoda, the brave warriors of the Matabele?' he taunted him a little, unsure of the situation.

The old induna turned slowly and looked at him. 'The Matabele warriors are brave,' he said, 'more brave than the Mashona will ever know.'

'So where are they, Old Man.' Again Mthoko taunted, pleased to see the arrogance of this man had been wiped away. 'Could they not manage this task?'

Gatsheni continued to stare at the young man, his red-rimmed eyes burning with hate and the disappointment of knowing that his people had deserted him. The indunas had chosen their safe, comfortable lives over glory on the battlefield and the chance to right the wrongs of the past. He despised them now, cowards not worthy of the title induna of the Matabele nation, he wished them dead, all of them, to rot in their graves, forgotten and despised. How could they have done this to him? He had summoned the spirits right there in front of their eyes and yet they had chosen to disobey, to ignore the words of Mlimo, to disregard the history of the kings and disrespect his ancestors; that last crime would be unforgivable.

As he stared into the laughing face of the Mashona jackal pup, the hatred welled up and as he suddenly felt a surge of spirits inside him, he leapt at the younger, stronger man, determined to kill him where he stood. Every muscle on his body stood proud as he attacked, hands reaching and clawing for the man's throat, all his weight propelled forward into the body of his enemy.

Mthoko was taken by surprise at the attack, but he was young and fit and with a simple sidestep and a swinging punch, he felled the pathetic old man in one blow. He kicked him as he collapsed to the ground and spat on his prostrate form as he rolled in the dust.

'Don't make me laugh, Old Man. You are weak and finished. The Matabele people are now our slaves and you are the dogs here to do our bidding, to roll in the dirt and always will it be so.'

Gatsheni felt the stinging pain of the blows, but tried to stand. His body gave up though and he sagged back down into the dirt, the tears of frustration flowing down his face and dripping to the ground.

The old witchdoctor bent down and placed a hand on him. 'I am sorry Nkosi, but the world has changed and you have to change too. The ways of our ancestors have gone forever. We must pass the world on to the young now.'

He stood and a tear appeared at his own eye as he witnessed the final humiliation of a noble induna. He turned and walked away, leaving the Matabele warrior in the dust.

# CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE - THE KOPJE

After the two witchdoctors had left, we piled all our belongings back into the car, some of which had got a soaking when I had splashed around in the river, and started to drive to the northwest, where, in the distance we could see a number of kopjes.

I was now very worried about what was going to happen to us out here in the bush with at least one man after our blood and the two witchdoctors were certainly not to be trusted either.

'What happens if they decide to take the lot, if and when we find it?' I asked Tara, thinking that we should maybe just reverse our direction and get back to the main road as soon as we could.

'They won't.' She replied flatly, staring straight ahead, brooding on what was to come.

'With all due respect, we don't know that do we,' I retorted, 'we don't know them from Adam and no one knows exactly where we are. They could easily finish us off and hide our bodies so that we were never found.' I was upset and angry at the situation we found ourselves in, but could not think of a way out of it for the moment.

'We can't go back, you know that.' Tara said, 'They can track us as easily as anything and probably know this land like the backs of their hands. Our only choice is to trust them and keep looking for the diamonds.' She glared at me, daring a negative response.

She was right though. The two men had assured us that they would find us again when we asked how they would know where we were. They had tracked us all the way from the road so far and it would not be difficult to follow the spoor of a 4x4 crashing across the veld. I fell silent, brooding myself now, scared, but resigned to whatever might happen.

When we came to the first kopje, we jumped out of the car and went to have a look. Its craggy sides rose almost vertically in places and as we scoured the base for any signs of an opening, we realised that this search could take forever. After nearly an hour, we gave up on this hill and set off for the next, about a mile away to the west.

'If you were looking for a place to set up a factory, what would you need?' Tara asked, pursing her lips and the deep V frown creased her forehead.

'I don't know, I haven't set up many diamond processing operations in my time.' My facetious reply earned me a fierce glare from Tara and I flinched, expecting a punch to go with it.

'Sorry,' I said, 'Okay, you would need shelter for the workers, tools, a large space to do the work, and good defences.'

'Yes, but what else?' she pressed.

'Um, I don't know. What?' I burst out, exasperated.

'Water, that's what. Water and food, but mostly water.' She shouted it at me, obviously surprised that I hadn't guessed it myself.

'Okay, well, there is the river not too far away. They would have used that, wouldn't they?' I argued.

'Maybe, but I think we should be looking for a large kopje because you're right, they would need a lot of space, and it would need to be tall to be able to give them a view out over the veld for defence. However, I think they would have chosen one with its own water supply, a pond or lake nearby or something like that.'

I sighed knowing that Tara had control of the expedition at the moment, and also convinced that we were not going to find anything anyway. Happy to let her have her way I gave in.

'Okay, so we look for a large kopje with its own water supply and ignore the rest then, is that what you're saying?'

'Exactly. Drive on.'

I did as I was told and the adventure continued. We drove all that day but failed to find anything that matched the requirements Tara had set down. Heat haze didn't help as several times when we thought we had spied a lake, it turned out to be nothing but a mirage, a shimmering watery effect on dry land. As night fell once more, I suggested that perhaps we should give up. Tara, however, was not in a "giving up mood" and after shrieking at me for being a wimp and a coward, stalked off into the darkness. I waited for ten minutes and then decided I should go after her, eventually finding her sitting on a large rock some metres away. I coaxed her into coming back and getting some sleep, which she did without uttering another word to me that night.

The new day dawned and we set off again, Tara still not speaking to me and I feeling totally despondent about the whole thing, more convinced than ever that we were doomed to failure.

After three or four hours, Tara suddenly let out a loud yell and pointed frantically at a large kopje some way off to our right. I estimated it was around five miles away, but as it looked large even from here, it must truly be huge up close. There was also a slight shimmering quality to the light at the base of the hill, which could have been yet another mirage, but which Tara was convinced was a lake at its foot.

As we got closer, I could see that she was right and there was a small lake there, fed, I assumed by a narrow tributary of the river itself, which was some ten or fifteen miles away by now. I stopped the car near to the water, which shimmered in the bright sunlight, reflecting patterns of light onto the rock face behind it. We started to walk around the kopje as we had done on several others so far without success. It took nearly two hours to get round the whole way, checking each crevice for signs of a hidden entrance, but by the time we reached the car once again, there was not a sign of anything.

Tara's face fell and I slumped to the ground in the shade of the 4x4, exhausted and hot.

'I was sure this was the one.' Tara exclaimed, looking up at the monolith in search of inspiration.

'Well, it doesn't look like it I'm afraid.' I replied wearily. 'We'll just have to keep on looking.'

'No, let's have another look here first.' She was adamant, and I figured that we had might as well wander around this hill as any other, so I hauled myself to my feet and off we set again. Once more though, we returned to the lake without any luck, and I was so hot and sweaty by now that the water started to look particularly inviting. I stripped off my shirt and flung my shoes down as I ran towards the water and then plunged into its cooling depths. I started to swim to the far side, by the rock itself, feeling totally refreshed by the cool water flowing over me. As I got nearer, the rock seemed to shift ahead of me and all of a sudden, a narrow crevice opened up in front of my eyes.

I trod water for a second and looked back at Tara, standing forlornly by the car.

'Can you see this?' I called across to her.

'What?' She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare off the surface.

'There is an opening here.' I called again and moved towards it, reaching down with my legs, trying to find the bottom. It came soon enough and I waded towards the crevice, which opened further as I got closer. Then, I reached out and touched the stone wall and peered around the jagged edge of the protruding buttress. Behind, there was a corridor, narrow at first, but widening as it snaked its way into the kopje. I realised that the glare of the sun on the water coupled with the distance one had to stand from it, had kept this opening hidden for decades and a thrill of anticipation went through me as I turned towards it.

I walked in, careful not to trip on the slimy surface and entered another world, cool and dark, the walls of solid granite reaching up above me, closing in the higher they went. Tangled vines formed a green roof to the passage, filtering the light and making it eerie and quiet.

After a few more yards, I came into a wide courtyard, again vines and creepers closed in over the top, hiding its existence from the outside world. There were remnants of sacks stacked up on the far side and piles of rock everywhere. I picked up a piece thoughtfully tossing it up and down and at that moment, knew that we had indeed found the Matabele diamond factory where Frederick had suffered so terribly and had seen his companions brutally slain in front of his eyes.

There was a dark opening at the back of the courtyard and I moved hesitantly towards it, shivering from the cold now that the sun was blocked, the vines above denying this space the warmth of its rays. As I peered into the blackness, I could vaguely make out some pale shapes piled at one side, although I could not see what they were. I walked cautiously inside, hoping that my eyes would become accustomed to the gloom. The temperature dropped even further in the cave, but the shivers that ran through me now were not just because of the cold.

I moved to the pale outlines on the floor, my eyes becoming more and more accustomed to the darkness with every step and as I got closer, I suddenly realised what I was looking at. The skull grinned at me as it had grinned for the past hundred years, the empty eye sockets dark and unseeing, but I imagined containing the pain and suffering these men had been subjected to as they died.

I turned and ran from the cave, not wanting to see any more and ran smack bang into someone coming in. I fell headlong to the floor and cracked my head on the rock as I went down. Tara fell heavily on top of me and groaned as she too hit the ground.

'This is it.' I managed to gasp, holding my head where a trickle of blood had started to appear. 'This is the place we have been looking for and Frederick's "companions" are still inside.'

# CHAPTER THIRTY SIX - FOLLOW THE CROSS

Feeling dazed and tired after the knock on my head, I lay flat out on the ground by the car, staring up at the blue dome of sky and wondering if we really were now on the trail of the diamonds. I had started to feel as if we could be the ones to discover the treasure after so many years and an excitement had started to build inside me.

For the moment though, all I could really concentrate on was the throbbing in my head and the cool, wet towel Tara had wrapped around it to stop the flow of blood. Swimming back across the lake had been a wearing task, although Tara was a strong swimmer and had supported me most of the way. I raised my head once more and looked across the surface of the water, but the entrance through the rock face had once again disappeared. The lake must have grown since the Matabele had used this place, otherwise the problem of getting sacks of rock in and out would have been too great.

'How are you feeling now?' Tara looked concerned, but was also obviously eager to get on. I forced a smile but was not keen on moving for a little while yet.

'I think we should stay here tonight.' I ventured. 'For one thing, it's a good camp site and for another, we'll be able to see where the Southern Cross is and get our bearings more accurately when the sun's gone.

She looked doubtful and I hoped she wouldn't pick up on the obvious point that the constellations moved across the sky as the night wore on and we were not totally sure what time of night the men had run, or even exactly what time of year.

'Okay,' she said, 'but we go again first thing, before the sun comes up. I want to get a good start on the day. We will have to keep watch tonight to see where the Cross moves from and to and then we can mark it on our map which should give us a vector to work to.'

I should have known she would have it all worked out. I nodded, appreciatively and let my eyelids droop and soon fell into a deep sleep.

The next thing I knew, Tara was shaking me and telling me to get up, it was time to go. I looked around and could see the very first streaks of pink in the sky as the sun started to make its presence felt for yet another morning. I looked at my watch and estimated that I had slept for the best part of twelve hours, a marathon rest which left me feeling groggy at first, but once up and about, I was refreshed and ready for the day. My head still felt sore, but the throbbing had subsided and a couple of aspirin would soon see me right.

Tara had obviously stayed awake last night as when she spread out the map, it was marked with a series of dots and times, relating to regular takings of the Cross' position, which when joined up, created an ark in a roughly southerly direction from our current position. She had then extended two lines from the point we were at now to dissect the arc, giving us a cake slice of country to search for the scene from the painting.

Looking at the diary again, we guessed that the men had gone into the cave around two or three o'clock in the morning as Frederick said it was "seven or eight hours dark". This fact narrowed down our search somewhat as the stars moved only a relatively short distance in a couple of hours, so we concentrated on a slim segment of area to start with.

The day was again hot and dusty and the temptation to close the windows and put on the air-conditioning was too great this time. It was almost surreal, driving through this ancient land, cocooned inside the glass and steel box with cool air hissing from the vents. It reminded me of going to safari parks back home when I was a kid, staring out at the countryside with the wild animals part of the scenery, but completely detached from what was going on, like watching it on TV, sensing sights and sounds, but no smells or anything to touch to make it real.

We kept an eye on the mountains in the distance and could start to see a similarity to what was in the painting. The shape like a giant 'W' seemed to be forming, but one end was not quite right yet. Tara's eyes shone with excitement as it seemed we were getting closer to our goal and she urged the car on faster and faster until I had to tell her sharply to slow down from fear of having an accident.

Then, suddenly, the mountain shape seemed to match. The 'W' was there in front of us and Tara slowed the car to a halt, staring intently into the distance. She grabbed the painting and jumped out, holding it in front of her like a holy grail, a look of almost religious intensity on her face.

'We've found it.' She said it so quietly that I almost missed it. 'We've found it.' This time she yelled, making me jump a little.

'Well, technically we haven't found it yet.' I injected a note of caution, wary of getting too excited just yet.

'Yes but look, how far away can it be?' She asked, the merest hint of ferocity tingeing her voice, annoyed that I had spoiled her moment, even if it was only to stress a fact.

'Not far, I guess.' I said, looking around for any sign of a tree or a village. There was nothing, nothing for miles that I could see. In the distance, I could see some trees that probably marked the line of the river and a little closer were some rocks, those curious standing stones that can be found across the region, but there was no acacia and no village.

'Tara, there's nothing here.' I said it as gently as I could, waiting for the eruption of denial from her. None came though. She looked around too, peering into the distance all round us. She ran to the car and pulled out a pair of binoculars and then jumped onto the bonnet and then roof for a better view. As she performed a three-sixty degree search of the veld, I could see her face dropping and then become almost frantic as she found nothing.

'Let's drive over towards those rocks.' She said, pointing to the standing stones I had seen already. 'Maybe there is something behind them that we can't see from here.' Her face was eager and nervy and my heart sank as I realised that she was already taking this hard. The chance of us finding anything had always been remote, but the empty landscape was the final straw as far as I was concerned. I was in two minds whether to face facts now that we should just pack up and get out of here, or keep searching for a while longer, unsure which option would affect Tara worst.

'Come on, let's go.' She yelled at me, already in the driver's seat, engine running, taking the decision away from me.

I jumped in and we set off across the dusty surface towards the rocks. It didn't take long to get there and Tara slid the car to a halt once more, jumping out almost before it had come to a complete stop. She ran to the stones, jumping and clambering her way to the top of the nearest for a better view. She raised the binoculars to her eyes and started to frantically swivel this way and that in search of anything that would give her a clue. I stood by the car and watched as she slowed her search and then as her hand dropped to her side, the binoculars hanging limply, her head drooping forward. She slowly slumped to a sitting position, just staring out at nothing, the sobs starting to come now as defeat set in.

I couldn't move and I just stood and stared at the scene, the ancient rocks, and standing squat as they had done for maybe millions of years, unchanging as the purple mountains in the distance. Tara gathered herself and jumped down from her perch and started towards me, one hand resting on her hip and the other raised to her face, wiping away the tears.

Just then, something stirred inside me. I had seen this before, this scene was familiar somehow. Déjà-vu? No, something else, I had seen it, recently.

My sudden yell startled Tara and her mouth dropped in amazement as I jumped up and down, arms in the air, dancing a little jig on the spot. I was speechless and all I could do was point and gesticulate to her as she rushed up to me, not sure if I was having some sort of seizure by the look on her face.

'Look behind you.' I managed to gasp, 'Just bloody well look behind you.'

She turned and looked back, staring intently, but puzzled as to what she was supposed to be looking at. 'What, James? What can you see?' She had started to smile a little, my mirth becoming infectious.

I ran to the car and grabbed the painting once more and held it in front of her face. 'Now look, can't you see it?'

She looked at the painting and then at the rocks and back at the painting again, realisation dawning as she made the connection I had just made.

'My god! It's the village.' She had it. She could see it too.

These rocks were the subject of Frederick's painting, there never had been a village, just rocks that looked like huts, sitting out here on the veld for millennia, forever providing a landmark for others to follow.

I started to look around for any sign of a tree stump, but could see nothing. Using the painting again as a guide, I cast around, trying to figure out where it would have been. Then I realised that it was where the car was sitting. I jumped in and reversed it out of the way. Once we had pulled the grass up from where the car had been, there it was. The dark remains of a tree, now nothing more than a circle of rotten stump almost flat to the ground.

We jumped up and hugged each other, whooping for joy that at last we had found it. The place in the painting and perhaps the place Frederick had buried his treasure so long ago.

# CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN - CONFRONTATION

Our celebrations were short lived as the two witchdoctors appeared silently, as if from nowhere. Tara saw them first and gave a little gasp, her hand at her mouth. I spun round to see them simply standing there, smiling, but without any trace of mirth evident in their eyes.

'Congratulations my friends, it seems that you have found whatever you came for.' The old man spoke first, the smile never leaving his face. 'But now is the time to honour your side of the bargain and share with us.'

'We have found nothing yet,' I replied, 'just a place that's all. We don't know if there is anything here or not.'

The smile left their faces and they came closer to us, looking around for any signs that we were lying. 'So, how will you know? Where will this thing be if it is here?'

I thought briefly about trying to bluff our way out of this, but decided the risks were too great. I wasn't sure what these two were capable of, but out here, they could get away with anything and they probably knew that.

'It is buried here somewhere, but we don't know exactly where.' I was telling the truth now as we hadn't quite got around to solving this part of the puzzle.

Tara's face was once again masked with fury as she listened to this conversation, but I think she knew as well as I that we were in no position to negotiate, so for now, she remained silent.

'Then, I suggest you find out and start digging.' The younger man chipped in now, 'we have not got much time.'

A thought occurred to me. 'How do we know that you have upheld your end of the bargain?' I asked. 'How do we know that you have not arranged all this and that this other man is not hiding amongst the mopane, waiting to attack with his friends?'

The old man answered. 'You do not know, but I have seen the shame of an old warrior and I can tell you that it is so.'

His answer was mysterious and didn't really settle my nerves, but for some reason, as he stared sadly into my eyes, I believed what he said.

'The time for talk has come to an end.' The young man said. 'Now you must dig.'

'And what if we refuse?' Tara hissed back, taking a step towards him, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

'This is a big empty land. People can get lost here.' That was all he needed to say to convince me of the danger we were in. I put a restraining hand on her shoulder and she stopped, trembling with fury, but knowing we had to do what they asked.

We pulled the shovels we had borrowed from Albert from the car and turned to the dark patch on the ground, where the old acacia must have stood.

'He said in his diary that we should look behind the acacia,' I said quietly, 'so I guess that means the opposite side of the tree to where he stood when he painted the picture.'

It seemed to make sense and Tara nodded agreement. We hit the hard ground with the blades of the shovels, and immediately knew that this was going to take some time.

'You might as well make yourselves comfortable,' I said over my shoulder to the two men, 'the ground is hard as rock, so it won't be quick.'

'Thank you for your concern for our well being, but we will stand.' The old man said, planting his feet as if ready to endure a long wait.

I shrugged and turned back to the task at hand. 'At least you could try and help.' I turned again to the young man, 'You would surely not let a woman do the work of a man.' I didn't know if this would stir his ego at all, but thought it worth a try.

'I think this woman is worthy of such work.' He smiled a thin, humourless smile, standing firm where he was.

The blisters had started to rub painfully on my hand and the hot sun was burning my skin when Tara suddenly fell forward into the pit we had dug. I jumped in to help her out, but she was exhausted and refused to move. It had been several hours now and we had not found any sign of a hoard of diamonds or anything else to indicate we were anywhere close. I called out to the two witchdoctors, who stood implacably where they had been from the start. I had to admire their stamina at least; they didn't seem to notice the heat at all and had not so much as twitched since we started.

'We are going to take a break.' I said. 'She needs to rest for a while.'

I didn't wait for an answer before I picked her up and assisted her over to the car where we could rest in the shade. I grabbed a bottle of water and we both drank thirstily, the warm liquid spilling down our fronts in our haste.

After ten minutes, the younger man lost his patience. 'You will dig again now, time for rest is over.'

'No, we will rest some more.' I replied, not willing to start again until Tara had recovered.

'I say you will dig now.' His voice raised in anger.

Again I refused. 'No we will not. If you want to have a go then be my guest, but we are tired and we will stay here until we are ready, and not before.' My own limits were getting close now and my voice was louder in defiance of the treatment we were receiving. I jumped to my feet, fists clenched ready in defence.

He suddenly pulled a knife from nowhere and started towards me ready to strike when his mouth flew open in surprise and pain. With his eyes wide in bewilderment, he stopped short and looked down at his chest. I followed his gaze to see something protruding, dripping with the blood that was already starting to run from the wound. He pitched forward to the ground, strangely silent and lay still.

I was transfixed by what had happened, my brain not able to comprehend it. The old man was similarly affected and just stood there, staring at his apprentice, jaw slack with amazement at the long spear that stuck out of his back, wavering slightly with what was left of the momentum that had driven it there.

There was a loud yell from behind and he turned just in time to witness his own death coming towards him. The blade of the assegai swept a flashing arc through the air, barely slowing as it bit into the flesh of the old man's neck, slicing through tendon and bone like a hot knife through butter. His head didn't move for an instant, like the crockery on the tablecloth, ripped away by a magician. Then slowly it toppled to the ground, rolling over in the dust that stuck to the wet, bloody stains. The eyes were still open with the look of amazement they had shown in their last seconds of life, and then slowly they closed as the old man's body slumped to the ground for the last time.

I stared in horror at the two corpses lying in the dirt at my feet, still stunned at the speed with which their lives had been taken from them. Then I looked up and saw the old street seller from Harare standing there, panting and sweating from the exertion of what he had done and with a second spear ready in his right hand.

'Shed no tears for these jackals,' he said, the spear still held ready, 'they were going to kill you anyway. They are dogs, nothing more, and would kill just for their own personal gain.'

I recovered a little and managed to prise apart dried lips to speak. 'And you? What do you kill for?'

'Ah, a perceptive question.' He paused. 'I kill for the nation and to avenge the deaths of others. Personal gain means nothing to me; I am old and have little time left anyway.'

'What do you propose to do now?' I asked, wondering if I could get to him before he let loose with the spear. It would be a gamble as the distance between us was great and I had already seen how effective his throwing arm could be.

'Now, I am afraid that I must take back what belongs to the Matabele people. Taken by your ancestor and buried here for the past hundred years, it is time for it to come back to us.'

Then he started to chant, almost singing a rhythmic refrain that made no sense to me.

They will bring only misery to the nation until a time when the dogs rule the land and my people; when false rulers starve the people; when greed stops the food crops growing in the fields; when the nation is cheated by its own; when the warriors who never fought take over the land; when the wise men are taught by the ignorant. Then, the stones will find their use.

He finished and was silent. I was unsure of the true significance of what he had said but knew then how powerful these stones were to this man and that he would stop at nothing to get them back.

'And us?' I continued, I thought I knew the answer to my question, but wanted to stall for as long as I could, to work out the options.

'If I can regain the diamonds, then you can go free. I came to take my revenge for the death of my son, but I think now that there has been too much death already.'

I didn't believe him. His eyes were wild and I figured his mind had already gone past reason, lies coming as easily as truth. But I wanted to try and calm him, to get closer to stand any chance at all of grabbing the spear from his grasp.

I could feel my heart pounding in my throat as I continued.

'How does your son's death affect us?' I asked him.

'He died protecting the stones from your woman's parents,' he replied, giving Tara a look that confirmed my suspicions of his intentions.

'He was here with me and so were they, close to a discovery that could have destroyed our chances of ever defeating our enemies. They fought and he died, that is all. I was weaker then, unable to kill them for the grief I felt and they left with the strong woman from the old days. I was so weak that I couldn't even take his body back with me and had to leave him here so that the land could take him back.

This story seemed to confirm our fears that Tara's parents and Nellie had indeed been involved in the death of a man out here, but what he said made me believe that they killed him in self defence as he fought with them.

'But you say you have forgiven Tara for that time?' I enquired, wanting to get another admission from him.

'Yes, it is over now. There has been too much blood, with no need for more to be spilt.' I almost started to believe him, until once again I looked into his eyes.

'Okay. You can have the diamonds. You are right, they are tainted with too much blood now and I don't want them anymore.'

Tara, who had been standing silently through this exchange, suddenly took a step closer. A deep growl came from her throat and without looking at her I assumed she was building up for an attack on the old man. I stepped back to be in line with her, never taking my eyes off the spear in the old man's grasp. I looked quickly at her, ready to calm her for a moment, and then realised that she was looking at me and not him at all.

'You will not give away my treasure.' She hissed at me, spittle forming at the corners of her mouth. 'I have come too far and it is mine now, I will kill you if you try and give it to this man.'

I was shocked at this new turn of events and whispered from the corner of my mouth, 'calm down, I'm just stalling.'

To the old man I said, 'We have just found them here, come and get them and we will leave.'

Before I had the chance to say or do anything more, Tara suddenly attacked me, her hands clawing at my face, nails raking through my skin, drawing blood that I felt run down my neck. The tears that sprang from my eyes temporarily blinded me and what followed happened in a slow motion pink mist, tainted with the blood from the cuts on my face.

I pushed her away, but then saw that the old man was drawing his arm back ready to throw. As I looked on in horror, I could see that he was aiming for Tara who by now was screaming at the top of her voice, hysterical with rage. I ran towards him, arms stretched out in front of me, trying with every sinew in my body to reach him before he let his weapon loose. Tara screamed again and ran forward, putting herself back into his line of sight. I saw her face for an instant and didn't recognise her at all, her features replaced by an horrific mask of hate and I knew in that instant that she intended to kill the old man. I dived for him just as he lunged towards her, his spear arm a blur as he let the long weapon fly. I collided with him, knocking him to the ground and listened with fascinated horror as his head smashed against a rock with a dull, wet thud. I rolled over and watched the spear arc through the air. It seemed to be airborne for minutes and I screamed her name as Tara took the full force of the metal point high on her chest, piercing her flesh and driving through her, blood spurting from front and back. She was knocked back instantly, the shock registering on her face for a second before she slumped to the ground. Then her eyes closed and there was silence as she laid still, her blood dripping slowly from her body to be claimed forever by the dry, African earth.

THE END

# EPILOGUE - THE PRESENT

I stared at the watercolour on the wall of Acacia where it had hung as long as I could remember, the events of early 1991 coming back to me, some clear and some still hazy and confused. Now, nearly two decades later, I sometimes wondered if I had dreamed it all as it seemed unreal in so many ways.

The diamonds? No, they weren't found and they may never be, if they ever existed at all. I wondered if the death of so many people would be enough to call a halt to the search by future generations of Braughtons, intrigued at the mystery of the family fortune. It may for a time I thought, but I doubted if it would forever.

I read the newspapers constantly these days, looking for updates on the deteriorating situation in Zimbabwe, where the mainly Shona leadership seemed to have systematically destroyed everything that had been built up over decades. They had cheated their way back into power several times by openly rigging elections and had managed to stop food production to the point at which the people starved.

It was rumoured that Mugabe had funnelled millions of dollars out of the country into private bank accounts, lining his own pockets while the country's infrastructure crumbled around him. He had taken control of the mines around the country, including a huge new discovery of diamonds in the east, and was now reaping the bloody rewards.

The infamous "War Veterans", made up of young thugs who had not even been born when the war ended, marched around the countryside, evicting white farmers and black workers alike, trashing the crops where they grew in the fields despite the hunger already being suffered by thousands across the country. So far, I was glad to see, Leopard's Leap had been left alone, although Katie and Albert's other farms were lost. I feared for them that they may one day soon lose their home and livelihoods to a gang of vicious thugs.

Amongst many horror stories, one told of school teachers being forced into "reorientation camps" where they were "re-educated", learning things like racist doctrine and how to kill and avoid detection.

I thought back to the words of the old man out by the Lupane. I considered that his words had been prophetic and perhaps what was happening now in this extraordinary country had been foretold many years ago.

I wondered if this was the time for which the treasure was meant, to stop the atrocities and the sheer waste of a beautiful and productive land. Could it be used to finance political opposition so they could stand a chance against the brutal regime that was bent on destruction? I didn't have the answer and I had decided that I would have nothing to do with it any more.

I had read too, during later research, of the native uprising in 1896, when the Matabele under instruction of Mlimo, had slaughtered hundreds of white men, women, and children across the land in an attempt to retrieve what they felt was rightfully theirs. They had had guns, and lots of them, but when Selous and men like him set out to avenge the deaths of their women and children, the Matabele were outgunned and died in their thousands. It is said that a lack of planning, too much reliance on the powers of Mlimo, who they believed would turn white bullets into water and a severe lack of ammunition led to their downfall.

I considered that they might have fared better with the fortune in diamonds to buy arms, rather than whatever was left after Lotshe's hoard went missing. What might the history of southern Africa been like then?

Although still present, I had overcome my shock now; it was all so long ago that the mists of time shrouded any memories of what was buried out there in the bush near the Lupane.

I looked at the old man in the picture, wondering at the loss of two other old men and their younger companion that day. The street seller had died from his wound as his head struck the rock, so I never found out what his story was or even who he was. At the time, I had wondered whether to report their deaths or not, knowing that the authorities would question the spear attack on Tara, wanting to know who had committed the crime.

I decided in the end to tell of a lone attacker who had run off afterwards, as the truth was too complicated for anyone to believe. I still lay awake at night, worrying about that decision, but it was one I had to make and I would not go back on it. The codes of conduct in Africa, I had learnt, were indeed different to those at home. I had left the bodies there where they fell to be reclaimed by the land, as the old man's son had been twenty years previously; knowing that within days there would be nothing left but bones, which would then slowly crumble away to dust.

Then I looked at the young girl in the picture timelessly holding her load aloft, hand on her hip and thought about the vision of Tara that day that had allowed me to see the village as Frederick had painted it.

I smiled and she looked up from her book.

'What is it?' She asked, lowering the book to her knees and smiling back at me.

'I was just remembering Tara, that's all.' I replied affectionately.

Tara's wound had been serious and nothing could have saved her, but I managed to get her into the car and drove non-stop to Bulawayo where doctors had tried their best in the hospital's emergency department. It had taken a long time for her life to finally slip away, a time that stretched into eternity for me and during which I prayed incessantly to a god I'd never believed in and who left my prayers unanswered.

It had taken a long time for my mental injuries to heal though. For many months afterward I was beset by torrid nightmares from which I would wake screaming and thrashing in my bed. The guilt I felt at Tara's death lasted longer still and there were times even now when I would beg forgiveness from her ghost, but these times were getting less frequent and I had hopes that they would eventually cease altogether.

I had found no evidence of any other deaths out there and so all talk of what had happened to Tara's parents and Nellie was forgotten. I decided that the old street seller's version of events suggested that his son had attacked first and had died in the ensuing fight.

It occurred to me that the madness caused by the diamonds could do strange things to a person and it didn't pay to dwell too deeply on them for fear of bringing things to a surface where those who didn't understand, may criticise.

Of course, I returned a changed person and discovered that any excuses I'd had for avoiding Eden before had disappeared. She let me recover in my own time, giving love and support when I needed it and giving me space when I needed that. I learned to trust her totally and as time wore on, love and support became more important to me. We eventually became inseparable; I found the gem she knew was there, deep inside me and at last told her I loved her. I considered I had released that gem just as Frederick had hidden it, so it was a closure of sorts for him perhaps.

We were married a year to the day of my return from Africa and our first baby girl was born a year after that. Eden insisted we name her Tara, and I loved her even more for it.

I sometimes dwelt on what I knew of Em and Frederick, realising that in my story, theirs echoed down through the years. Perhaps that was the real treasure after all.

However, more research had revealed that many other people had lost their lives because of the treasure. I read that the induna named Lotshe, mentioned in Frederick's diary, had been executed along with three hundred members of his family by Lobengula and it didn't take too much of a stretch to make the connection between the loss of the diamonds and Lobengula's executioners, who beat the clan to death in 1889.

Old Mr. Tempole who had done some digging as promised, solved the mystery of Acacia. The house had never actually been owned by Nellie it seemed; instead, the name on the deeds was that of a Mr. Porter. Harry's parents had known about her troubled life with their son and had bought the home for her when they learned of her imminent return to the country. However, they also knew that Nellie would find it hard to accept anything from them and had made the house available as a temporary place of accommodation until she found her feet. They had then conspired to block her every enquiry into alternative accommodation until at last she gave up trying and stayed put, presumably thinking that she had earned it after all she had suffered. So, she hadn't left the house in her will because it still wasn't hers to leave.

When Mr. Tempole contacted the current Porter family, they had no immediate knowledge of the property, but then generously decided to sell it to a member of Nellie's family at a very attractive rate. I had some savings, plus the remainder of Nellie's bequest and so bought it from them. Eden had moved in not long after deciding that the busy city life was not for her anymore.

And what about the wealth that Nellie brought home? Well, that remains a mystery to some extent, although perhaps she had come closer to the treasure than we had thought. It was something we were never likely to find out for sure and so we hadn't bothered to investigate further. The family gossip mill still turned however, and rumours of the treasure had grown for a while after our return. However Tara's death was too much for the family to bear and now it was collectively agreed to forget the myth, for which I was glad. I brought home a clue though in the rock I had picked up near the cave and popped into my pocket without thinking. It had turned out to contain a large, and once polished, beautiful diamond, a future fund for my new family.

One more thing happened after I moved into Acacia. I was hanging the painting back on the wall and noticed that the frame looked as if it had got some water damage. I remembered the soaking it had received whilst out of our possession for that short while, so removed the frame to check for any further damage. I pulled out the piece of thick paper, on which the picture had been painted which too was stained, but strangely only on the back where also one corner had started to peel away, as if it was delaminating. Curious as to why the stain didn't show on the front of the painting and that there seemed to be two pieces of paper stuck together, I carefully peeled one from the other.

On the inside of the backing paper behind where the acacia was painted, were some faint marks: a map depicting a village and a tree with a path leading away to the north, at the end of which was the unmistakeable image of a diamond.

####

# About the Author

Paul Bondsfield grew up in a small village in Hampshire but has travelled widely and lived in several countries including Denmark, New Zealand, Jersey and South Africa. But southern Africa is his spiritual home, the region of the world where his mother's family came from and through which he travelled for several months in the early 1990's.

He now lives with his family in Farnham, Surrey works in the travel industry and plays drums in a rock band.

Acacia is his first novel and was borne out of a real painting left him by his Grandma, herself born and raised in Rhodesia. This painting was as described in Acacia, and too yielded up its own secrets some years after it came into Paul's possession.

He's currently working on his second book, 'The Oak'. See below for a sample.

Dear Reader

_Thank you for reading my first book. If you enjoyed reading it, please take a moment to leave me a review on the site you bought it from, or drop me a line on Facebook - I'd love to hear from you._

### Acacia on Facebook

_Paul Bondsfield – Surrey, UK. November 2013._

### **Look out for 'The Oak' in late 2014.**

### **Here's a sample to whet your appetite.**

###  Prologue

### The 1960's

The birth wasn't easy. She felt her waters break late in the afternoon of the eleventh and she called for the midwife immediately. The baby wasn't quite ready though and by 1am the following morning she was asleep again and the house was quiet. The midwife returned the next day, midmorning, and after a cursory examination pronounced that nothing was going to happen until later that day or even that night. It wasn't so much an estimate of the newborn's arrival as an instruction and the girl felt more powerless than ever. The woman left again leaving the expectant mother alone and afraid.

This wasn't normal she was sure; her baby should be on its way by now shouldn't it?

She lay still on her bed in the downstairs room the whole day, too tired and too scared to move other than to use the ornate pan by her bedside, one of the only items providing a link to her family - of whom she could remember nothing. She could feel the movement inside her and was at least comforted by that, although each time it stopped the panic started to rise, thick inside her until the next kick or wriggle. The minutes stretched into hours that seemed like days as she lay there, nerves stretched by the ordeal that had started so wonderfully and with so much promise just over nine months ago.

As she stared at the stained ceiling, alternately she picked out patterns, countries and faces in the grime and then fretted on the twin uncertain futures she and her baby would face. Her isolation could end at least, the make-believe illness she had suffered, keeping her indoors and hidden for the last few weeks of the pregnancy, could be 'cured'. She wondered how many people had been fooled by the charade. In a village like this there would not be many who wouldn't have guessed the truth and then gossiped about it to others. The trick was to maintain the pretence though wasn't it? To never publicly give in to the speculation and endless questions and to always stay resolute. It was her bad luck to have got into this mess in a small Hampshire village that maintained its Victorian morals whilst the rest of the world seemed to have embraced sexual liberation and a more liberal outlook on life in general. How she wished she lived in London, where this sort of thing happened all the time, or in one of those communes where the miracle of new life was celebrated rather than denigrated and reduced to a sordid act far from the sight of God.

The future for her child was even less certain than her own. She was scared for the baby, for the unknown to come, but more scared that she may not be able to cope with the not knowing. After the birth the child would be taken from her and she would never see it again, or even know what had happened to it. In her head she knew it was the best solution, but her heart ached already for a loss yet to come, and she had shed rivers of tears for the child she would never hold but that she knew better than anyone else alive.

At around five o'clock the midwife returned once more. A large bluff woman, the wife of a local farmer, she was torn between her love of God and the Church and her natural compassion for this vulnerable young girl who was suffering the double pains of childbirth and isolation. To resolve her internal conflict she chose to remain neutral, doing what she could to ease the birth as kindly as she could manage without becoming too involved or too close to the mother to be; or not to be as the case was.

To the pregnant girl though this attitude was cold and unfeeling: that a woman so close to God would treat her with such disdain was a kind of proof that she had wronged, that she was damned in whatever way God chose. She resolved that the rest of her life would be blameless, that never again would the village have cause to treat her badly. She already knew that no man would come close to reaching her heart as had the father of this child, but she also knew that he was unobtainable, off limits for now and forever. Her life from this point on would be sacrificed to her love of him, her unknown baby and God.

For now though the ordeal continued. The next few hours slowed more than she could have believed and became a flowing nightmare of terse orders and instructions from the midwife, pain, sweat, tears and unimagined indignities, mingled with her own cries for release. When the midwife told her she would have to cut her, she thought she would scream, that nothing in the world could be this bad, but she endured as she knew she must.

The child finally arrived early the next morning; the thirteenth. All she saw of her baby was a blurred vision of blood and thick dark hair before it was wrapped in a large towel and taken from the room. She heard it cry once and then came the silence.

She felt completely numb now, from the exertions of birth and from the emotions of loss. She lay with her head to one side staring at the blackness outside the window. As she stared she saw something move out there; a shadow that was gone as soon as she tried to focus on it. She thought no more of it though as the midwife finished cleaning her up and wiped her brow with a cool, damp cloth. If she had looked at that moment she would have seen the older woman smile down, just briefly but with compassion, before she left the room and all was still again.

The basket lay on the kitchen table. Inside, the baby swathed in towels was still, unnaturally so for a newborn. As the midwife came in to the room she sensed rather than saw the shadow cross the space. There was a pause, as if time had taken a breath, while something, nothing, passed over the basket. She shook her head, unsure that she had seen anything at all. When she looked again there was nothing there, but when she picked the basket up she could swear she smelt a faint odour of damp wood.

### Chapter 1

### The Present

The previous day's events weighed heavily on Charles' mind, but he didn't know yet that their outcome would change his life forever.

Sitting here in his upstairs office in the old cottage, he felt calm. The nervous energy had gone, but he still felt tense and it was that feeling he concentrated on for the moment, pondering its presence and more pointedly its source.

Susan and Arnold had immediately pooh-poohed his concerns, telling him that he was just feeling a bit out of sorts, that's all. 'The old duffer had deserved it and it was about time someone stood up to him. No problem that a stiff drink and a good game of golf wouldn't sort out.' But he knew it was going to take more than that, a lot more than that actually.

Lily was more forgiving of peoples' weaknesses and had been there for him as soon as she had heard, a little too quickly for his liking to be honest and the source of yet another potential issue to be resolved at some point in the future.

...

None of them noticed the Colonel who had been standing at the entrance to one of the several alleys leading to the churchyard from the opposite side of Bankers Road. He had been there since Lily had stormed round the corner and watched as Charles had hurtled after her. He was about to see if they were alright when that young fool, Smythe and his flirtatious wife had showed up and for some reason he decided to stay where he was, unseen, until they had moved off.

He stared after them with a far off look in his eyes, thinking hard about what to do with regards the challenge that had been set down by Charles Caldercott the previous day. In his time, things would have been a good deal more straightforward. A formal challenge would have been issued and accepted and then the matter would have been settled, somewhere away from prying eyes. Although very illegal and now, he realised, very rash, it had been an honourable way to sort out differences and he was not sure that a return to the methods of old would be a bad thing for some of today's youth.

But of course, things change and times change. He couldn't rely on the strategies of the past any more and new, more cunning tactics would have to be used here, especially in this situation where there were complications.

He had thought about these complications a lot recently. He knew that his time was drawing to a close, the old oak tree in front of The Manor House seemed to be groaning much more now, its ancient limbs rocking in the winds that swept up from the Solent, along the river valley and into the village, where they were briefly lifted above the chimney pots before buffeting the hillside upon which the oak and the house had stood for so long. He believed he could read the old tree as well as if it were speaking to him, every creak and every whisper meant something, telling tales of the events it had witnessed during its thousand year life. It spoke of the Viking raider who had planted it there in the early 1000's, of the battles fought and won, of the Bishops and Kings who had visited this place over the centuries, of the houses built here, home to generation after generation of the Colonel's own family, a heritage survived by him alone, a line of succession that only he, in all that time, had failed to continue.

That indeed was the crux of the matter. The root of the discontent that he admitted, at least to himself, he had sowed throughout the village in recent years. The end of a line that could be traced back so far in time but would go no further than him, his barren life, childless, loveless and therefore, he had begun to suspect, meaningless. His family and its descendents had been here for a thousand years. They had had their ups and downs, swinging from being loved benefactors to despised tyrants and all points between, but they had always been here. The plot where The Manor House now stood had seen the coming and goings of many structures, from the original small wooden dwelling built by Daninfald to the seventeenth and eighteenth century mansion that stood now.

Daninfald was the Viking raider who had first helped sack the monastery and burn the Bishop's residence to the ground and then ingratiated himself on the small, local population by saving the lives of many of them. Legend had it that single handed he fought off a hundred of his kinsmen who were bent on murder and then was asked to stay by the Bishop of Winchester to protect his interests in the area. The truth would more likely to have been that he had deserted his fellow warriors and hidden up in the woods until they had gone and then scratched out a living until the locals had accepted or at least tolerated his presence. Perhaps he had done some good deeds to ingratiate himself, hence the extrapolated legend that had him saving lives. Whatever the real facts of his arrival, there seemed to be no disputing the fact that he had in fact arrived at the time, settled amongst the trees on the hill and eventually sired a family that became the root of a thousand years of history.

The other proven fact was the existence of an oak tree in the meadow on the lower slopes of the hill since around the turn of the first millennium. Two years ago, some botanical historians had arrived and performed some dating tests on the tree, conclusively proving its antiquity. The Colonel had known since he was a child that his distant ancestor had planted a tree in the meadow the year he had settled there and the tests merely confirmed this fact for him. This knowledge was just a part of the family history passed from generation to generation over the past 1000 years. The village had been excited though by the fact that one of the oldest trees in the land sat in their midst and a committee, chaired by the Colonel of course, had been established to look after its welfare. There was to be a Thousand Year Celebratory Fete and concert in the meadow later this year as the year 1001, the arrival of the Danes in the south of England, was deemed to be as good as any for the birth date of the tree. The Colonel anticipated it would also be a celebration of his family's 'reign' in Waltham Wood, although there were voices of dissent amongst the committee members on that particular issue.

Despite his melancholy about the fast approaching demise of the Danesbury name here in Waltham Wood, there was one potential way to continue the family line. He had long discounted it as anything more than a last resort, but he was beginning to believe that a last resort was the only one left to him.

As he stood there in the street, watching the small group wander down towards the pub he could taste a bitterness in his mouth at the thought of what he would have to do and the secrets he was going to have to divulge.

The Oak. – out in December 2014

Copyright Paul Bondsfield 2013.

