The Horns of the Buffalo by John Wilcox Page B

Covington: mannered, confident and arrogant from his breeding, able enough but with little interest beyond regimental matters, hunting and the social round. Lamb carried the missionary zeal of an empire-maker. He had, Simon remembered being told, served long years in India.
    â€˜As you would expect,’ continued the Colonel, ‘two hundred years of European settlement has meant that the white man has taken the best of the land and the water availability.’ He gestured to the map again. ‘Only here, in Natal, has any land been set aside for the natives, where we’ve pushed about three hundred thousand Kaffirs into reserves. But the Boers do nothing. They think that the Transvaal goes on for ever - and that it’s all theirs.’
    He sighed in exasperation. ‘Here on the border of the Transvaal and Zululand, between the headwaters of the Buffalo River and the Pongola, there’s been a land dispute between the Boers and the Zulus going on for years. God knows when it will be settled but there will probably be another Boer-Zulu war before it is.’
    Simon peered pensively at the map. ‘What’s the answer to it all, then, sir?’
    Lamb bounced on his heels. ‘One word - confederation.’
    â€˜Confederation?’
    â€˜Confederation. Uniting all of the territories into one big colony or dominion under the British flag, as we’ve just done in Canada. That way we can have central government and begin to impose some discipline and long-term planning. It will take time, but it’s the only way to build this sprawling mess into a proper nation within the Empire.’
    The Colonel took Simon by the arm and led him to his chair. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘the process has already begun. I am sure that the new Governor, Sir Bartle Frere, has come out with this intention.’ He leaned forward confidentially. ‘Can I rely completely on your discretion?’
    â€˜Of course, sir.’
    â€˜Shepstone is already in the Transvaal, preparing to annex it to the British Crown.’
    â€˜Shepstone?’
    â€˜Yes. Sir Theophilus Shepstone, formerly Secretary for Native Affairs in Natal - he knows Cetswayo well - has come out from the Colonial Office with a special mission.’ Lamb smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, Shepstone is a bit of a loose cannon crashing about the deck. He does tend to be a trifle unpredictable. But he knows the territory well and Sir Bartle should be able to handle him.’
    â€˜I see.’ Simon nodded slowly. The history lesson and the tour d’horizon of South African politics was all very interesting, but what the hell had they to do with an infantry second lieutenant who spoke good French, some German and no Zulu? ‘May I ask, sir, how I fit into all of this?’
    â€˜You may well. I spoke a second ago - perhaps a touch indiscreetly - about a loose cannon. Well, there is a whole battery of loose cannons also out there: Cetswayo and his Zulus. Know anything about them?’
    â€˜Very little, I have to confess, sir.’
    â€˜Well you should. Any soldier should. Damned fine people. Let me tell you about them.’
    Colonel Lamb returned to his chair, threw a cheroot to Simon and settled back and lit another for himself. ‘At the end of the last century, the Zulus weren’t up to much. They were a small clan - only about fifteen hundred people - living a pastoral life in the Umfolozi Valley in an area of what we now call Zululand only some ten miles square. Then came Shaka. He was probably illegitimate and he had no privileges, although he was undoubtedly the son of a chief. He made his own way and became a fine warrior, allegedly killing a treed leopard when he was a young teenager.’
    The Colonel sucked on his cheroot. He was enjoying the telling of a good story. ‘He eventually became leader of his small clan and began building up the finest army that has ever been seen among the tribes of