Power Of The Sword Part 5

You know, Mater, I sometimes think I can see what you are thinking, just by looking into your eyes. He said these disconcerting things sometimes, and she was sure that he had grown another inch in the last week.

I certainly hope that you cannot. She s.h.i.+vered. It's cold in here. The designer had incorporated, at enormous expense, a refrigeration machine which cooled the air in the saloon. Do turn that thing off, She stood up from her desk and went out through the frosted gla.s.s doors onto the balcony of the coach and the hot desert air rushed at her and flattened her skirts across her narrow boyish hips. She lifted her face to the sun and let the wind ruffle her short curly hair.

What time is it? she asked with her eyes closed and face uplifted, and Shasa who had followed her out leaned against the balcony rail and consulted his wrist.w.a.tch.

We should be crossing the Orange river in the next ten minutes, if the engine driver has kept us on schedule. I never feel as though we are home until I cross the Orange. Centaine went to lean beside him and slipped her arm through his.

The Orange river drained the western watershed of the southern African continent, rising high in the snowy mountains of Basutoland and running down fourteen hundred miles through gra.s.sy veld and wild gorges, at some seasons a clear slow trickle and at other times a thunderous brown flood bringing down the rich chocolate silts so that some called it the Nile of the south. it was the boundary between the Cape of Good Hope and the former German colony of South West Africa.

The locomotive whistled and the coupling jolted as the brakes squealed.

We are slowing for the bridge. Shasa leaned out over the balcony, and Centaine bit back the caution that came automatically to her lips.

Beg your pardon, you can't baby him forever, Missus, Jock Murphy had advised her. He's a man now, and a man's got to take his own chances., The tracks curved down towards the river, and they could see the Daimler riding on the flat bed behind the locomotive.

It was a new vehicle; Centaine changed them every year.

However, it also was yellow, as they all were, but with a black bonnet and black piping around the doors. The train journey to Windhoek saved them the onerous drive across the desert, but there was no line out to the mine.

There it is! Shasa called. There is the bridge The steelwork seemed feathery and insubstantial as it crossed the half mile of riverbed, leapfrogging across its concrete b.u.t.tresses. The regular beat of the bogey wheels over the cross ties altered as they ran out onto the span, and the steel girders beneath them rang like an orchestra.

The river of diamonds, Centaine murmured as she leaned shoulder to shoulder with Shasa and peered down into the coffee-brown waters that swirled around the piers of the bridge beneath them.

Where do the diamonds come from? Shasa asked. He knew the answer, of course, but he liked to hear her tell it to him.

The river gathers them up, from every little pocket and crevice and pipe along its course. It picks up those that were flung into the air during the volcanic eruptions at the beginning of the continent's existence. For hundreds of millions of years it has been concentrating the diamonds and carrying them down towards the coast. She glanced sideways at him. And why aren't they worn away, like all the other pebbles? Because they are the hardest substance in nature. Nothing wears or scratches a diamond, he answered promptly.

Nothing is harder or more beautiful, she agreed, and held up her right hand before his face so that the huge marquis cut diamond on her forefinger dazzled him. You will grow to love them. Everybody who works with them comes to love them. The river, he reminded her. He loved her voice. The husky trace of her accent intrigued him. Tell me about the river, he demanded, and listened avidly as she went on.

Where the river runs into the sea, it has thrown its diamonds up on the beaches. Those beaches are so rich in diamonds that they are the forbidden area, the Spieregebied. Could you fill your pockets with diamonds, just pick them up like fallen fruit in the orchard? 'It's not as easy as that, she laughed. You could search for twenty years and not find a single stone, but if you knew where to look and had even the most primitive equipment and a great deal of luck- Why can't we go in there, Mater? Because, mon cheri, it is all taken. It belongs to a man named Oppenheimer, Sir Ernest Oppenheimer, and his company called De Beers. One company owns it all. That's not fair! he protested, and Centaine was delighted to notice the acquisitive sparkle in his eyes for the first time. Without a healthy measure of avarice, he would not be capable of carrying through the plans she was so carefully laying for him. She had to teach him to be greedy, for wealth and for power.

He owns the Orange river concessions, she nodded, and he owns the Kimberley and Wesselton and Bultfontein and all the other great producing mines, but more, much more than that, he controls the sale of every single stone, even those produced by us, the few little independents. He controls us, he controls the H'ani? Shasa demanded indignantly, his smooth cheeks flus.h.i.+ng.

Centaine nodded. We have to offer every diamond we mine to his Central Saling Organization, and he will set a price upon it. And we have to accept his price? No, we don't! But we would be very unwise not to do so. What could he do to us if we refused? Shasa, I have told you often before. Don't fight with somebody stronger than yourself. There aren't many people stronger than us, not in Africa anyway, but Sir Ernest Oppenheimer is one of them. What could he do? Shasa persisted.

He could eat us up, my darling, and nothing would give him greater pleasure. Each year we become richer and more attractive to him. He is the one man in the world that we have to be afraid of, especially if we were rash enough to come near this river of his. She swept a gesture across the wide river.

Although it had been named Orange by its Dutch discoverers for the Stadtholders of the House of Orange, the name could have as readily applied to its startling orangecoloured sandbanks. The bright plumage of the waterfowl cl.u.s.tered upon them were like precious stones set in red gold.

He owns the river? Shasa was surprised and perplexed.

Not legally, but you approach it at your own peril for he protects it and the diamonds it contains with his jealous wrath. So there are diamonds here? Eagerly Shasa scanned the banks as though he expected to see them sparkling seductively in the sunlight.

Dr Twenty-man-Jones and I both believe it, and we have isolated some very interesting areas. Two hundred miles upstream is a waterfall that the Bushmen called the Place of the Great Noise, Aughrabies. There the Orange thunders through a narrow rocky chute and falls into the deep, inaccessible gorge below. The gorge should be a treasurehouse of captured diamonds.

Then there are other ancient alluvial beds where the river has changed its course. They left the river and its narrow strip of greenery and the loco accelerated again as they ran on northwards into the desert. Centaine watched Shasa's face carefully as she went on explaining and lecturing. She would never go on until she reached the point of boredom, at the first sign of inattention, she would stop. She did not have to press. There was all the time necessary for his education, but the one single most important consideration was never to tire him, never to outrun his immature strength or his undeveloped powers of concentration. She must retain his enthusiasm intact and never jade him. This time his interest persisted beyond its usual span, and she recognized it was time for another advance.

It will have warmed up in the saloon. Let's go in. She led him to her desk. There are some things I want to show you. She opened the confidential summary of the annual financial reports of the Courtney Mining and Finance Company.

This would be the difficult part, even for her the paperwork was deadly dull, and she saw him immediately daunted by the columns of figures. Mathematics was his only weak subject.

You enjoy chess, don't you? Yes, he agreed cautiously.

This is a game also, she a.s.sured him. But a thousand times more fascinating and rewarding, once you understand the rules. He cheered up visibly, games and rewards Shasa understood.

Teach me the rules, he invited.

Not all at one time. Bit by bit, until you know enough to start playing. It was evening before she saw the fatigue in the lines at the corners of his mouth and the white rims to his nostrils, but he was still frowning with concentration.

That's enough for today. She closed the thick folder.

What are the golden rules? You must always sell something for more than it cost you. She nodded encouragement.

And you must buy when everybody else is selling, and you must sell when everybody else is buying. Good. She stood up. Now a breath of fresh air before we change for dinner. On the balcony of the coach she placed her arm around his shoulders, and she had to reach up to do so. When we get to the mine, I want you to work with Dr Twenty-man Jones in the mornings. You may have the afternoons free, but you'll work in the mornings. I want you to get to know the mine and all its workings. Of course, I will pay you., That isn't necessary, Mater. Another golden rule, my darling, never refuse a fair offer. Through the night and all the following day they ran on northwards across great s.p.a.ces bleached by the sun, with blue mountains traced in darker blue against the desert horizons.

We should get into Windhoek a little after sunset, Centaine explained. But I have arranged for the coach to be shunted on to a quiet spur and we will spend the night aboard and leave for the mine in the morning. Dr Twenty-man-Jones and Abraham Abrahams will be dining with us, so we will dress. In his s.h.i.+rtsleeves Shasa was standing in front of the long mirror in his compartment, struggling with his black bow tie, he had not yet entirely mastered the art of shaping the b.u.t.terfly, when he felt the coach slowing and heard the loco blow a long eerie blast.

He felt a p.r.i.c.kle of excitement and turned to the open window. They were crossing the shoulder of hills above the town of Windhoek, and the street lights came on even as he watched. The town was the size of one of Cape Town's suburbs and only the few central streets were lit.

The train slowed to a walking pace as they reached the outskirts of the town, and Shasa smelled wood-smoke. Then he noticed that there was some sort of encampment amongst the thorn trees beside the tracks. He leaned out of the window to see more clearly and stared at the cl.u.s.ters of dy shanties, wreathed in the blue smoke of campfires and shaded by the deepening dusk. There was a crudely lettered sign facing the tracks and Shasa read it with difficulty: Vaal Hartz? h.e.l.l No! It made no sense and he frowned as he noticed two figures standing near the sign, watching the pa.s.sing train.

The shorter of the two was a girl, barefoot and with a thin shapeless dress over her frail body. She did not interest him and he transferred his attention to the taller, more robust figure beside her.

Immediately he straightened in shock and rising indignation. Even in the poor light, he recognized that silver-blond shock of hair and the black eyebrows. They stared at each other expressionlessly, the boy in the white dress s.h.i.+rt and black tie in the lighted window and the boy in dusty khaki. Then the train slid past and hid them from each other.

Darling Shasa turned from the window to face his mother. She was wearing sapphires tonight and a blue dress as filmy and light as wood-smoke. You aren't ready yet. We'll be in the station in a minute - and what a mess you have made of your tie. Come here and let me do it for you. As she stood in front of him and shaped the bow with dextrous fingers, Shasa struggled to contain and suppress the anger and sense of inadequacy that a mere glimpse of the other boy had aroused in him.

The driver of the locomotive shunted them off the main track on to a private spur beyond the sheds of the railway workshop and uncoupled them beside the concrete ramp where Abraham Abrahams Ford was already parked, and Abe scampered up on to the balcony the moment the coach came to a stop.

Centaine, you are more beautiful than ever. He kissed her hand and then each of her cheeks. He was a little man, just Centaine's height, with a lively expression and quick, alert eyes. His ears were p.r.i.c.ked up as though he were listening to a sound that n.o.body else could hear.

His studs were diamond and onyx, which was flashy, and his dinner jacket was a little too extravagantly cut, but he was one of Centaine's favourite people. He had stood by her when her total wealth had amounted to something less than ten pounds. He had filed the claims for the H'ani Mine and since then conducted most of her legal business and many of her private affairs as well. He was an old and dear friend but, more important, he did not make mistakes in his work.

He wouldn't have been here if he did.

Dear Abe. She took both his hands and squeezed them.

How is Rachel? Outstanding, he a.s.sured her. It was his favourite adiective. She sends her apologies, but the new baby Of course. Centaine nodded, understanding. Abraham knew her preferences for masculine company and seldom brought his wife with him, even when invited to do so.

Centaine turned from her lawyer to the other tall stoop shouldered figure that was hovering at the gate of the balcony.

Dr Twenty-man-jones. She held out her hands.

Mrs Courtney, he murmured like an undertaker.

Centaine put on her most radiant smile. It was her own little game, to see if she could inveigle him into the smallest display of pleasure. She lost again. His apparent gloom deepened until he looked like a bloodhound in mourning.

Their relations.h.i.+p went back almost as far as Centaine's with Abraham. He had been a consulting mining engineer with the De Beers Diamond Company, but he had evaluated and opened the H'ani workings for her back in 1919. It had taken almost five years of her most winning persuasion before he had agreed to come to work for the H'ani Mine as Resident Engineer. He was probably the best diamond man in South Africa, which meant the best in the world.

Centaine led the two of them into the saloon and waved the white-jacketed barman aside.

Abraham, a gla.s.s of champagne? She poured the wine with her own hands. And Dr Twentyrnan-Jones, a little Madeira? You never forget, Mrs Courtney, he admitted miserably as she carried the gla.s.s to him. Between them it was always full t.i.tles and surnames, although their friends.h.i.+p had stood all the tests.

I give you good health, gentlemen. Centaine saluted them, and when they had drunk she glanced across at the far door.

On cue Shasa came through and Centaine watched critically as he shook hands with each of the men. He conducted himself with just the correct amount of deference for their age, showed no discomfort when Abraham over-effusively embraced him and then returned Twentyrnan-Jones's greeting with equal solemnity. She gave a small nod of approval and took her seat behind her desk. it was her sign that the niceties had been observed and they could get on to business.

The two men quickly perched on the elegant but uncomfortable Art Deco chairs and leaned towards her attentively.

It has come at last, Centaine told them. They have cut our quota. They rocked back in their seats and exchanged a brief glance before turning back to Centaine.

We have been expecting it for almost a year, Abraham pointed out.

Which does not make the actuality any more pleasant, Centaine told him tartly.

How much? Twenty-man-Jones asked.

Forty percent, Centaine answered, and he looked as though he might burst into tears while he considered it.

Each of the independent diamond producers was allocated a quota by the Central Selling Organization. The arrangement was informal and probably illegal, but nonetheless rigorously enforced, and none of the independents had ever been foolhardy enough to test the legality of the system or the share of the market they were given.

Forty percent! Abraham burst out. That's iniquitous! An accurate observation, dear Abe, but not particularly useful at this stage. Centaine looked to Twenty-man-Jones.

No change in the categories? he asked. The quotas were broken down by carat weight into the different types of stones, from dark industrial boart to the finest gem quality, and by size from the tiny crystals of ten points and smaller to the big valuable stones.

Same percentages, Centaine agreed, and he slumped in his chair, pulled a notebook from his inside pocket and began a series of quick calculations. Centaine glanced behind her to where Shasa leaned against the panelled bulkhead.

Do you understand what we are talking about? The quota? Yes, I think so, Mater. If you don't understand, then ask, she ordered brusquely and turned back to Twenty-man-Jones.

Could you appeal for a ten percent increase at the top end? he asked, but she shook her head.

I have already done so and they turned me down. De Beers in their infinite compa.s.sion point out that the biggest drop in demand has been at the top end, at the gem and jewellery level. He returned to his notebook, and they listened to his pencil scratching on the paper until he looked up.

Can we break even? Centaine asked quietly, and Twenty-man-Jones looked as though he might shoot himself rather than reply.

It will be close,he whispered, and we'll have to fire and cut and hone, but we should be able to pay costs, and perhaps even turn a small profit still, depending upon the floor price that De Beers sets. But the cream will be skimmed off the top, I'm afraid, Mrs Courtney. Centaine felt weak and trembly with relief. She took her hands off the desk and placed them in her lap so the others might not notice. She did not speak for a few moments, and then she cleared her throat to make certain her voice did not quaver.

The effective date for the quota cut is the first of March, she said. That means we can deliver one more full package.

You know what to do, Dr Twenty-man-jones. We will fill the package with sweeteners, Mrs Courtney. What is a sweetener, Dr Twenty-man-jones? Shasa spoke for the first time, and the engineer turned to him seriously.

When we turn up a number of truly excellent diamonds in one period of production, we reserve some of the best of them, set them aside to include in a future package which might be of inferior quality. We have a reserve of these high quality stones which we will now deliver to the CSO while we still have the opportunity. I understand, Shasa nodded. Thank you, Dr Twenty-man-Jones. Pleased to be of service, Master Shasa. Centaine stood up. We can go in to dinner now, and the white-jacketed servant opened the sliding doors through into the dining room where the long table gleamed with silver and crystal and the yellow roses stood tall in their antique celadon vases.

A mile down the railway track from where Centaine's coach stood, two men sat huddled over a smoky campfire watching the maize porridge bubbling in the billy-can and discussing the horses. The entire plan hinged on the horses. They needed at least fifteen, and they had to be strong, desert hardened animals.

The man I am thinking of is a good friend, Lothar said.

Even the best friend in the world won't lend you fifteen good horses. We can't do it with less than fifteen, and you won't buy them for a hundred pounds. Lothar sucked on the stinking clay pipe and it gurgled obscenely. He spat the yellow juice into the fire. I'd pay a hundred pounds for a decent cheroot, he murmured.

Not my hundred, you won't, Hendrick contradicted him.

Leave the horses for now, Lothar suggested. Let's go over the men we need for the relays. The men are easier than the horses. Hendrick grinned.

These days you can buy a good man for the price of a meal, and have his wife for the pudding. I have already sent messages to them to meet us at Wild Horse Pan. They both glanced up as Manfred came out of the darkness, and when Lothar saw his son's expression he stuffed the notebook into his pocket and stood up quickly.

Papa, you must come quickly, Manfred pleaded.

What is it, Manie? Sarah's mother and the little ones. They are all sick. I told them you would come, Papa. Lothar had the reputation of being able to heal humans and animals of all their ills, from gunshot wounds and measles to staggers and distemper.

Sarah's family was living under a tattered sheet of tarpaulin near the centre of the encampment. The woman lay beneath a greasy blanket with the two small children beside her. Though she was probably not older than thirty years, care and punis.h.i.+ng labour and poor food had greyed and shrunken her into an old woman. She had lost most of her upper teeth so that her face seemed to have collapsed.

Sarah knelt beside her with a damp rag with which she was trying to wipe her flushed face. The woman rolled her head from side to side and mumbled in delirium.

Lothar knelt on the woman's other side, facing the girl.

Where is your pa, Sarah? He should be here., He went away to find work on the mines, she whispered.

When? Long ago. And then she went on loyally, But he is going to send for us, and we are going to live in a nice house How long has your ma been sick? Since last night. Sarah tried again to place the rag on the woman's forehead but she struck it away weakly.

And the babies? Lothar studied their swollen faces.

Since the morning. Lothar drew back the blanket and the stench of liquid faeces was thick and choking.

I tried to clean them, Sarah whispered defensively, but they just dirty themselves again. I don't know what to do., Lothar lifted the little girl's soiled dress. Her small pot belly was swollen with malnutrition and her skin was chalky white. An angry crimson rash was blazoned across it.

involuntarily Lothar jerked his hands away. Manfred, he demanded sharply. Have you touched them, any of them? Yes, Pa. I tried to help Sarah clean them. Go to Hendrick, Lothar ordered. Tell him we are leaving immediately. We have to get out of here. What is it, Pa? Manfred lingered.

Do as I tell you, Lothar told him angrily, and when Manfred backed away into the darkness, he returned to the girl.

Have you been boiling your drinking water? he asked, and she shook her head.

It was always the same, Lothar thought. Simple country people who had lived far from other human habitation all their lives, drinking at sweet clean springs and defecating carelessly in the open veld. They did not understand the hazards when forced to live in close proximity to others.

What is it, Oom? Sarah asked softly. What is wrong with them? Enteric fever. Lothar saw that it meant nothing to her.

Typhoid fever, he tried again.

Is it bad? she asked helplessly, and he could not meet her eyes. He looked again at the two small children. The fever had burned them out, and the diarrhoea had dehydrated them. Already it was too late. With the mother there was perhaps still a chance, but she had been weakened also.

Yes, Lothar said. It is bad. The typhoid would be spreading through the encampment like fire in the winter-dry veld.

There was already a good chance that Manfred might have been infected, and at the thought he stood up quickly and stepped away from the foul-smelling mattress.

What must I do? Sarah pleaded.

Give them plenty to drink, but make sure the water is boiled. Lothar backed away. He had seen typhoid in the concentration camps of the English during the war. The death-toll had been more horrible than that of the battlefield.

He had to get Manfred away from here.