Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur. Страница 23

Who is it? he demanded, in a voice trained to boom out from the pulpit. He flung open the screen door and peered out into the dark. He had a broad intelligent forehead with the arrowhead of a sharp widow's peak emphasizing its depth, and his eyes were deep-set and fierce as those of a prophet from the Old Testament.

You! He recognized Lothar, but made no attempt to greet him further. instead he looked back over his shoulder.

'Mevrou, it is your godless cousin come in from the Wilderness like Cain! The fair-headed woman rose from the foot of the table, hushing the children and signalling them to remain in their seats. She was almost as tall as her husband, in her forties and well fleshed, with a rosy complexion and braids piled on top of her head in the Germanic fashion. She folded her thick creamy-skinned arms across her bulky shapeless bosom.

What do you want with us, Lothar De La Rey? she demanded. This is the God-fearing home of Christian folk; We want nothing of your wanton ways and wild behaviour. She broke off as she noticed the children and stared at them with interest.

Hello, Trudi. Lothar drew Sarah forward into the light.

It has been many years. You look well and happy., I am happy in God's love, his cousin agreed. But you know I have seldom been well. She assumed an expression of suffering and Lothar went on quickly.

I am giving you another chance of Christian service. He pushed Sarah forward. This poor little orphan, she is alone.

She needs a home. You could take her in, Trudi, and God will love you for it. Is it another of your, His cousin glanced back into the kitchen at the interested faces of her own two daughters, and then lowered her voice and hissed at him, Another of your bastards? Her family died in the typhoid epidemic. It was a mistake. He saw her recoil from the girl. That was weeks ago. She is free of the disease. Trudi relaxed a little and Lothar went on quickly. I cannot care for her. We are travelling, and she needs a woman. We have too many mouths already, she began, but her husband interrupted her.

Come here, child, he boomed and Lothar shoved Sarah towards him. 'What is your name? Sarah Bester, Oom. So you are of the Volk? the tall dominie demanded. One of the true Afrikaner blood? Sarah nodded uncertainly.

And your dead mother and father were wed in the Reformed Church? She nodded again. And you believe in the Lord God of Israel? Yes, Oom. My mother taught me, Sarah whispered.

Then we cannot turn the child away, he told his wife.

Bring her in, woman. God will provide. God always provides for his chosen people. Trudi Bierman sighed theatrically and reached for Sarah's arm. So thin, and filthy as a Nama piccaninny. And you, Lothar De La Rey, the dominie pointed a finger at him. Has not the merciful Lord yet shown you the error of your ways, and placed your feet on the path of righteousness? Not yet, dear cousin. Lothar backed away from the door, his relief undisguised.

The dominie's attention flicked to the boy standing in the shadows behind Lothar. Who is this? ,My son, Manfred. Lothar placed a protective arm over the boy's shoulder, and the dominie came closer and stooped to study his face closely. His great dark beard bristled and his eyes were wild and fanatical, but Manfred stared directly into them, and saw them change. They warmed and lightened with the sparkle of good humour and compassion.

Do I frighten you, Jong? His voice mellowed, and Manfred shook his head.

No, Oomie, or not too much anyway. The dominie chuckled. Who teaches you your Bible, Jong? He used the expression meaning young or young man.

My father, Oom. Then God have mercy on your soul. He stood up and thrust his beard out at Lothar.

I would you had left the boy, rather than the girl, he told

him, and Lothar tightened his grip on Manfred's shoulder. He is a likely looking lad, and we need good men in the service of God and the Volk. He is well taken care of. Lothar could not conceal his agitation, but the dominie dropped his compelling gaze back to Manfred.

I think, Jong, that you and I are destined by Almighty God to meet again. When your father drowns or is eaten by a lion or hanged by the English, or in some other fashion punished by the Lord God of Israel, then come back here.

Do you hear me, Jong? I need you, the Volk need you, and God needs you! My name is Tromp Bierman, the Trumpet of the Lord. Come back to this house! Manfred nodded. I will come back to see Sarah. I promised her. As he said it the girl's courage broke and she sobbed and tried to pull free from Trudi's grip.

Stop that, child. Trudi Bierman shook her irritably. Stop blubbering. Sarah gulped and swallowed the next sob.

Lothar turned Manfred away from the door. The child is hard-working and willing, cousin. You will not regret this charity, he called over his shoulder.

That we shall see, his cousin muttered dubiously, and Lothar started back down the path.

Remember the Lord's word, Lothar De La Rey, the Thimpet of the Lord bugled after them. I am the Way and the Light. Whosoever believeth in me- Manfred twisted in his father's grip and looked back.

The tall gaunt figure of the dominie almost filled the kitchen doorway, but at the level of his waist Sarah's small face peered around him, in the light of the Petromax it was white as bone china and glistened with her tears.

Four men were waiting for them at the rendezvous. During the desperate years when they had fought together in guerilla commando, it had been necessary for every man to know the reassembly points. When cut up and separated in the running battles against the Union troops, they had scattered away into the veld and days later come together at one of the safe places.

There was always water at these assembly points, a seep in the rocky crevice of a hillside, a Bushman well or a dry riverbed where they could dig for the precious stuff. The assembly points were always sited with an all-round view so that a following enemy could never take them by surprise.

In addition, there was always grazing nearby for the horses and shelter for the men, and they had laid down caches of supplies at these places.

The rendezvous that Lothar had chosen for this meeting had an additional advantage. It was in the hills only a few miles north of the homestead of a prosperous German cattle-rancher, a good friend of Lothar's family, a sympathizer who could be relied upon to tolerate their presence on his lands.

Lothar entered the hills along the dried watercourse that twisted through them like a maimed puffadder. He walked in the open so that the waiting men could see him from afar, and they were still two miles from the rendezvous when a tiny figure appeared on the rocky crest ahead of them, wind-milling his arms in welcome. He was quickly joined by the other three and then they came running down the rough hillside to meet Lothar's party in the river-bed.

Leading them was Vark Jan', or Pig John', the old Khoisan warrior with his yellow wrinkled features that bespoke his mixed lineage of Nama and Berg-dama and, so he boasted, of even the true Bushman. Allegedly, his grandmother had been a Bushman slave captured by the Boers in one of the last great slave raids of the previous century. But then he was a famous har and opinion was divided as to the truth of this claim. He was followed closely by Klein Boy, Swart Hendrick's bastard son by a Herero mother.

He came directly to his father and greeted him with the traditional deferential clapping of hands. He was as tall and as powerfully built as Hendrick himself, but with the finer features and slanted eyes of his mother, and his skin was not as dark. Like wild honey it changed colour as the sunlight played upon it. These two had worked on the trawlers at Walvis Bay, and Hendrick had sent them ahead to find the other men they needed and bring them to the rendezvous.