CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

GROOT DRAKENSTEIN

Tuesday, 21st December

They rode through the night, Tia sitting with Suzanne on the horse behind the saddle. Harrie walked beside them, though she could see he was weary. But they had to get as far away from the encampment as possible before Kmame and his men woke.

Harrie had told Kmame previously they were headed for Olifantshoek, which was south-east of their encampment. To put them off the trail, they were travelling instead towards Groot Drakenstein, where Pierre Jaubert and three other families had been allocated land. After their experiences at Kmame’s encampment, Suzanne wanted to alert her fellow Huguenots in case his men attacked any of the settler farms in retaliation. Such raids had happened before.

From what Shansi had said, she was now certain that Phillipe had found Louise. She had no idea of the identity of the second woman, but Phillipe must have been the father of the baby boy. She also believed that the man from whom Lars Eltorp had acquired his weapon was either Phillipe himself – though his age meant that was unlikely – or that child grown to adulthood.

‘Speak to me,’ she murmured, but Louise remained silent.

In the star-lit darkness, Suzanne tried to fix her mind on the rumbling of hooves on the dry ground and the hoop of Tia’s hands around her waist, Harrie’s footsteps as he walked beside them. Each of them was watching for bright eyes in the darkness, a lion or leopard tracking their progress, but nothing impeded their flight.

Her thoughts drifted to her grandmother and their desperate flight across France, the terror of it. At least this time, Florence was safe in their house in the Colony. But Suzanne was increasingly worried for Harrie, though. She had noticed him flinch when Tia hugged him and he was limping on his left-hand side, where Odendaal’s stick had done its worst.

At dawn, they stopped to rest the horse and to eat.

‘Do you know where your friends are building their farm?’ Harrie asked.

‘Only that they were one of four families allocated land in the valley close to the Simonsberg mountains.’

He nodded, though his eyes seemed unfocused. ‘We will find them.’

It was nigh on eleven o’clock in the morning by the sun, when the footsore and weary party saw a small rectangular hut on the horizon nestled in the fold of two hills. As they drew closer, the outline of the building became clearer. Suzanne thought it looked more like a hide for hunters than a home, but attempts had been made to make it presentable: a flat, matted straw roof; clay walls; a generous window with a wooden shutter and a small bench beneath it. Two earthenware pots stood on either side of the single door.

Suzanne smiled, remembering Pierre Jaubert’s protestations at the idea that his wife would have to manage with only half a cooking pot and a third-share in a plough. Now she was out here in this boundless space, it seemed even more absurd that the settlers would have to divide these basic assets between them. How could they share between them when the plots of land were so far apart and the farming seasons the same for each family?

All the same, she had faith that Pierre and Isabeau would make the best of it. And, sure enough, once they were within hailing distance, she saw a makeshift fire with a brace suspending an iron cooking pot. A little further away, a plough with dirt in its teeth suggested Pierre was working hard to till the land. And behind the clay hut, she saw a basic pen with two cattle sheltering from the heat beneath a young karee tree. The thin trunk and sparse leaves provided little shade, but it was better than nothing and Suzanne knew from Tia that these were fast-growing, hardy trees.

Smiling, she dismounted. ‘I believe we have found my friends.’ She cupped her hands. ‘Monsieur Jaubert, Isabeau, c’est moi. C’est Suzanne. Votre voisine du navire.’ Your neighbour from the ship.

For a moment, nothing stirred. At this time of the day, of course, it was more than possible that Pierre himself might be away from the farm. But Isabeau? Surely they would not leave their patch of land unattended.

Suzanne called again. ‘Isabeau, tu es là?’

This time, the door opened. She saw the glint of the muzzle of a musket, and grinned. It seemed that Pierre had managed to take first possession of everything, his third of the musket included.

Isabeau’s face peered around the door. She was tanned brown by the sun, but it was the same, no-nonsense stare. The moment she saw who it was, she put down the gun, and rushed towards Suzanne with her arms outstretched.

‘I could not believe my ears when I heard your voice,’ she cried, enveloping her in a bear hug, ‘yet here you are! Why? How?’

Suzanne embraced her. ‘All in good time, my friend. Life in the interior clearly suits you, you look well!’

Isabeau laughed. ‘I look a sketch, but there is no one here to see it. Give me dry land over the sea any time. And look at you, brown like a peasant. Florence must be in despair.’

Suzanne pulled a face. ‘She has not yet seen how the sun has played havoc with my complexion. Let me introduce my travelling companions, Harrie Nemen and his sister, Tia.’

Isabeau peered a little suspiciously. Because the Jauberts had been among the first to leave the Colony, Suzanne suspected they’d had little chance to get to know any of the Khoi women and men who worked with the settlers.

‘They are my friends,’ Suzanne added.

Still looking nervous, Isabeau nodded. ‘How do you communicate with them?’

Now, Suzanne laughed. ‘They speak Dutch, Isabeau. Harrie is an interpreter, Tia worked for the landdrost in Stellenbosch.’

‘Oh. Well, you must come inside. Tell me how you come to be here. I wish Pierre was at home. He has gone to visit Monsieur Grange and Monsieur Malan on the far side of the valley.’ She shook her head. ‘The soil here is no good. My husband hopes to persuade them to join with him and petition the commander to allocate better more fertile land beside the Berg River.’

‘That is where we are headed, to Olifantshoek.’

Isabeau gave a shy smile, then, with a kinder gesture that took them all in, said: ‘You must be thirsty and hungry. Sit. I will bring you something. We have little, but what we do have, you can share.’

Suzanne took her hand. ‘Mille mercis. Also, if you have water and cloths, Harrie has wounds that need dressing.’

Isabeau disappeared inside. Once she had gone, Suzanne saw Harrie sway on his feet and nearly fall. She and Tia helped him to sit in the shade of the house and Tia gently removed his shirt. It was an indication of how much pain he was in that he simply shut his eyes and winced.

‘Miss . . .’ Tia said quietly.

Suzanne glanced at Harrie’s back and saw evidence of what she had dreaded. Infection had set in. His skin was swollen and red, yellow pus oozing from his wounds.

‘Will he permit you to look after him?’

She waited while Tia spoke to her brother, listening to their whispered conversation. It was a sign of how bad Harrie felt that, although she could tell he was trying to protest, his heart wasn’t in it.

But when Isabeau caught sight of Harrie’s injuries, she took charge and insisted Tia help Harrie inside the hut. Suzanne heard a murmured conversation but, shortly, Isabeau came back outside. Her expression was grim.

‘The man needs to rest and allow the air on his skin. The shirt has been aggravating the wounds. I have a store of herbs that can be made into a poultice to cleanse them. She is his sister, you say?’

‘Yes.’

Isabeau nodded. ‘I have a little artemisia. Tia is going to make him a poultice. He will rest; the infection is bad.’

‘I feared as much.’ Suzanne frowned. ‘God willing, he will recover. They are good people.’