Mir Pacifica

Published: 19 Mar 2018

AUTHORS NOTE: The African language used in the following chapters is Xhosa should readers wish to look for translations. While I am not in any way an expert with this language I have made the assumption that it is the one most likely used in the area where Thomas landed; if I am incorrect then put it down to poetic licence.

Thomas left Lorenco in the dying shade of the late afternoon light and walked down to the water’s edge before stepping into the last longboat and asking the Bosun to have his men row Thomas out to where the MSC Roger Scully lay at anchor.

It took only ten minutes for the longboat to be nestling into the side of the MSC Roger Scully and, within a minute Thomas was standing on the quarterdeck with Roger.

“How has your day gone Thomas?” asked Roger.

“It has been somewhat of a revelation Roger but more of that later; there is something else I want to discuss with you.”

“Well my friend, fire away and I’ll see if I can do it for you.”

“I was wondering if the ironmonger could make some knives or something similar for our guests. They have been helpful to us in securing fresh meat and have shown no sign of animosity to any of the men. I feel that in this country they should have something to defend themselves with if a wild animal attacked or we were attacked by some savages from the hinterlands while waiting for assistance from their tribal friends.”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea Thomas, after all they are savages themselves and God only knows what they might do with weapons in their hands while we slept.”

“I have a good feeling we have nothing to worry about on that front Roger; if they wanted to harm us they have already had the opportunity while we slept. I feel they are a warrior tribe which in truth is not much different from what we were and are. They deserve the respect we would give to any warrior and to my way of thinking that means they should at least be able to carry some sort of weapon for their own defence.”

“That’s a pretty broad jump from warriors in a civilized society to the savages of a strange country Thomas.”

“Not if you really think about it Roger; besides who are the real savages? These people have done all they can to help us while we wait for others of their tribe. Can you say the same for many of the French we went against on the peninsular?”

“Yes I see what you mean; you have a good point. Alright I will call the iron monger and see what you two can come up with but I am not handing over any firearms.”

“That’s fair, thank you Roger. I’ll wait while you find the man and hopefully he can get started as soon as possible.”

Thomas walked to the gunnel and looked out towards the now darkening beach where the cooking fires could be plainly seen and the dark shadows of the men sitting on the white sand waiting as the fresh smell of cooking meat wafted in the early evening air; even out as far as where the ship was anchored. Thomas could also hear the rousing cheers of the men on the three ships as their own cooks set about preparing the first fresh meat they had had on some time.

Thomas was broken from his reverie by the sound of a rough and course voice close by.

“You was wantin me Sir?”

The man’s pronunciation made the word sound more like ‘Sore’ than ‘Sir’ but Thomas ignored it; it was just the way of the mariner.

“Yes Mister…?”

“Peters Sir. Ironmonger and general armourer aboard ship Sir.”

“Thank you Mister Peters. I have a task for you and hope you can help me. Captain Scully says he has full confidence in your abilities so I would like to ask you to make some weapons for our guests. Nothing fancy but something they can at least defend themselves with if attacked.”

“Do you have something in mind Sir?”

“Not really Mister Peters, I was hoping you could come up with something.”

“Well Sir we don’t want none o’ them savages with a musket in their hands so it is good that I have no way of making them. Sir what about swords or spears, something along them lines?”

“Well I don’t think they are the type to know how to use a sword Mister Peters so what do you know about making a spear?”

“Bout as much as making a musket Sir, nowt.”

“Well have you got any ideas Mister Peters?”

Thomas waited as Peters seemed to be thinking about something. After a few minutes Mister Peters looked at Thomas and gave a small nod of his head as he began to explain what he had in mind.

“Well Sir, in my rummaging around while the ship was at anchor in your bay, I did come across a number of barrels in the lower hold that were filled with old cutlasses. The blades have been cut from the hilts so I presume they were to be returned to France to be smelted down for some other use. I think Sir that if I can have the help of the few others I know of, we could make something akin to a short sword.”

“How would you go about it Mister Peters?”

“Well Sir we got one youngun aboard that was apprentice to a blacksmith and I know of two other men who were of that trade on the other ships. If we could have them here I could soon have something for them savages as long as the Captain will allow me to take two of his powder monkeys to keep the forge hot. If the Captain allows it then we can cut them down enough to make a new tang for the handle and rid them of what rust there is and then re-harden their edges, make and fit a wooden handle if I can make use of the carpenter. How many do you want Sir?”

Thomas thought about the numbers of men waiting on the beach and then deducted the two that had already left.

“I think I will need at least twenty Mister Peters. When can you have them done?”

“If the Captain will allow me the men I need then we can work through the night… I would say they can be done by four bells in the fore-noon Sir.”

“I’ll see that you get your men Mister Peters and I would ask that you give it your best effort. You may never know when such an offering can turn out to be a good omen and harvest better results.”

“Aye Sir, I’ll go see to the Forge Sir if you will ask the Captain about the extra hands.”

“Thank you Mister Peters, consider it done and make your plans accordingly.”

Peters doffed his head and touched his forelock as a sign of salute and then left to find his powder monkeys for the bellows on the forge and to seek out the young man he knew had been an apprentice smithy. Thomas went in search of Roger who had given the deck over to Lieutenant Williams and gone below-decks for his own dinner where Thomas was expected to join him as soon as he was free to do so.

It took very little work for Thomas to get Roger to agree to Peter’s needs. Within a minute Roger had called for his cabin boy and sent him out to tell Lieutenant Williams to get the men Peters wanted. After all, Thomas was the owner and any Captain worth his salt would go out of his way to keep the owner of his ship on side, even though Roger knew well that Thomas would never use his position to take advantage of any man.

As was normal for dinner Thomas and Roger were joined by all the Officers, both senior and junior except for those on watch duty. During the meal Thomas could hear a lot of movement, shouting and the occasional rumbling of a heavy cask on the deck above. The noises above did not stop until very late in the night and had started once again before the first rays of the sun showed in the east; it also was the cause of Thomas being awoken earlier than usual.

Just after the middle hour of the day, Thomas watched a very tired and dirty looking Mister Peters walking towards where he stood on the quarterdeck. Not wanting to interrupt Roger as he schooled his Midshipmen in the art of navigation, Thomas left the quarterdeck and stepped down to meet Peters on the main deck.

“How did it go Mister Peters?”

“It was a hard night Sir but we got it done. Would you like to see what we came up with?”

“Certainly Mister Peters, lead the way.”

Thomas followed Mister Peters to the other end of the main deck where he could see the others who had worked on the blades now cleaning up. On the top of the hatch-cover lay twenty knives or more precisely, half swords. The blades were now clean of all rust and had been lightly polished and oiled and all had been made from the old fashioned style of cutlass with the wide blade. The handles were of wood and looked as though they would fit a man’s hand perfectly and the overall length of the blade was about 24 inches. They looked to be a formidable weapon in the right hands.

Thomas picked up the closest one and hefted in his hand. He was surprised by the balance and smiled at Peters. “An excellent job Mister Peters, I think our friends will appreciate the work you and the others have undertaken. Could you please wrap them in canvas so I can take them back to the beach with me?”

“Aye Sir, will that be all Sir?”

“Yes thank you Mister Peters. I am going to recommend to the Captain that you and the men who worked with you receive an extra ration of rum today.”

“Thank you Sir, the men will appreciate you thinking of them.”

“I’ll be leaving in a few minutes Mister Peters if you can have them ready for me?”

“They’ll be ready Sir, have no doubt about it.”

“Thank you again Mister Peters and I hope you and the men enjoy the extra ration.”

“There be no doubt about that Sir and thank you again.”

As all the longboats of the three ships had been used to take the crews ashore for a short break in their routines, Thomas had to call for the small dory and four men to row him ashore with his three canvas wrapped parcels. He hoped his small gift would go some way to cementing a new friendship.

As they approached the white sand beach, Thomas could see many of the crew cavorting in the shallows while others could just be seen at the far end of the beach around the fresh water stream. The natives were sitting at their leisure in the shade of the large overhanging trees. Out in the open he could plainly see George and his little friend practicing with George’s strange weapons. It amazed Thomas how attached to the little boy George had become and he made a mental note to ask the large man about it when he had more time.

The four oarsmen pulled the dory onto the beach and then helped Thomas take out the three bundles and carry them up to where the one time slaves sat watching. Thomas noted that Lorenco and his sharpshooters were once again missing and presumed they may have gone hunting once again, even though they now had ample fresh meat. Perhaps it was Lorenco’s need for adventure that had him away in the vastness of the lands that stretched back into the hinterland behind the beach.

As Thomas approached the seated men he noted that the women were hard at work on some of the meat which they had managed to cut into strips and were laying out on branches in the sun to dry while the men sat in the shade and watched.

As he drew closer, the young man he now knew was in charge of the others, looked up and gave Thomas a wide and friendly smile. With a few words to some of the older men close to him, Nkoma had a space made for Thomas to sit with him and welcomed him in his broken Portuguese.

“Friend Toma, you are welcome at my fire.”

“Thank you Nkoma I have come to offer you and your men a gift. It is said in many countries, that a warrior without a weapon is no longer a warrior. I have seen how your people try to work without tools, so I have asked my men to make you something that you may use as both a weapon and a tool.”

Thomas signalled the three men that had carried the canvas bundles for him to lay them out and unroll them before the young man Nkoma. As the three men did as asked, Thomas watched the expression on Nkoma’s face, it was one of anticipation and yet at the same time a little reserved. Thomas had no idea that Nkoma was wondering why a young man who looked just like the men who had sold him into slavery could be so friendly and trusting as to give a possible enemy new weapons.

When the bundles had been unrolled, Thomas sat and waited for Nkoma’s reaction to his gift. The group of men sat and looked at what was offered and it took a few seconds before the chatter started and there was a lot of pointing and questioning of Thomas’s motives although Thomas had no idea of what was being said at the time.

After a few minutes of chatter, Nkoma lifted his hand for silence and then pointed to one of the strange hand made weapons. It was a wide bladed cutlass that had been cut down to about twenty four inches and the handle had been fashioned of two narrow pieces of Oak and set in place with two brass rivets. One of the older men stepped forward and took up the shortened cutlass and carefully gave it to Nkoma.

Nkoma looked at the workmanship of the long knife and tested its edge which he found to be very sharp. The handle fit his hand comfortably and he took a few short swings to feel the balance. Once he was satisfied, Nkoma turned and pointed to one of the older men to come before him. Once the man was standing before him and showing the right amount of deference, Nkoma gave him the knife and said a few words to him in their own language.

It was to be how the twenty knives were distributed until the last one was kept by Nkoma himself. With this duty done, Nkoma began speaking rapidly and then signalled for five of his men to leave and go into the thick trees close by. There was little hesitation as the chosen men ran off with their new gifts and it was not long before Thomas could faintly hear the sound of what could only be chopping of wood.

As Thomas sat on the old log that he had used before, he could see Nkoma struggling to find the words he wanted. Thomas sat patiently waiting for the young man to say his piece.

“Friend Toma, on the next sunrise my people will be here. It is then I would give you title so that you can stand as a warrior of the Ldongo and made welcome in my Father’s Kraal for your trust and gifts.”

The conversation took longer than that, as Nkoma had to stop every few words to find the ones he wanted but Thomas got the general idea of what was being offered to him although he did not think it would mean a great deal for his future travels.

It was not long before the men that had gone into the woods returned carrying what appeared to be another single legged stool of the same height as Nkoma’s. With little preamble, Nkoma pointed at a place beside him and said a few words to the men. Thomas noticed a strange look from some of the older ones but they all complied with Nkoma’s request and placed the new stool near the young man and then stepped back and sat behind Nkoma.

Nkoma gestured for Thomas to take the small stool at his side. Had Thomas known he was being shown a very high degree of respect, he may have been more surprised than he was by Nkoma’s actions. Once seated on the unfamiliar stool, Thomas had to wriggle a little to get both balance and comfort but within a few seconds he found himself where he wanted to be as he thanked Nkoma for his generosity; it was waved away with a flick of Nkoma’s hand but in a friendly way.

The two new friends sat and watched the spectacle of George teaching the little boy out on the hot sand of the beach. Far off behind them Thomas thought he heard the distant sound of several shots which were more of a resounding echo than anything close to where they all sat in the shade watching, what Thomas presumed was a master in the art of ancient weapons, as George took the small boy through some very intricate and fast moves.

George was using his short spear and the boy had a length of branch that was about the same size and thickness but did not have the carved shape. It was an interested group sitting in the shade that watched the strange tattooed man and the little boy who was from the tribe of one of their most hated enemies that sat watching every move the pair made.

Thomas could see that George was very patient with the boy as he took time to show and explain in their own silent language how things should be done. Thomas had never known that George could be such a man and show so much patience with one so young and inexperienced in the strange weapons.

That night Thomas once again slept aboard ship as did nearly all of the crew of the three Frigates and only those who had the last watch remained ashore for the night along with Lorenco who had returned to the camp with three more large beast to be broken down and divided among the ships and those ashore. The next morning Thomas returned to shore in the small dory. Roger had continued giving the crew’s time off to relax before they would face the great southern oceans and the perils that were hidden there.

Thomas arrived on the beach just as the heat of the day was rising once again to unbearable temperatures. George and his little friend were once again practicing their strange weapons as Thomas walked through the white sand to where Nkoma and his men sat in the shade while the women sat around a cooking fire preparing food.

Thomas was met with a broad smile and directed once again to his own personal stool beside Nkoma. He was greeted once again with the wide open smile, “Ndiyakubona Nkokheli”

Of course Thomas could only look at Nkoma with a blank stare at the strange language that Nkoma had used. The smile on his new friends face soon had him relax as Nkoma spent a few seconds getting the translation into Portuguese set in his mind before telling Thomas what it meant.

“It means ‘I see you Leader’ a form of greeting for one who is high born. Sometimes we may also say ‘Mbuliso Nkokheli’ which means ‘greetings’ but is less respectful as it is for lower born.”

“Thank you Nkoma for your kind greeting but I am one of those low born and have never thought of myself as a high born. Can you teach me some more of your words and how to speak them better?”

“I am honoured you would ask Nkokheli, I have not met another of the ghost skin men who would ask such a thing but I will try to help as I can.”

“Thank you again, now how do I say your greeting correctly?”

For more than two hours Thomas sat in the shade and practiced the new language with Nkoma. Around them the others would listen respectfully and occasionally nod and smile when he got the pronunciation correct which would bring a few claps of their hands and comments on his attention to detail.

It was midday when the women appeared with large leaves full of freshly cooked meat and what appeared to be a milky looking drink in earthen bowls that they had made only days before. Thomas pointed to the bowls and asked as best he could, “Yintoni Lento?”

“Ibhiya.”

“Ibhiya?”

“Yes Nkokheli, it is Ibhiya that we make to celebrate.”

“How did you make it, there is little here to make such a drink?”

“The women know the bush and how to find what others cannot see. They are very good at making Bhiya for us, you will see. Now we eat and drink then wait for our people to come, they will be here soon.”

“How do you know they will be here so quickly?”

“Ah yes…my uncle Khanda is…how do you say…Buqili…uhm…talker to strong spirits of the dead.”

Thomas had to think on that one for a while before he came up with a word he hoped would explain it all.

“Uhm…a wizard?”

“I am sorry Nkokheli Toma I do not know this word but my uncle is very good at speaking with the spirits and has told me my people come in haste.”

“So one of these men is your uncle?”

“Yes Nkokheli. Khanda!”

Thomas watched as the oldest of the men came forward with his head low.

“Ewe Nkokheli?”

“Nkokheli Toma is now my brother, tell the others to offer respect to him.”

Although Thomas did not understand every word said he did get the gist of it. The surprised look on the older man’s face was one of disbelief at first but a single warning look from Nkoma had the older man quickly go back to the others and begin to talk rapidly with them. When Khanda was finished speaking the other men all stood and waited for Khanda to make the first move.

Khanda stepped forward and, with his head low he said something to Thomas and then strangely stamped his foot and then knelt in front of Thomas for a few seconds before standing once again and stepping back. He was quickly replaced by the next eldest man in the group who then went through the same actions and spoke what to Thomas sounded like the same words.

The new form of introduction went on until the youngest of the teens had also carried out the strange performance and then Nkoma just nodded his head as he leaned forward and took up a large piece of meat while one of the younger women poured the murky looking liquid into a smaller bowl. It was soon followed by another one for Thomas.

They had been eating for no more than ten minutes when Thomas thought he heard a distant sound. It was a mixture of something akin to distant thunder and a hissing sound like hot steam escaping from a vent. The men around Thomas suddenly looked up with wide smiles on their dark faces but a word from Nkoma soon had them sitting down again. Nkoma looked at Thomas and said in Portuguese, “My people, they come now.”

Thomas nodded his understanding and continued to eat although he only took very small sips of the Ibhiya. It was not only the strange taste, but even after the first few sips he could feel a sort of light numbness on his tongue. As he sat and listened to the far off noise he could now hear it coming closer to where they all waited. For the crewmen on the beach it was another unknown and most of them made their way towards the boats where they had some of their weapons stashed, after all this was a new and wild land.

The distant sound moved closer with every passing minute and the closer it got the stranger the sounds became. Thomas now heard what sounded like a cross between a drum and a rattle in three beats and then the noise began to move past them and further towards the southern end of the beach. He had still not seen a single man or men that were the cause of the strange sounds.

It happened so suddenly that Thomas was completely unprepared for what he and his men saw. At the southern end of the beach, dark figures dressed in the most unusual garb he had ever seen began to pour onto the white sand. It seemed like a torrent of men as more and more made an appearance and began to form up in some sort of order across the whole width of the beach from water line to tree line.

Thomas noted his men were taking their weapons from the longboats and decided to quickly tell them to refrain. If the numbers he saw growing on the far end of the beach were any indication, then his men were well outnumbered and any overt actions may start a killing spree that he would not be able to control.

Thomas had his men stand down although he let them stay close to the boats in case they had to make a very rapid escape from the horde that was now covering the beach and still building. At a rough estimate, Thomas thought there had to be at least five or six hundred dark skinned warriors now on the beach which far outnumbered the fifty or so of his own men. He even had time to notice that George had pulled the small boy closer to him and edged their way closer to where Thomas sat with Nkoma.

Behind Thomas he could hear the mumble of the other men talking, although he did not understand any of it, the gist was quite clear. These newcomers were friends of the ex-slaves. Thomas looked down to the far off warriors and tried to discern what and how they were dressed. Most wore what looked much like a hide kirtle around their waists but the side showed their hips openly.

In their hands they carried what appeared to be an elongated oval hide shield on their left arm, and in their right they carried a short shafted spear with a long sharp looking metal blade. Even at this distance, they looked like a fearsome weapon. The men were regaled with bands tied around their legs just below the knee and these had long black hair tassels that reached almost down to their ankles.

The same black hair tassels were also tied around their upper arms although they were somewhat shorter than those around the calves. On their heads was a long black feather headdress that swayed back and forth as they moved in what looked like a semi trot without breaking pace for the softness of the sand or the angle of the beach. The lower line was moving through the shallows of the water while the upper line was just barely outside the tree line.

Thomas could now make out where and how the drumming thunder had been made. The whispering sound had come from the men moving through the long grass of the upper plains as well as the strange tassels rubbing together as they ran. The heavier thunder sound had come from the men rapping the butt of their short spears onto the inside of their hide shields which they were still doing as they moved closer.

It was a fearsome sight to see so many warriors and the noise they made as they moved at a good pace towards those under the shade of the large trees. Thomas was beginning to feel a little naked as he had left his pistols and musket onboard ship and carried only his boot knives and the single arm dagger with him. He was also not dressed as normal and had forsaken his heavier clothing for just his white cotton shirt and breaches due to the heat of the days on this strange coast.

When the mass of warriors were little more than fifty yards away, Nkoma stood up and moved out into the sunlight. The mass of warriors suddenly came to a halt and the strange noises stopped as though a blanket had been pulled over them, not a single one moved as Nkoma took his stance in front of them. Along the beach there was not a sound, even the usual bird calls were silent as though they were waiting for something to happen… when it came it was not what Thomas had expected.

From far behind the phalanx of dark warriors came a loud call. As though a string had been pulled, the centre of the phalanx moved sideways to form a passage down the middle about six feet wide. As the passage opened and the warriors once again stood immobile, more warriors appeared from the far end but these were dressed differently from those closer.

The new warriors had white tassels and feathers and their shields all appeared to be identical as far as Thomas could see. While the main body of warriors carried a mixed colouring of hide shields, these new ones all carried white hide shields with what appeared to be identical black markings. The new warriors ran down the passage and began to take a position like sentries along the entire length. There were about fifty of the new warriors that now lined the two sides of the passageway.

Again there was silence and Thomas saw a small gesture from Nkoma for him to come and stand beside him. When Thomas reached his side, Nkoma said in his broken Portuguese, “Father comes. His name Yindlova Enkulu Yenkomo.”

Thomas tried to say the strange name and remember it but even as he tried there came a sudden shout from the far end of the large phalanx of warriors. It was something of a shock for Thomas as he saw a man so large that he doubted his own eyes. Thomas now stood at five feet seven and one half inches and he had thought George at six feet and two inches was a big man but, what he saw coming towards them in the strangest manner had him wondering if it was a mirage or a figment of his imagination.

The man was very dark skinned, almost to pure black. He stood at what Thomas guessed to be close to seven feet tall and must have weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. And yet, apart from a slight thickening of his waist, showed mainly thick ropes of muscle. The new man’s skin shone with a light covering of perspiration as he half danced and half ran towards where he and Nkoma stood alone.

It was a strange way to move Thomas thought. Instead of the normal running step of placing one foot in front of the other, this huge man was more splayed legged and his steps were more of a stamp each time he placed a foot on the ground. His arms were spread out from his body with the elbows bent and only went to make this huge colossus of a man to look even larger. In his right hand, he carried one of the short shafted spears with the long metal blade that glinted in the sunlight, in his left he carried a long stick that looked much like a walking stick but it had a thick knurled knot on the top.

The giant of a man made his way along the passage between all the warriors. His pace was a little faster than walking but slower than trotting and his movements were more of a dance than a run. His clothing was different from all the others in that he had no feathers on his head but instead wore what appeared to be a simple band of yellow skin with black and white spots around his forehead. Around his neck was a necklace made from what might have been large brown seeds or wooden beads and his arms and legs had the same spotted skin tied around them.

Around his waist was the same spotted skin made into a belt that held a copious number of what appeared to be tails of the same skin; it was quite a sight to see in both the respect of amazing and surprising. It also gave the giant of a man a certain sense of power and authority. Thomas was not sure if he should hope and pray or just start fighting at the sight of the giant, but the man certainly could put the fear of God into any man Thomas knew.

When the man was only about five feet away, he stopped suddenly and just stood looking at what was before him. Being so close to him, Thomas could now really appreciate just how large the man was, he even had to look upwards just to see the huge man’s features which of course had the three distinctive scars on each cheek just like Nkoma and his men.

The man moved faster than Thomas would have thought he could. With two steps he was directly in front of Nkoma and his left hand moved faster than Thomas thought it humanly possible. Thomas had felt rather than seen Nkoma brace himself when the man started to move but what happened next took Thomas completely by surprise.

The strange walking stick in the man’s left hand lashed out and caught Nkoma a resounding blow on the head and made him stagger slightly but he righted himself and stood without a murmur as a small trickle of blood began to seep its way down his forehead. As soon as the blow had been made, the man called out a word Thomas understood.

“Khanda!”

Thomas watched as Nkoma’s Uncle came forward and stood silently, the man gave him both his weapons to hold and then his hard features softened as he laid both his hands on Nkmoa’s shoulders and his hard dark eyes softend just a little. It would be some time before Thomas was able to find out what had just transpired between the two. Thomas somehow knew this man was very dangerous and it had been the first sight of him and his glance to where the small boy stood with George. How they could tell the boy was from another tribe was beyond Thomas’s understanding, after all they all looked very much the same to Thomas’s inexperienced eye.

As the two stood out in the hot sun, Nkoma began to talk to his Father in the rapid-fire language they used. Thomas was only able to pick up one or two words but Nkokheli Toma was one of them and the dark glare from the large man in Thomas’s direction meant he was being talked about. The talking went on for some little time and then Thomas was subject to the large man’s speed and strength.

Before he could make any sort of move Thomas found himself in the grasp of the large man. His right hand held Thomas’s chin with a very firm grip and the dark piercing eyes looked deep into his head, or that was how Thomas felt at the time. After a short time the man twisted Thomas’s head to the left and then to the right. At the sight of his old scar on the left cheek the man dropped his eyes a fraction and without a word suddenly reached forward with his left hand and summarily tore his light cotton shirt from his shoulders so that it hung down around his slender waist.

It had all happened so fast that not even Thomas himself could move to avoid it. The giant man then started to look over Thomas’s scarred body until he saw the round puckering of the scar over his heart. The man suddenly stopped and bent forward to take a closer look at the scar. Once satisfied he lifted his head and almost roared like a wild animal towards the back of the Phalanx of warriors.

From the darkness of the far off trees came a figure that scared Thomas just at the sight of him. The figure which Thomas could only hope was a living man, was thin and slightly bent with age, he was covered in an asortment of leaves, skins and a lot of wooden beads. He carried a strange rattle in one hand and his face was painted black with soot from a fire but his eyes and mouth were ringed with a white powder like paint.

When the strange apparition got close to Thomas he could smell the acrid odour of old sweat, smokey fires and something else Thomas was not going to try to guess at. The old man seemed to crawl as much as walk as he got close to Thomas and began to look at all his battle scars until he came to the one that had nearly put paid to his life at Albuera. The old man stooped and looked before he began to measure the scar with his dirty fingers from Thomas’s side to the scar and then from Thomas’s lower neck and back down to the scar.

It was a strange feeling to be poked and prodded by this relic of a man but soon it was over and the old man stepped closer to the larger one and began to whisper in his ear. The large man just listened and then nodded before releasing Thomas’s head and standing back to look the smaller teen over from head to foot and back again. After a few more seconds the man turned back to Nkoma and began to speak to him. Even Thomas could see the surprise on Nkoma’s face as the large man spoke to him with authority.

When the talking stopped Nkoma’s Father turned to Khanda and spoke for a few minutes before he reclaimed his weapons and started to walk towards the shade of the tree that they had all been sitting under before he had arrived. Khanda went in the opposite direction and ran quickly through the passage made by the Phalanx of warriors.

When the three were standing in the shade Thomas noticed that Nkoma’s Father kept looking at him and then turning away to stare out to sea as though thinking on somthing that confused him. Nkoma took this oportunity to talk with Thomas in a subdued voice with many breaks to think of the right word to use.

“Nkokheli Toma…uhm…Father say…ahh…how so young warrior…uhm…many battle scar and not die?”

Thomas had to really think on this one but could only come up with one single answer.

“Just Lucky I guess Nkoma.”

“L..u…ki, this one I am not knowing?”

Thomas had to think a little harder as he tried to work out how to explain it to his new friend and Thomas could only think of one way to describe it to Nkoma in his own terms.

“Uhm…the spirits let me live.”

Nkoma suddenly looked at Thomas as though trying to work out how his young friend could have the spirits of the dead working for him. Instead of replying to Thomas, Nkoma turned to his Father and told him what Thomas had said. The older man looked sharply at Thomas but then just gave a single nod of his head and sighed. In the following silence Thomas heard a new sound and it was of footsteps in the soft sand and coming closer.

Thomas turned his head to look to the southern end of the beach and saw Khanda followed by six of the white feathered warriors carrying what appeared to be a large carved chair decorated with various bright plumes in black and white. There were also a lot of other decorations on the chair but the back supports are what really caught his attention. While the chair was made from some dark wood the two uprights of the back looked to be long enormous teeth of some kind and curved inwards to almost meet at the centre which created a sort of arc above the back of the chair.

It was not long before the six men placed the huge chair in the shade and Nkoma’s Father sat back and then gave orders again. Even though a number of older men gave Thomas a strange if somewhat angry look they obeyed and set two well-carved stools by the chair, one to the left and the other to the right. Nkoma’s Father indicated for Thomas to sit on the left stool and Nkoma needed no gesture to take the right hand one.

The horde that made up the phalanx had now been standing in the bright hot sun for some time, and Nkoma’s Father called out something. Thomas watched as the still sweating warriors all sighed and then squatted comfortably where they had been standing and the general atmosphere relaxed somewhat. Unfortunately it was only for a short time as the large man now looked around until his eyes settled on the small figure of George’s boy.

Thomas only caught the word ‘Kongo’, but the way it was said made Thomas start and become very alert even though from where he sat there was little he could do about it when it happened. As soon as Nkoma’s Father stopped speaking, three young warriors at the front rank of the phalanx stood up with their shields and spears, and made a bee line for the young boy where he stood with George in the shade of the tree. Even a fool could have seen what they had in mind for the boy.

What was to happen next caught everyone by surprise. As the three young men ran forward to grab and obviously kill the hated enemy boy, George went into action with his strange weapons. Before a single death stroke from any of the three could be attempted, George had swung and twirled his own short spear in a configuration that disabled the three young warriors before a person could count to ten.

All three lay injured although not in the throes of death but they would carry their injuries for some time to come and George had hardly seemed to put any effort into his display of his martial art. Nkoma’s Father stood from his chair even as George pushed the small boy behind his back while at the same time moving forward to stand before the larger man with the obvious intent of fighting if he had to in the protection of his young charge.

As the two large men stood face to face, George opened his mouth so that Nkoma’s Father could see he was unable to speak but his next actions spoke volumes to the dark-faced giant before him. George reached into the back of his waistband and took out his sailors knife, with a single stroke he cut his finger and waited for a small amount of blood to ooze from the cut before reaching over and offering the bloody finger to the young boy.

When the boy looked up at George in a questioning way he received a nod and then sucked the blood off George’s finger. Next George took a hold of the boys hand and pricked it with the knife so a drop of blood appeared and then George lifted the bloody finger and sucked it clean in his own mouth. The sybolism was obvious to anyone who took notice. George had just told everyone that the boy was his own blood and anyone trying to hurt him would answer to George.

Nkoma’s Father stood and stared hard at George but the man’s return stare said more than words ever could. With a grunt, Nkoma’s Father sat back down and called out something to all the other men around. It seemed that the little boy was now safe from any actions against him and it had been Georges erstwhile endevours that had created the standoff, there was nothing more said about the matter as far as Thomas could understand.

For another hour or two there was much discussion between Nkoma and his Father as well as a number of the older men also having some input into the talks. Thomas could only sit and listen to the strange accents and try as hard as he could to pick up a few words here and there. George had taken his little friend off in one of the boats back to the Roger Scully; if the boy was out of sight he would then be less likely to cause any more problems.

All the time the talks had been going on, the warriors had squatted silently out in the hot sun with what seemed little effect. Thomas could not understand how they managed to stay upright in the violent heat of the day. A call from Nkoma’s Father soon had the women carrying Ibhiya and food to those under the tree and the talks went on during the meal. At about the middle of the afternoon, Nkoma’s Father stood up and called out orders, within no more than five minutes Thomas could hear the large phalanx of warriors moving off but leaving about one hundred behind to guard Nkoma and his friends. It was a little later that Thomas finally found out what was to happen and why Nkoma had been left behind.

TBC

You are reading Book 3 of Thomas Markings incredible journey. Let Arthur know what you think of this latest chapter. Arthur at CastleRoland dot Net