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the king’s appeal. Could he help? ‘As you know, I wish to return to the Cape as soon as possible. I promise you that I will see Rhodes and explain to him your concern. I will say to him that whatever problems he has in keeping his word to you, they must be overcome, otherwise he will lose his contract with you. I hope that may help your majesty. I fear I can do no more.’
     
    The king listened carefully, and when Mzingeli had finished, he sat for a while looking at Fonthill. Then: ‘Wise words. Yes, I keep with Rhodes, but only as contract said: he can dig, but not to settle people here. Yes, please. You talk to him in Cape. I am glad you help me.’
     
    Fonthill bowed his head in acquiescence, and as silence descended again, he took another sip from the gourd. Then, however, a further thought occurred to him.
     
    ‘Your majesty has a Portuguese agent visiting you?’
     
    ‘Yes. He important man.’
     
    Simon coughed and wondered how to go on. ‘I am afraid, sir, that he does not appear to me to be a gentleman. I understand that he treats the tribes that come under his command to the east very badly. Making slaves of them—’
     
    The king interrupted Mzingeli quickly at this point: ‘That is good. Some people no good for anything but slaves. I have slaves.’
     
    Damn! Fonthill had to recover. ‘Yes, sir. But you treat your slaves well. I understand that he does not. He rapes and whips them. That is not the action of a white gentleman.’
     
    ‘Ah yes. It is right, you are different. But he is friends with King of Portugal. He is agent.’
     
    ‘I believe that he merely has duties involving the native tribes to the west of Mozambique. But also he has threatened me this morning’ - Simon felt at this point that he was behaving rather like the school sneak, betraying another boy to the headmaster, but he ploughed on anyway - ‘saying that I must not interfere with your plans to give digging rights to other countries. I think you should know, sir, that I do not think he is to be trusted.’
     
    Another silence descended, and it was clear that Lobengula was not comfortable with the accusation. Fonthill, however, refused to retract it. De Sousa had thrown down the challenge, and this opportunity for creating bad odour between him and the king was too good to be missed.
     
    Eventually Lobengula spoke. ‘King hear your words. He think about it.’
     
    Silence once more. It seemed as though the king had something else to say but was almost embarrassed to say it, or could not find the words to do so. He stirred on his couch, and once again a grimace flashed across his face.
     
    ‘Your majesty is in pain?’
     
    This seemed to open a door of opportunity for the big man. ‘Yes. My foot gives me much hurt. It is curse put on me by my enemies.’ His face took on a diffident expression, as though about to seek a favour but not knowing how to ask it of this strange, highly placed white man, who had brought him gifts but had so far asked nothing of him. Then he seemed to pluck up courage.
     
    ‘Your lady has power of witchcraft, my people tell me.’
     
    ‘Oh no.’ Fonthill smiled. ‘She is no witch doctor.’
     
    ‘Ah, but she heal shoulder of the Malakala man. Put back flesh torn by lion. No one get better after lion bite or claw. They die. This man good now, I hear. Could she come and take curse off my foot?’
     
    Consternation settled on Fonthill. First he was a close friend of Queen Victoria, the most famous and powerful monarch in the world. Now he was married to a witch doctor! He thought quickly. Alice had only rudimentary medical knowledge, given to her over four days by doctors at the Missionary Society who knew the territory and its dangers. But there was no way she could cure gout. Or was there . . . ? Perhaps she could alleviate the pain a little. To do so would put them in good standing with the king. If she failed, however, this could diminish them both in Lobengula’s eyes. Anyway,