Yesterday's Promise (20 page)

“The British South Africa Company,” Rhodes said reasonably. He lifted his crystal glass and drank.

“Naturally, you will reap a bounty. Members of the Company are prepared to offer you handsome shares in the BSA, which can certainly be appreciated by a young man with your ambition and talent. Personally, I could use someone like yourself in a key position once we settle matters
between us and the Charter Company. You can discuss that with Sir Julien or Dr. Jameson. Your future can be as bright as your ambition and loyalty shine. I understand you'll need funding for the expedition. There's really no reason for that. You can simply merge with our expedition, which will leave as soon as matters with Lobengula are settled.”

Rogan looked back into his level gaze. He knew he shouldn't be surprised by this autocratic move, but he was, even though he'd expected them to oppose him in some way. That Cecil Rhodes would do it in so reasonable a manner angered him more than if the man had pounded the table with his big fists and threatened him. The reasonable threats crawling just beneath the surface of his cool manner seemed more dangerous than even Julien's rage with the sjambok.

Rogan looked over at Sir Julien. Wisely, Julien was not looking at him, but studying his wine glass with deep interest. Darinda was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, and she watched him as pertly as a cat. Her eyes were bright, as though excited by the tension that filled the tent.

“Mornay won't cooperate. Even Grandfather couldn't buy him back from Rogan,” Darinda spoke into the silence.

Parnell stood in the background without moving. Rogan knew that his brother wanted—no expected—his simple capitulation, to which they all felt entitled.

Dr. Jameson broke the silence. “Forget Mornay, Cecil. I always did say he never measured up to his father. Giles is an arrogant devil. A friend of the Boers. That accounts for his stolid, unimaginative ways. Frederick Selous is the guide we want. A far better man.”

Captain Retford turned toward Mr. Rhodes. “If I could speak, sir. I was talking to Mr. Peter Bartley just a few days ago. There may be good reasons for delaying the expedition. Any foray into Matabeleland could risk a bloody attack from Lobengula. Our spies there report he is upset over what he believes was our betrayal.”

Rhodes looked undisturbed as he exchanged glances with Dr. Jameson.

“That's why we must have Lobengula's permission before we leave,” Mr. Rhodes said. “And we will. We already have it, don't we, Jim?”

Dr. Jameson nodded. “We have his concessions on paper. He signed it with his elephant seal.”

“I'm sending an official entourage to meet with him at Bulawayo,” Rhodes stated. “Dr. Jameson here, for one. You too, Captain Retford.” He turned his steely blue gaze on Rogan. “We'd like to have you with us, Rogan.”

Rogan had been silent, not trusting himself to speak. He fought down his growing anger at these men who had calmly moved against him and claimed what was his.

“You see, there is only
one
expedition going from Lobengula's kraal into Mashonaland, an expedition with a Royal Charter, the British South Africa Company. We will begin a colony near Mount Hampden in the north and plant the British flag. Your expedition must merge with ours under the charter.”

“And if I refuse to join?”

“I hope you are wiser than that. I believe you are.” Mr. Rhodes's voice was reasonable and placatory, but those eyes revealed an iron core to the man. “Sir Julien tells me you have what it takes to excel.”

Rogan did not look at his uncle. He sat face to face with Rhodes, hands folded firmly on the table.

“Did my uncle also tell you I refused this same offer back in Capetown?”

“There can be no refusal,” Rhodes said coldly.

Rogan stood. “Henry Chantry planned this expedition years ago, long before you received your Royal Charter. When he came asking for financial backing from Sir Julien, he was turned down. I'm going to carry on his work, and that means sponsoring my own expedition.”

Darinda walked over to Parnell and looked at him, taking hold of his arm.

Parnell's face had turned a sickly color beneath his tanned skin.
“Listen to common sense, Rogan. We're not at war with you. Can't you see the Company is inviting you in? Think of the power and prestige this can bring you!”

Darinda dropped Parnell's arm and walked up to Rogan. “They are right, Cousin. Mr. Rhodes is offering you substantial compensation. Land, gold claims, anything you want.” Her eyes held his.

For the first time Rogan noticed the glow in her eyes, and he wasn't conceited enough to think he himself was the cause. Darinda, too, wanted the map as much as her grandfather and, now, Rhodes.

Rhodes leaned back in his chair. “I want you with the entourage we're sending to Lobengula's kraal, Rogan. We're going to sign a treaty with the Ndebele king for mineral rights. He has already agreed on an expedition through Matabeleland, but we need that agreement to be legal. As soon as we have it, we're heading toward Mashonaland. I'm willing to make you an official in the British South Africa Company for your willingness to join hands with us.”

“I can't accept your offer, Mr. Rhodes. I enjoy my freedom too much.”

Rogan nodded in their direction and stood. He turned to leave, when Rhodes said without emotion, “Very well, then.” He looked across the table at Julien, who until now had been mostly silent. He said to Julien coolly, “Then there's no way around this. I had hoped for willing cooperation. You were right. I see he's going to be difficult.” He placed his heavy hands on the table and pushed himself up. “You'd better have a private talk with him, Julien. Explain clearly how things are.”

Cecil Rhodes gestured to Dr. Jameson and then left the tent in a bearlike gait, the doctor following.

Rogan did not wait to talk to Julien as Mr. Rhodes had stated. He too turned and left the tent. He'd not gone far toward his camp when Parnell caught up with him.

“Wait.”

Rogan stopped and turned, knowing his anger showed.

Parnell looked pale and tense beneath the moonlight. For one moment Rogan felt pity for his brother.

“I'm sorry it turned out this way, but I tried to tell you back in Kimberly that you couldn't win. Might as well face the mighty Victoria Falls as think you can stop Mr. Rhodes. That goes for Uncle Julien, too. They are all one and the same.”

Rogan glared at him. “It's you I'm worried about. You've become a pawn to them. Father should see you.”

“Father!” hissed Parnell in unexpected openness. “What did he ever care? We were all property for Julien to divvy up and use the way he thought best for the family dynasty.”

Rogan caught his breath, surprised by Parnell. But his brother quickly withdrew again behind his old facade. He hurled his frustration at Rogan as though he were the one really to blame.

“Why couldn't you have just cooperated? It would have been for the best.”

When Rogan found his voice, it was rough with emotion. “Cooperate. It's always that with you, isn't it, Parnell? Even when a sjambok is used on a near helpless man like Sheehan and the coal deposit he pegged is stolen by ruthless men. They'll get by with it, Julien and the Company, but that doesn't bother you enough to force you to break away from them, does it? Nothing will force you to choose between right and your own desires.”

“Right? And what is right?” Parnell fumed.

“If you don't know,” Rogan said sharply, “it won't help for me to spell it out.” He turned and walked to the campfire. Derwent and Mornay waited there, as though they knew nothing of the meeting in Rhodes's tent.

Darinda had followed Parnell when he'd left and called out to his brother to wait. She'd not been able to pick up the brief but heated
exchange, but she could tell by Parnell's unhappy face when he walked back toward her that what was said had not gone as he'd hoped.

Darinda drew Parnell aside near the mule coach. In the moonlight and warm wind, she listened to the canvas flapping and heard a far-off animal cry that stabbed the night.

“Could you make him see some sense?” she whispered.

“I've told you he doesn't think the way we do.”

“Then get the map, Parnell. You should know where he keeps it. You'd have more excuse than the rest of us to be around his bedroll, or that black gelding of his. Or have one of the Bantu search his things when he's occupied elsewhere. I could have done it myself while everyone was at Rhodes's meeting.”

“What you ask is crazy.”

“You've as much right to the map as he does. Henry was your blood uncle as well. The map belongs to all of us, to the family. Why settle for less? You saw the way Rogan stood up to them. There's a chance he won't cooperate. Then what?”

“He'll cooperate.” Parnell's voice was bitter. “When your grandfather's through talking to him, Rogan will have no choice but to join the Company.”

“I don't believe it. I saw what kind of man Rogan was tonight. But even if he does agree, so what? Why allow old Rhodes to get his hands on the map? If
we
found it and brought it to Grandfather first, he'd finally recognize how he doesn't need a male heir to run the family diamond mine after his death. I have more right to be in control than Anthony Brewster. I'm a full-blooded Bley!” Darinda smiled to soften her words, for she could see Parnell's emotions beginning to recoil. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm and smiled up at him.

“You want to know how you can please me, Parnell? How you can make me happy…so that you and I can marry at last?”

She heard his breath catch and saw the kindled warmth in his hazel-green eyes. His hand hesitated and then found hers. She nearly winced at the strength of his fingers. But a wince would spoil her gentleness.

“If you get the map,” she whispered, “and we bring it to Grand father, then I'll tell him I want to marry you at the end of the expedition.”

“Darinda…”

She allowed his arms to enfold her, allowed his lips to press against hers, then she pulled quickly away and hurried toward her wagon.

Rogan straightened from the campfire and lifted his tin coffee mug to his lips as he surveyed the encampment, now quiet under the vast African sky. Not all were asleep, however. Derwent and Mornay had been sharing this evening watch with him, joining in a thoughtful discussion of the day's events. And on the far side of the laager, the sides of Rhodes's big tent still glowed with lantern light.

Just as Rogan started to return to his seat, he saw Sir Julien push the big tent's entrance flap aside and step out into the night. Then Rogan turned quickly at a rustle behind him to see Captain Retford walk into the firelight from another direction and speak to Mornay.

“Mr. Rhodes wants to talk to you.”

Mornay glanced at Rogan, then rose and accompanied the young captain across the laager.

Derwent's worried gaze shot to Rogan. “Looks as though our plans may come tumbling down like the walls of Jericho, Mr. Rogan. Pardon my saying so, because he is family, but I don't put much past Sir Julien Bley. Not after what was done to John Sheehan. I'm glad John wasn't married yet, with a baby or two to feed.”

Rogan remained silent. He stared at the dark dregs in the bottom of his tin cup.

“Strange,” Derwent mused, “how far some folks will go to get what they think they have a right to, isn't it?”

Pricked, Rogan snapped, “Nothing strange about it.”

“Seems to me there is. Now, Sheehan was a little different. He could accept the loss after a while. I saw him a month ago, and he and Mr. Gerald were doing a whit better then they were at first. If a man like John could go on being happy after losing all that coal, and not let bitterness and hate eat him up, he's discovered some of the best of all God's treasures.”