02 Men of Men by Wilbur Smith

Author:Wilbur Smith [Smith, Wilbur]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The distaff side of the Codrington family filled the front pew. Clinton Codrington faced them from the pulpit. Ralph was between the twins; there had been a brief but ferocious competition between Victoria and Elizabeth to decide who should sit closest to him.

Apart from the family, there was nobody else in the church, and Victoria saw his glance and explained to Ralph in a penetrating whisper, ‘King Ben won’t let any of his people come to our church.’

‘King Lobengula,’ Salina corrected her sweetly, ‘not King Ben.’

Despite the full attendance, Clinton delayed the commencement of the evening service, finding and losing his place in the Book of Common Prayer half a dozen times – and glancing repeatedly towards the rear of the tiny church.

From this quarter there was a sudden commotion. A small retinue of Matabele women had arrived outside the church. Clearly they were servants, house slaves and ladies-in-waiting to the imposing female figure in their midst. She dismissed them with a royal gesture and came in through the doors of the church. Every one of the Codringtons turned their heads and their faces lit with pleasure.

The way in which this matron paced majestically down the aisle left not a doubt as to her high breeding and her place in the aristocracy of Matabeleland. She wore bangles and bracelets of beaten red copper, strings of highly prized sam-sam beads that only a chief would afford. Her cloak was of beautifully tanned leather, ornamented with feathers of the blue jay and worked with designs of chipped ostrich shell.

‘I see you, Nomusa,’ she declared.

Her huge naked breasts shone with an ointment of fat and red clay; they pushed out ponderously from under her tanned cloak and dangled weightily to the level of her navel.

Her arms were thick as a grown man’s thigh, her thighs as thick as his waist. There were rolls of fat around her belly, and her face was a black full moon, the glossy skin stretched tightly over her abundant flesh. Her merry eyes sparkled from between creases of fat, and her teeth flashed like the sunlit surface of a lake as she smiled. All this size was evidence to the world of her station, of her amazing beauty, of her fecundity. It was also unassailable proof of the high regard of her husband, of his prosperity and importance in the councils of Matabeleland.

‘I see you, Girlchild of Mercy,’ she smiled at Robyn.

‘I see you, Juba, the little dove.’ Robyn answered her.

‘I am not a Christian,’ Juba intoned. ‘Let no evil one bear false tidings to Lobengula, the Black and Mighty Elephant.’

‘If you say so, Juba,’ Robyn answered primly, and Juba pinioned her in a vast embrace while at the same time she called to Clinton in the pulpit.

‘I see you also, Hlopi. I see you, White Head! But do not be deceived by my presence here, I am not a Christian.’ She drew an elephantine breath and went on, ‘I come merely to greet old friends – not to sing hymns and worship your God.

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