Francais, peut-être je peux vous aidez ,’ he added, ‘or vielleicht wäre die Deutsche Sprache lieber ? However, I do apologise, for I do not speak any of the lesser languages, such as Portuguese.’
A distant chuckle came from within the hut. The Portuguese’s eyes hardened. ‘English will do,’ he said. ‘I speak it fluently.’ He jerked his head forward. ‘Manuel Antonio de Sousa, agent for the King of Portugal in Matabeleland and Mashonaland, at your service.’
Fonthill took a pace forward and extended his hand. ‘Simon Fonthill. How do you do.’ He shook the man’s hand, an action that resembled handling a damp, warm fish, then gestured. ‘I am sorry I cannot ask you inside, but my wife is completing her toilet. We had rather a long day travelling yesterday.’ He indicated a log nearby. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘No. Your wife is with you?’ De Sousa seemed surprised.
‘Yes. We were on holiday, travelling in the Transvaal, when we crossed into Matabeleland to help one of the Malakala villages, whose herd was being attacked by lions. We met up with a party of the king’s men and were brought here.’
‘Ah, that explains the skins. Or does it?’ The sneer had returned. ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? You are, of course, working for Rhodes.’
Fonthill felt his temper rising but took a deep breath. ‘No, I am not. I have no interest in Mr Rhodes’s activities. As I explained, I am on holiday. Now, Mr de Sousa, what can I do for you?’
For a moment, de Sousa’s black eyes gleamed in anger. Then he laughed. ‘Listen, my friend,’ he said. ‘When you return to your master, tell him that King Lobengula has no further interest in the false promises of the British. This is Portuguese territory and Lobengula is a Portuguese subject, and he has agreed to allow my people - not the British - to develop this country. Rhodes - and you - would be well advised to stay out of my way.’
Jenkins chose that moment to crawl out of the hut. He looked at the Portuguese’s litter, with its two bearers standing idly by, and spoke with exaggerated concern. ‘Oh, somebody ill, then? Goodness me. It must be the heat, I suppose.’ Then, pretending to see de Sousa for the first time, ‘Ah, good morning. Would you like to come inside out of the heat and lie down, perhaps?’
De Sousa looked at the Welshman in astonishment. Then his lip curled. ‘This is your wife?’ he asked with a sarcasm to match that of Jenkins.
‘No,’ replied Fonthill evenly, ‘this is the only accommodation we have at the moment, until our wagon arrives from the border, so we are forced to share. Now,’ his voice took on a harder tone, ‘I do not like being threatened, Mr de Sousa, and I can only repeat once again that I have nothing to do with Mr Rhodes. As for staying out of your way, I shall go where I like in this territory, subject to the approval of the king. I know as well as you do, sir, that Matabeleland is not under the suzerainty of Portugal and remains an independent country. If this was not so, you would not be here. Your behaviour, sir, is not that of a gentleman and I would be grateful if you would leave.’
The two men remained glaring at each other for a moment, and then the Portuguese walked slowly to his litter, lay down upon it and, with a flick of his wrist, bade his bearers carry him away.
Fonthill and Jenkins watched him go with smiles on their lips. ‘What a pompous bit of offal,’ said the Welshman. ‘’E looks an’ sounds like a tin soldier, don’t ’e?’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Alice had crawled out of the hut and joined them. She put a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘You were right to tick him off, my love, but I have a feeling that you have just made a rather dangerous enemy.’
Simon puffed out his cheeks. ‘I didn’t have much choice, actually. He was bloody rude from the start so I had to put him
A distant chuckle came from within the hut. The Portuguese’s eyes hardened. ‘English will do,’ he said. ‘I speak it fluently.’ He jerked his head forward. ‘Manuel Antonio de Sousa, agent for the King of Portugal in Matabeleland and Mashonaland, at your service.’
Fonthill took a pace forward and extended his hand. ‘Simon Fonthill. How do you do.’ He shook the man’s hand, an action that resembled handling a damp, warm fish, then gestured. ‘I am sorry I cannot ask you inside, but my wife is completing her toilet. We had rather a long day travelling yesterday.’ He indicated a log nearby. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘No. Your wife is with you?’ De Sousa seemed surprised.
‘Yes. We were on holiday, travelling in the Transvaal, when we crossed into Matabeleland to help one of the Malakala villages, whose herd was being attacked by lions. We met up with a party of the king’s men and were brought here.’
‘Ah, that explains the skins. Or does it?’ The sneer had returned. ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? You are, of course, working for Rhodes.’
Fonthill felt his temper rising but took a deep breath. ‘No, I am not. I have no interest in Mr Rhodes’s activities. As I explained, I am on holiday. Now, Mr de Sousa, what can I do for you?’
For a moment, de Sousa’s black eyes gleamed in anger. Then he laughed. ‘Listen, my friend,’ he said. ‘When you return to your master, tell him that King Lobengula has no further interest in the false promises of the British. This is Portuguese territory and Lobengula is a Portuguese subject, and he has agreed to allow my people - not the British - to develop this country. Rhodes - and you - would be well advised to stay out of my way.’
Jenkins chose that moment to crawl out of the hut. He looked at the Portuguese’s litter, with its two bearers standing idly by, and spoke with exaggerated concern. ‘Oh, somebody ill, then? Goodness me. It must be the heat, I suppose.’ Then, pretending to see de Sousa for the first time, ‘Ah, good morning. Would you like to come inside out of the heat and lie down, perhaps?’
De Sousa looked at the Welshman in astonishment. Then his lip curled. ‘This is your wife?’ he asked with a sarcasm to match that of Jenkins.
‘No,’ replied Fonthill evenly, ‘this is the only accommodation we have at the moment, until our wagon arrives from the border, so we are forced to share. Now,’ his voice took on a harder tone, ‘I do not like being threatened, Mr de Sousa, and I can only repeat once again that I have nothing to do with Mr Rhodes. As for staying out of your way, I shall go where I like in this territory, subject to the approval of the king. I know as well as you do, sir, that Matabeleland is not under the suzerainty of Portugal and remains an independent country. If this was not so, you would not be here. Your behaviour, sir, is not that of a gentleman and I would be grateful if you would leave.’
The two men remained glaring at each other for a moment, and then the Portuguese walked slowly to his litter, lay down upon it and, with a flick of his wrist, bade his bearers carry him away.
Fonthill and Jenkins watched him go with smiles on their lips. ‘What a pompous bit of offal,’ said the Welshman. ‘’E looks an’ sounds like a tin soldier, don’t ’e?’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Alice had crawled out of the hut and joined them. She put a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘You were right to tick him off, my love, but I have a feeling that you have just made a rather dangerous enemy.’
Simon puffed out his cheeks. ‘I didn’t have much choice, actually. He was bloody rude from the start so I had to put him
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