Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [56]
“Both,” Forbes replied. “Dunkeld has the same ambition, something of the same ruthlessness, but far more charm. However, he started his African adventures later in his life than Rhodes, and he has no brothers to help him.”
“But a gifted man?” Narraway pressed. “And able to gather about him others of talent, and to inspire loyalty in them?”
“Obedience,” Forbes replied, choosing his word carefully. His eyes never left Narraway’s face.
“Well liked?”
Again he smiled. “No. Why do you ask? Is this to do with the plan for a Cape-to-Cairo railway?” Forbes was now studying him quite openly. His amusement was more marked, his eyes bright. “It’s not a new dream, Mr. Narraway. It may be built, but it will be a far bigger undertaking than some of its proponents believe. Have you any knowledge of the terrain it will pass through? It is farther from Cape Town to Cairo than it is from New York across the great plains of America and the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific shores, and then back again. And the climate and terrains cross extremes of equatorial jungle, grassland, mountains, desert, waterless wastes you cannot imagine.” He gestured with strong, square hands. “There are diseases, parasites, poisonous reptiles and insects, plagues of locusts, and the largest beasts on earth. Africa is another world, Mr. Narraway. It is nothing like Europe at all.”
Narraway heard the emotion. Forbes’s voice was thick, almost trembling, and there was a passion in his eyes.
“It has a great and terrible beauty,” he went on, leaning forward a little. “See a bull elephant charge! It is the most magnificent beast in the world. And intelligent! Hear lions roar in the night. Or hyenas laugh. They sound human, but insane. It chills the blood. Have you heard about the drums? They send messages over hundreds of miles, one drummer to another, as we would use beacon fires. Only, of course, their messages are much more complicated, an entire language.”
Narraway did not interrupt him.
“There are scores of kingdoms,” Forbes went on urgently. “Boundaries that have nothing to do with the white man: Zulu, Mashona, Hutu, Masai, Kikuyu, and dozens more. And the Arabs still trade in slaves from the interior to the coasts. There are old wars and hatreds going back a thousand years that we know nothing about.”
“Are you saying that it cannot succeed?” Narraway asked. He was both awed and disappointed. Did he want Africa tamed by the white man’s railway? Did he want the British Empire spreading culture, commerce, and Christianity throughout? Or was it a better dream to leave its dark heart unconquered?
He surprised himself. He loved knowledge, acquired it, traded in it, and benefited from its power. There was a kind of safety in there being something still unknown, as if dreams and miracles could still happen. To know everything was to destroy the infinite possibilities of unreasoning hope.
Did he see some reflection of this in Watson Forbes’s face also, even a certain humility? Or was that only what he imagined he saw?
“No,” Forbes said softly. “It may succeed one day, but I think it will be a far longer undertaking than these men are prepared for. It will need greater courage and fortitude, and require greater wisdom than they yet have.”
“You know the people who could do it?” Narraway dragged his mind back to his reason for coming here.
“Of course. Africa is larger than we who are used to England can imagine, but the white men there still know one another. There are few enough of them.”
“Tell me what you know of them, honestly. I cannot tell you my reasons for needing to know, but they are real and urgent.”
Forbes did not argue, and if he was troubled by curiosity, it did not show in his unusual face. “Where should I begin?” he asked.
“With Cahoon Dunkeld,” Narraway answered. Dunkeld was the leader, by far the most dominant