I rode hard for an hour before stopping to consider my position. What should I do now? I could return to Ma Thomas and resume my easy life there unless somebody else had taken my space in her bed. I could find myself a berth on a ship and try to get back to America, or I could pursue my original dream and find myself a position as a soldier in the army of an African king.
“When we’re home in Africa,” William’s words seemed to mock me as I stood under a rocky ridge, alone, virtually penniless and unsure what to do.
I was already aware there was no choice. I would make my way to the most powerful African king I knew and offer him my services. That king was Cetswayo of the Zulus. That meant I had about 500 miles to ride, over terrain I did not know and which could well contain hostile tribe
