*  *  *  *

Josephine had been thinking about how much she was enjoying her
discussions with Shaw and Florence. She had grown animated and
friendly as she shared stories with Shaw.  Her instincts from her
years as a Paris socialite had returned as she spoke with the man, and
she was happy to find her face and body animated perfectly for the
situation. The loud words between Shaka and the others jarred her from
her reverie.

Charles held up his hand and spoke to Shaka in Bantu.

Charles: "Shaka, Friend no warrior. Let go. Bring back other warriors.
	  No warrior, no good warrior."

Josephine listened avidly, keeping her eyes on Shaw, and speaking
quietly. Shaw translated her words to a group quickly becoming aware
of how much they had depended on Florence's linguistic skill.

Josephine: "A reluctant soldier is probably not the best one, no? If
	    his heart is not in it, he'd just be a burden rather than
	    a help. It would almost be..." 

She half-smiled wryly.

Josephine: "a version of military rape no? You get the person where
	    you want them, but if they don't want it, it's no good for
	    either and often more trouble than it's worth."

Freud: "Perhaps you could tell him that, fraulein?"

Josephine: "Even with my skills of oration, I don't think I could get
	    through to the likes of him"

She shrugged smoothly and smiled a bit ruefully, trying to inject a bit of
levity in the tense situation.

Charles walked to stand before Freud, and gingerly took his
spear.  He held up Freud's smooth hands, showing them to Shaka, and
indicated the muscles of Freud's arms, shaking his head.

Charles: "Temuchin -- Friend was no help then, no help now. But
	  protect Jeanne."

Jeanne's voice was tinged with bitterness as she turned away, and
directed her words pointedly at Tjar.

Jeanne: "This is your beloved democracy? I now understand what that
	 word means; I am glad to be learn this new name for something
	 old. How clever of you to disguise it so."

Tjar: "Blast! You see this splintering! This is what happens when you
       act without a plan!"

As Tjar began pacing back and forth rapidly, Shaka looked angrily at
Freud and then at Charles.  Gripping the scythe in his hand and
stepping back a little, he glared down at Charles defiantly.  He spoke
in Bantu, but his gestures made his words clear.

Shaka: "No.  All men are soldiers.  We make kingdom."

Shaka: "You say I am General, I say he is soldier."

Shaka moved to stand between Freud and Jeanne, and held up the scythe
in a defensive posture.

Tjar continued to pace about, fuming. Finally, he turned to Charles.

Tjar: "You must not assume you are leader until all have so agreed!
       This is the result of not securing consensus."

Tjar: "Either we all agree on a plan, or we agree to split apart. I
       will not, for one, tolerate a dictatorship, and I will not
       tolerate a group not one in spirit. Savage or not standing in
       my way, I will move on if I do not think all who stay are of
       one mind as to our plans!"

Tjar: "So, for those who are here, I call a vote.  Either we agree,
       now, to a plan, or I join those who have left, with any who
       care to go with me."

As Tjar's frantic hand motions indicated the sleeping places of the
vanished companions, Jeanne, less heatedly, took up the thread of
conversation.

Jeanne: "Did anyone see which direction they had gone off? Perhaps we should
	 search?"