Now, Nkose, I am about to tell of the strange and momentous events that next befell; for upon reaching my home that night, which you will remember was at some little distance from the great kraal, I found my family and followers in a state of wild consternation and grief. The little white girl was lost!
She had not been wandering, not even playing outside with the other children. When last seen she was creeping through the door of the hut wherein she usually dwelt—that of Fumana, the youngest of my wives—and this hut she had never been seen to leave. When last seen it was shortly before the setting of the sun.
This was a matter to be turned inside-out, and that speedily, to which end I called up all those concerned, and questioned them one by one; the children who had last been with her, my wives, and the Bakoni slave-girls. But while my two younger wives were half-mad with grief—for they loved the little one—Nangeza only laughed evilly, saying that it could be but a small thing to a mighty chief like myself the loss of a wretched little whelp of the Amabuna: for thus she would often speak to anger me, knowing that I always held Kwelanga to be not of the Amabuna at all, but of a far greater race.
“So, woman!” I replied, pointing my stick at her menacingly, “it may be a small matter to myself, but it will be a weighty one for all here concerned, for did not the King give Kwelanga into our care? Ha! the alligators have been robbed of their food to-night—it may be that to-morrow they will be full.”
I could see fear upon the faces of those who heard my words; but again Nangeza laughed evilly. I was resolved now that the end of such doings had come. The morrow would show.
“Now to the search!” I cried. “The little one may have wandered abroad and have sunk down to sleep in the forest. She may not be far.”
“Perhaps yonder moves her bed,” said Nangeza, with her black laugh, as the wild howling of a hyena sounded very near. “While such are moving about it is little enough will be found of any child who has sunk down to sleep in the forest, and it has long been night.”
A murmur of approval greeted these words, for few among us liked to move about at night. And the voices of the hyenas and other beasts wailing dismally through the forest sounded as the ravenings of ghost animals scenting the blood of those who still lived as men. But for such considerations I cared little then. I gave my orders, and no man there but preferred to face the ghost animals to facing me having disobeyed them. So we set out, by twos and threes, on our search.
There was a half-moon low down in the heavens, and by its light we searched—ah, yes, how we searched! We hunted hither and thither like wild dogs questing a scent, beneath the dark shades of the forest trees, where the beasts would howl dismally across our path, and the rustle of huge serpents fleeing away in the brake would make our hearts leap—not knowing what evil beings of the night were abroad. We searched over the openness of the plain, and among the rugged rocks where we had found the white isanusi. We searched indeed far out beyond any distance such a little child could travel. But we searched in vain.
Not only through the night did we search, but well on into the next day. Sometimes our hearts would chill as we saw something white, like a skull or bones, lying away from us, but on drawing near it would prove to be a stone, or perchance the skull of a kid or a buck, devoured by wild animals. I sent runners to all the outlying kraals around us but these returned bearing no news, and at last so thoroughly had we searched that I was constrained to believe that it was as Nangeza had so evilly suggested—the little one had wandered away from the kraal, and, having lost herself, had been carried off or devoured by wild animals.
Now my own heart was sad and sore, for, Nkose, I loved this little creature, with the eyes of heaven and hair like the sun, whom I had saved from the spears of our young men, and who had come to look upon me as her father; and, indeed, she would sometimes place her tiny white hand upon my great dark one and laugh, and ask whether hers would grow black, too, when she became old. And now I should see her no more; hear her rippling, joyous laughter never again—ah, Nkose, my heart was very sore. But my younger wives, Nxope and Fumana, they made terrible moan, far more so than they would have made over child of their own blood.
It came about, however, that some there might have even greater reason to make moan, and that on behalf of themselves; for at day-dawn on the third morning after the disappearance of Kwelanga an armed force stood at the gate of my kraal, and in a loud voice summoned those within the huts to come forth in the King’s name.
Now, many of these, looking upon the armed men, felt themselves already dead, deeming that Umzilikazi had sent to “eat up” my kraal, by reason of the manner in which its trust had been fulfilled; nor was I myself for the moment at ease.
“Greeting, Ngubu!” I said. “What is the will of the Great Great One?”
“This, son of Ntelani,” answered the leader of the armed band, that same Ngubu who had headed the party in pursuit of me that time I had fled with Nangeza, and who was present when I slew Njalo-njalo; “this—that thou betakest thyself at all speed to the Black Elephant, who would confer with thee. That for thee. For these, they must go with us, every one, to the last man, woman, and child.”
“Whither, Ngubu?” I asked, troubled. “Into the Dark Unknown?”
“Not so, Untúswa. Into the presence of the King.”
They looked relieved at this I thought, though it might be but the lengthening out of their agony, for the assegais of the “eaters-up” are swifter than the teeth of the alligators. And so they started, hemmed in by the spears of the warriors, while I alone strode on in advance, by no means easy in my mind because of what was to befall, for some, assuredly, would look into darkness long before that night.
A little way outside the great kraal Kwa’zingwenya was a grassy mound, crested by two large and spreading trees, and from this the plain sloped away, smooth and open, to the brink of the cliff overhanging the Pool of the Alligators. Beneath the shade of these trees Umzilikazi was wont to sit sometimes throughout the whole day, hearing and settling disputes, talking over the affairs of the nation, or it might be reviewing one or two of the young regiments practising drill upon the open plain before him. Here now I found him.
“Well, Untúswa? And so there have been tagati doings at your kraal?” he said, when I had saluted. “Where is Kwelanga?”
“Now are all our hearts sore, Black Elephant,” I answered, “for search has been diligently made, but in vain.
“Yet I gave her into your keeping, son of Ntelani. There has been tagati herein, and some shall die.”
“The will of the Great Great One is the delight of his children,” I replied. “Lo—now here are they who must answer for this business.”
Now there came in sight across the plain the whole company of my people, surrounded by the spears of the warriors who custodied them. All, as they drew near, bent low before the King, shouting aloud the Bayéte, and on every face was stamped varying stages of fear and dread.
“Here has been tagati at work,” said the King, after eyeing them in silence for a few moments. “I think, Untúswa, the women it was who had the care of Kwelanga?”
“That is so, Black Elephant,” I answered.
“There are thy three wives and two Bakoni slave-girls—five in all,” went on the King. “Five women, and they are not able to custody one little child! Ha! If a woman is unable to do this, of what use is she? Not to give us the aid of her counsels in war,” with a frown at Nangeza. “Clearly these are of no use at all. Away with them! The alligators are hungry!”
But before the slayers could spring forward, my two younger wives flung themselves on the ground at the King’s feet.
“Spare us, father!” they wailed.
“She who is gone was more to me than my own children,” howled Fumana.
“Our own children will die of grief for loss of her,” groaned Nxope.
“Spare us, Great Great One, that we may never rest until she is found,” cried Fumana.
“No tagati is there among us two, Father—among us two,” screamed Nxope.
“What mean you—witch? Ha, Nangeza, inkosikazi of Untúswa! Hast thou nothing to say, no tears for Kwelanga—for thine own life?”
While the others had thus been bemoaning and praying for mercy, Nangeza was watching them with contempt in her eyes, which latter would flash into the most intense hate and menace as she met my glance. Now she answered:
“I have much to say, if the King will hear it—ah, much to say;” and her glittering eyes sought my face in the triumph of their hate.
“I think we have heard enough of this babble,” said Umzilikazi, with a bitter sneer; for he loved not women, deeming them, though in some ways necessary, yet of no account whatever, and only producing mischief if allowed to raise their voices at all. But even the Great Great One had reckoned without the length of Nangeza’s tongue. Hardily she went on:
“There has been tagati indeed; but not among us wives of Untúswa must such be sought. Ho, Untúswa! Where is the witch thou didst save alive from the slaughter of the Bakoni? Ha, ha, Untúswa, where is she?”
Now, Nkose, my heart turned to water within me; for such a suspicion, once implanted in the King’s mind, would surely bear fruit sooner or later. And the offence was among the most deadly I could commit. But at the words, I laughed; threw back my head and laughed softly, while murmurs of amazement went up from those who heard.
“Hear you the words of this woman, Untúswa?” said the King.
“I hear them, Black Elephant.”
“They are strange words, son of Ntelani. Hast thou no answer to make to them?”
“Now, my Father, who am I that I should weary the ears of the Great Great One by crossing answers with a woman in his presence?” I cried.
“That is well said,” muttered Umzilikazi. Then aloud, “So, woman, where doth she dwell, this witch whom Untúswa saved alive from the slaughter of the Bakoni?”
“Upon the Mountain of Death, the mountain whereon her people were slain,” said Nangeza.
“And how is she named?”
“That I know not, O Elephant; but if Untúswa ever whispers her name in his sleep, it is Fumana or Nxope you should ask, O Calf of a Black Bull,” she said, in a tone full of meaning and of malice.
Now I thought and thought how Nangeza could have obtained even that amount of knowledge of my secret. Could she have followed me, stealthily, the last journey I made to the Mountain of Death? It almost seemed so. Or had she set others on to watch me? Anyhow, I felt not over-certain of seeing many more suns set.
“And is that all thou hast to say, wife of Untúswa?” said the King, softly, and putting his head on one side, as his manner was.
“This, too, Father. For many nights past I have heard, as it were, a woman’s voice singing around our kraal. I doubt not it was the voice of this witch, and that she hath lured the little one into the forest, to devour her, as the way is with such evildoers. But it is Untúswa who has brought her about our ears to blight us with a curse.”
“In truth, thou art an excellent wife—a very milch-cow of price,” said the King, mocking her. “In truth, it is worth a man’s while to throw away his life for such as thee. Thou art, indeed, worthy to be the chief wife of one of my best fighting-captains. Thou who wouldst seek to throw on to his shoulders the consequences of thine own neglect, and fill up our ears with such childish tales of witches singing around the gates! And thou, Untúswa, thou art happy, indeed, in the possession of such! Well, woman, such babble is of no avail. The alligators are hungry.”
The izimbonga raised a chorus of praise, and the frightened company of my people, seeing that only five of their number were to suffer, joined in. And now, bending low before the King, I craved a boon.
“The wisdom of the King is great, and his justice is terrible,” I said. “But these, it is for these I would speak,” pointing to my younger wives.
“Say on, Untúswa,” said the King.
“Not for me is it to question the will of the Great Great One. But I would ask, Father, that these might be spared, at any rate, for a few days longer. It may yet be that Kwelanga is found, and then, my Father, what will she do, finding that those who took care of her are no more?”
“Strange care have they taken of her, Untúswa,” replied Umzilikazi. “Hold! Whom have we here?”
For over the plain a great multitude was advancing. As it drew nearer, we could make out that at some paces in front of it walked a woman. That she was tall and straight, and beautiful of build, we could see even from there. Nearer—nearer, she drew; advancing direct to where was seated the Great Great One. In silence the people parted to make way for her, and, not hesitating a moment, she paced up to the King, her head thrown slightly back, proud, stately of bearing, as though she were a queen. Then, halting, she bent down, yet not very low, and cried, “Bayéte!” And we who looked thought we had never beheld so fair and gracious a type of womanhood; while I, for my part—Whau Nkose! it seemed as though the end of all things was at hand, for she upon whom I now gazed—upon whom we all gazed—standing there before the King, was none other than Lalusini, the beautiful sorceress who had bewitched me with her love.
There she stood—she on whom my thoughts had dwelt day and night—she for whom I had sought so carefully and yet so fruitlessly—she whom I had never expected to behold again. There she stood, and as quick murmurs of amazement, of admiration, went up from all who beheld, her eyes swept around our circle and rested upon my face—yet hardly rested—for in them there was no brightening, no recognition. She looked at me as she looked at the others—as though she had never seen me before.
Now I remembered Masuka’s strange, dark, prophecy—how that the “she-eagle” should return, but that then the alligators should be fed. The King would remember the name as spoken by Tauane—and that, coupled with Nangeza’s accusation, ah—good night! Well, I cared not. I, like others, leaned eagerly forward as I crouched, straining my eyes to gaze upon the beauty of the sorceress. Yet even then, while her glance was not directly meeting mine, I seemed to read in her eyes an unspoken, yet none the less vividly-flashed, message—even as I had read the glance of old Masuka that dreadful day upon which I stood between the King’s assegai and doom. And the language I read in this glance was—“Caution!”
She was attired in the short, apron-like girdle of the Bakoni, ornamented with rich bead-work, and a light mantle of dressed fawn-skin similarly adorned hung from one shoulder. As when I saw her first, she wore upon her arms and neck bands of solid gold, after the manner of the richer of the Bakoni, and her hair was gathered up from the scalp into a high cone as the Zulu women wear it.
“Who art thou, my sister?” said the King, not choosing to show the astonishment which even he felt.
“I am of the Bakoni, Great Great One. I am called Lalusini,” she answered in purest Zulu.
“Of the Bakoni? Lalusini? Hau! That is no name ever brought forth of the twisted tongues of those chattering dogs. It is a full ripe Zulu name, born of the race of the Heavens,” returned the King. “Say now, Lalusini. What wert thou among the Bakoni dogs whom we have stamped flat? A prisoner?”
“Yea and nay, Black Black One. I was the Queen of their múti.”
“Ha! Yet another magician! It seems that all the magicians in the world find their way, or are brought here: first old Masuka, then the white man—now this one,” said Umzilikazi. “Ha, Untúswa—thou magician-finder! How is it thou didst not find this one—thou who didst find the rest?”
I only made murmur, for I guessed that the King was mocking me. And the moment was in truth a trial as he went on—
“Say now, Queen of the Bakoni múti. How didst thou escape death or capture when my children stamped flat thy people?”
“By the name thou spakest just now, Black Elephant—Queen of the Bakoni múti, Now of what use is múti if it fails in the day of necessity?”
“Thy story I will yet hear,” answered the King. “Now say, Lalusini, knowest thou Untúswa?”
“Untúswa? I seem to have heard that name. Surely it was that of the King’s messenger, who with only one young man, and he unringed, did hold the Bakoni in defiance like a lion at bay.”
“And thou hast not beheld him since that day?”
“I think not, Great Great One—and that day only from afar did I behold him. Nay I saw him once at the council, and then nearer. He was a tall man, who carried a very large spear.”
“Look around, my sister, and tell me if he is here to-day,” said the King.
Lalusini looked first among such groups of warriors as were mustered around. Then she stepped over to the assemblage of izinduna among whom I sat, and looked long and earnestly. Umzilikazi, meanwhile, was watching her narrowly.
“I think that is the King’s messenger,” she said, gazing into my face. “He has the look of such a warrior as that one was.”
But before anything more could be said Nangeza sprang forward, and her eyes were glittering with hate, and in her voice was a snarl as that of a wild beast.
“She is the witch whom Untúswa saved from the slaughter, reserving her for himself. Look, O King! Now they pretend not to know each other,” shrieked Nangeza, darting her hand furiously forth as though it contained a weapon.
Now, Nkose, it was a dreadful moment for me, for at first there was dead silence. All were too amazed even to exclaim. I merely uttered a disdainful click, shaking my head. But Lalusini—she turned towards Nangeza, glanced her up and down, and laughed—laughed softly, musically. Then, waving her hands into the air, she began to sing, and the words were in the tongue of the Bakoni, which none there present understood. Yet her voice was musical and sweet, and in it there thrilled a mystery. All watched in silence as she moved her hands and feet to the measure of her chant. Since I understood this tongue, Nkose, I listened as though a great serpent were tightening its coils more and more around me, for her words were dark and full of a strange and terrifying mystery. Her song ceased.
“What dost thou seek here now, my sister?” softly said the King, for even he could not refuse to acknowledge the influence of her charm. “Is it to make múti among thine own people, having had enough of the Bakoni dogs whom we have eaten up?”
“I think there are enough who make such múti here, Black Elephant,” she answered. “Not for this have I come. I am here to save the Father of a new nation.”
“Hau!” we gasped, stricken well-nigh dumb, for the words were spoken slow and sad, and with weighty warning. None doubted but that they applied to a near attack on the part of our most to be dreaded enemies, and at once all men’s minds flew to the impis of Dingane advancing upon us in force—or, perhaps, the Amabuna, or even both in concert. Dismay was on every face, for we liked not to be thus taken by surprise. But upon that of Umzilikazi was a frown of terrible import, which meant badly for those from whose quarter the foe should first appear, they having failed to report it.
“Thy words are dark indeed,” he said. “Explain, sorceress, for time does not wait.”
But Lalusini, for reply, only returned a swift, silent glance. Then once more she burst into song, again in the Bakoni tongue. Her head was thrown back, and she seemed to be gazing at some momentous object invisible to us. She seemed to lose herself, to utterly forget our presence, as her voice rose wild and sweet and clear. Yes, indeed, there was a mystery in her song, and it seemed to me that the words had a very certain meaning; also that, all the while standing facing me as she was, her glance betimes met mine quickly, as in a flash, and with a purpose. It was, I felt, in her mind that I should mark her words and weigh them well. Thus they ran:—
“The Lion sinks
To the serpent’s fang;
The eagle drops
To the bowstring’s twang.
“Great is small;
Little is great;
Great ones fall
When the mean deal fate.
“The serpent’s coil
Hides the fangs of death;
A coil of blue
Veils the serpent’s breath.
“See the White Bull’s pride
O’er the Black Bull wave;
Now, the White Bull’s hide
May the Black Bull save.”
Whau, Nkose! Then was amazement my master—I its slave! The “coil of blue!” Such a blue-beaded girdle was that of Nangeza’s skirt, beside which she wore little else when summoned before the King. Upon this my eyes fixed themselves, only, however, to follow once more the meaning glance of Lalusini. And the King sat wondering, yet not understanding the múti song. And above his head, waving softly to and fro in the hand of its bearer, rose aloft the royal white shield. It was as the buzzing of bees within my ears that I heard the voice of the Great Great One.
“I have a mind to end this indaba,” he was saying. “Thou, Nangeza, hast a pestilent tongue and an evil heart; wherefore my servant Untúswa must seek a new wife, for thy place among us shall be empty. Take her hence. The alligators are hungry.”
“So, too, is Death, thou fool who art King!” yelled Nangeza. I saw her hand swift at her girdle. Something flashed through the air. It struck—struck hard and quivering—into the great white shield, which, quick as the movement, as the flash itself, I had snatched from the shield-bearer, and whirled down so as to cover the person of the King. It was one of those short, javelin-shaped arrows, such as were used by the mountain tribes, and sometimes among the Bakoni. And the point thereof was green and sticky with the most deadly of poisons.
That was a scene—the wild, quavering gasp of horror that went up from all who beheld! Nangeza, yelling, and biting like a wild beast, in the grasp of those who had seized her; myself, immovable as a stone, still holding the shield with the poisoned dart sticking through it—exactly as I flung it between the Great Great One and certain death. And the only two who were completely unconcerned were Lalusini and the King himself.
“Whau!” cried Umzilikazi, having taken a pinch of snuff. “I think that would have made me sneeze, Untúswa. See, the point was coming straight for my face, and it was flung hard—flung hard! Yet thou hast saved me from such a scratch, Untúswa—and it was well! Strange, too, that thou shouldst have been the one to do it, seeing that she was thine inkosikazi!”
There was suspicion in the tone—deadly suspicion—as the King sat looking at me with half-closed eyes, speaking softly withal.
“It is not strange, Father, seeing that I was the one who alone understood the Bakoni witch-song,” I replied.
“Ha! And what said that?”
“‘A coil of blue veils the serpent’s breath.’ Also, ‘Now the White Bull’s hide may the Black Bull save.’ And, indeed, was it not so, Black Bull, Whose horns gore not merely, but kill?” I said.
“This, then, was the warning thou wouldst have conveyed, thou strange sorceress,” said the King, pausing a moment, while shouts of amazement and of konza went up from all. “Verily, thy múti is great. But of this witch first. The alligators are hungry; but their teeth are not sharp enough for such royal prey as this. The stake of impalement is a still sharper tooth. Away with her! Yet for the alligators we will find some meat. It seems that Untúswa’s wives are of a bad disposition—at any rate, after dwelling side by side with yonder witch, they will have drunk in some of her evil mind. Let them, therefore, be taken to the alligators.”
Now, Nkose, my heart was sad, for I loved my two younger wives, who were ever laughing and pleasant, and needed not to be told twice to do a thing. But these, as the slayers sprang forward to drag them forth to the terrible pool of death, flung themselves on the ground weeping.
“Spare us, Father!” howled Fumana. “She who has done evil is nothing to us.”
“We only live by the light of the King’s presence,” groaned Nxope.
“Spare us, Great Great One!” wept Fumana.
“We are only weak women, and fear the dreadful death, O Elephant who art strong!” screamed Nxope.
“Peace, witches!” said the King. “Well, Untúswa! And thou! What hast thou to say? Do not these deserve to die?”
That was something of a question, Nkose; and one which it might cost a man his life to hesitate in answering. For did I not at once agree, after what had happened, the people would howl for my death, as being privy to the bold attempt upon the King’s life, just made by my chief wife; and I suspected the question was put to try me. Yet I was fond of these two women, who had always done well by me; nor did I ever err on the side of timidity in those days. So I made answer—
“I think these two are innocent of the other’s evil-doing, Great Great One. The wisdom of the King is great, and his justice is terrible. Yet I would crave the boon of their lives; for I have never known them do or think harm. So, too, shall I be left without wives at all, if these are taken from me.”
“New wives shall be found for thee, Untúswa—and better than the old ones,” answered Umzilikazi, half in mockery. “Ha! I think thou keepest thy wives too long. Whau! A bowl of tywala, when fresh, is needful and pleasant; but if kept too long, it grows sour and unwholesome, even harmful, and is only fit to be thrown away. So it is with a woman. But thou, sister, whose múti is great enough to discover serpent’s fangs beneath a witch’s girdle—what sayest thou? Is it well that these two should live?”
I looked at Lalusini and saw that her eyes were full of pity for these two horribly frightened women crouching there before the King, and then I knew that her heart was not dark and fierce as that of Nangeza, else had they certainly been dead.
“I think it well they should live, Great Great One, for they are innocent of the other’s ill-doing,” she answered.
“Ha! sayest thou so? Well, I give ye your lives, ye two. Begone! For the other, it seems that the stake is long in making ready.”
This dreadful form of death, remember, being seldom used amongst us, some time must elapse while its instrument was preparing. Meanwhile, all crying aloud in praise of the King’s mercy and justice, Nangeza seized the opportunity of wrenching herself from the grasp of those who held her, and before any could stay her—so lithe and active was she—she was darting across the plain in leaps and bounds, fleeing with the speed of a buck.
“To the alligators!” she cried, laughing wildly. “The alligators are hungry. They must be fed! They must be fed!”
The ground was open, the way but short. Before any could come up with her she had gained the brink of the cliff overhanging the pool. She turned and stood facing us, and there, in sight of all, shrieked out a last curse upon the King, upon me, and upon the whole nation; then, just as the foremost of the pursuers sprang to seize her, she flung herself backward from the brink. There was a loud splash, but no cry, and they who hurried to look declared that the water was lashed into a red-and-white foam, as the ravenous monsters rushed upon their prey, rending it limb from limb in a moment; and, indeed, though this is a hideous death enough, it is but a mere passing pang when compared with the black, lingering agony of the stake of impalement.
Thus died Nangeza, my inkosikazi, she whom I had stolen from the isigodhlo in times past, and in doing so had thrust my head deep within the red jaws of death. Now she died thus, brave, fierce, defiant to the last; and, Nkose—I think it was about time she did.
“Praise on now, ye izimbonga, shout aloud, my children,” said the King, “for we are rid of a most pestilent witch, even though Untúswa has lost his inkosikazi. Well, what matter? We can find him a new one. Look, Untúswa. This stranger is fair. Will she not make a noble substitute for the evildoer who sleeps yonder beneath the water?”
Now, Nkose, my heart leaped within me at the words; yet I did not like the tone, for I could see that the King was mocking me, and I suspected a trap; for Umzilikazi’s ways were dark at times, and of late his suspicions, in one direction or the other, were seldom at rest. Still, I answered, as was my wont, boldly—
“She would indeed, Father. Is this, then, the ‘word’ of the Lion to the lion-cub?”
All gazed silently and in wonder at my boldness, for none doubted but that this beautiful stranger should reign queen in the isigodhlo.
“Ah, ah, Untúswa,” mocked the King. “Know you not that she is a sorceress, and such can wed with none? Yet, it is a pity—a pity,” he added, gazing longingly at the beauty of Lalusini, who stood with a half smile on her lips, looking down at us as though we were a couple of children discussing our games. Indeed, there were not wanting some who thought, that, noble and stately as the King’s presence was, the aspect of this strange woman was the more royal of the two.
Now, Umzilikazi took up the great white shield, and began examining the little hole, or rather slit, made by the poisoned dart, murmuring softly to himself the while. Then, carefully, he picked up the little weapon itself, which I had immediately plucked from the royal shield, and flung down in disgust. An idea seemed to strike him.
“See, Untúswa, here is a great múti shield,” he said. “It will make a fitting mate to the dark-handled umkonto. And as it has once stood between my life and treason, so may it always. Take it, Untúswa, my shield-bearer. It will be seen afar in the line of battle, when the meat stands ready to the teeth of the lion-cubs. Take it, Untúswa. It is thine.”
Speaking thick and fast the words of bonga, I bent down and received this great gift from the hand of the King. It was a splendid bull-hide shield, of pure white, and not bound with black facings, as was the way with those borne by the royal guard. It was a royal shield, and of the royal colour, and was tufted with the tail-tuft of a bull, also pure white. And now I held two royal gifts: the King’s Assegai, and the great white shield of the King. And since I had held the first naught but success had been mine. What would not follow upon the possession of the last?
The arrow which Nangeza had thrown we examined also. It was larger somewhat than those usually shot by the mountain tribes, and looked as though it had been made for this purpose. The point, too, was thick and green with an ugly poison, which was not all snake-poison, but a mixture of such with something of the nature of distilled herbs. Now, from whom had she obtained that secret? Then the King and I put our heads together, and whispered, and some of the royal guard bounded forth, to return immediately, dragging two men whom we knew to be of our own izanusi; yet not altogether, for they were of a lower class, who assisted our witch-doctors without being altogether of them. They were not our own people, both being of the Bapedi, and as they were brought before the presence, their knees knocked together, and their eyes protruded with fear.
“Take that arrow, ye dogs who are no izanusi, but cheats,” said the King. “Now touch each other with the point thereof.”
“We are but dust beneath the feet of the King,” whined one, yet not obeying.
“To do this is death, Great Great One,” moaned the other.
“Ha! And do ye hesitate? Who hesitates to face death at the word of the King? And if it is death for most men, ye jackals, is not your múti strong enough to render this of no avail? I speak not twice.”
So these two grasped the arrow—first one, then the other—and obeyed the King’s word. And we, bending forward, watched them keenly and with joy; for we hated these crawling snakes of izanusi, who would have made of themselves, King, army, nation, all rolled into one. And we took care that there was no trickery in what they now did. So it happened that not long after they had pricked each other with the arrow they grew heavy and sleepy, and soon rolled over dead, and frothing at the mouth. For Umzilikazi judged that these two had supplied Nangeza with the poison, and there was nothing he loved so much as making the evil which one had prepared for another the manner whereby that one himself should fall.
“Now talk we of Kwelanga,” he said, when the bodies had been removed. “Thou, Lalusini, will the little one ever return to us?”
“They who wander abroad by night without weapons of defence run great danger, O Elephant,” she replied. “When such are but little children, what chance have they?”
“Yet the witch who is gone accused thee of a hand in her disappearance?”
“Then did she lie, Great Great One,” answered Lalusini softly. “No part did I bear in this. Yet one thing my serpent tells me. Not for ill was this child of the sunshine saved from reddening the Amandebeli spears what time the other children of the Amabuna perished thereby. Wherefore, when her voice again shall be heard, neglect it not, lest a nation be a nation no more. Lo, it groweth dark and all things are night! I hear the sound of a trampling of feet, of the quiver of spears as the forest boughs in a gale, the clash and roar of hosts in battle, the song of victory!”
“And to whom the victory, my sister?” said the King.
Lalusini turned wonderingly at the voice and passed her hand once or twice over her brow. Her eyes came back to earth again, and she seemed as one who has but awakened from a long, deep sleep. And we who beheld it were stricken with awe, for we knew that the sorceress had parted with her spirit for a time; and this, soaring away through the fields of space and of the future, had beheld that to which her lips had given utterance, and, indeed, a great deal more to which they had not. And now, her vision ended, it; was not within her power to reply to the King’s question.
“Get thee gone now, and rest, my sister, for I perceive that thy powers are great,” said Umzilikazi with a wave of the hand. And at the signal, some of the women who hung upon the outskirts of the crowd, came forward to lead the stranger to a large new hut which had been prepared for her reception.
When the assembly of the people had dispersed, the King and I still lingered talking over these matters.
“Is it for good or for ill she has come among us, Untúswa?” he said.
“For good, Great Great One.”
“Ha! So thou ever sayest. Yet her prophecy as regarded the little one was strange.”
“Strange it was, Black Elephant, but it was not lightly spoken.”
“She is a greater magician than this white man, for no such saying, light or dark, did he ever utter concerning us.”
“That is true, Father. Yet he is a good man.”
“And the sayings of that witch who was thy chief wife, Untúswa. They, too, were strange.”
“Whau! They were the ravings of a jealous and evil-tongued woman, Calf of a Black Bull. But now I am without a chief wife, give me, I pray thee, this sorceress, Father, for there is that about her which I love, O Stabber of the Sun.”
“So, so!” said Umzilikazi, laughing softly, and there was a look on his face which brought back the days when I, being a boy, desired leave to tunga. “So, so, Untúswa? She would make a noble substitute for thy dead witch? Ha! Yet be content, thou holder of the royal spear and the royal shield.”
There was that in the words—in the look—as the King dismissed me which left an uncomfortable load upon my mind; and, indeed, I felt as though I had acted like a fool.
Now, as I returned to the huts I occupied when at Kwa’zingwenya upon the King’s business, my two younger wives came about me with words of love and thankfulness, because my voice had been raised on their behalf when they were adjudged to die the death which had overtaken Nangeza. Yet for these I had no ears and but little patience, for my mind was filled with the Bakoni sorceress. Moreover, I now foresaw strife between these two; for, Nangeza being gone, these would not rest until one or other of them had taken her place, nor would they suffer me to rest—for so it is with women: each must always be the greater. So I answered them but shortly, bidding them gather up their possessions and start back at once to my kraal—happy that they could go back well and strong in the flesh, and not as weeping ghosts whose bodies were dead moaning over the ashes of their former home. But for my part I chose to remain at Kwa’zingwenya for a space, for I feared lest Lalusini should escape me again. Yet was I as powerless with regard to her as the lowest of our Amaholi; for was not her life the property of the King, even as the lives of all of us? Truly within the nation I was great. Yet did my will cross that of the King and—Au! where is the smoke of yesterday’s fire?
Thinking such thoughts, I was wandering at eventide between the great kraal and the river when I came upon old Masuka gathering herbs.
“Greeting, thou holder of the royal spear and the royal shield,” said the old man, looking at me sideways, like a bird, out of his bright eyes. Again I felt uneasy, for his words were exactly those which the King had uttered—his tone mocking and ill-omened.
“Greeting, my father,” I answered, trying to seem unconcerned. “Now we have yet another magician among us—this time a female one.”
“That is so, Untúswa. Ah, ah! what was my ‘word’ to thee? ‘The she-eagle will return and—the alligators shall be fed.’ Did I lie in that?”
“Not so, my father. Truth was there in the word, for it has been shown this day.”
“Your black cow has given good milk, my son. Whau, Untúswa! You should be an isanusi yourself, who did so readily read the way of the Bakoni witch-song. But now great things are to come upon us—upon you: yes—strange things.”
“What is the strangest thing which is to come upon me, my father?” I said, again seeking to pry into the future.
“Ha! The place of the Three Rifts,” he answered, darkly.
“But I know not such a place, my father.”
“Thou wilt know it, Untúswa; thou wilt know it—one day.”
No more would the old man tell, and so I left him, pondering greatly over these things as I went. And it seemed to me that the air was dark with sorcery and magic, and that snares lay spread all around, lurking for the steps of him who should tread unwarily; and, indeed, this was so, for the old Mosutu’s foresight was no mere empty frothing, but of portentous weight, as, indeed, were all his utterances.
While these things were in progress, Nkose, the white priest was absent from Kwa’zingwenya; for since the day of his interference at the Pool of the Alligators, the King chose, when possible, to find some pretext for removing him to a distance what time evil-doers were to die the death. For if the stranger were again to interfere, he, too, must die, for it would be impossible to overlook such rebellion a second time, even from a white man. Now, Umzilikazi did not desire his death, wherefore he would direct that some should lure the stranger to a distant kraal, on the pretence that certain people there were eager to listen to his teaching, all in accordance with the crafty scheme which had kept him from pursuing his journey to the south, and rendered him content to remain among us. And, no matter what the weather, no matter how great his own fatigue, upon receiving such a call, the white priest would start immediately, through heat or cold or storm, though the rivers were in flood or sickness lurked in the low-lying swamps. So it had been in this instance; and not until several days had gone by since the death of Nangeza did he return, weary with travel, and sad that his teachings should be of so small avail.
But very much more sad was he on learning of the disappearance of Kwelanga, and he wept, that white isanusi; for he loved the little one, who, after all, was of his own colour, the only one of such among us. And he, like ourselves, doubted not but that she had been slain and devoured by wild beasts. Yet, loudly did he give thanks to the King who had permitted him to perform the water-rite over her; since by this, he said, though her body were dead, her spirit should live in happiness forever. And we, hearing these words, glanced at one another with meaning. Did they not accord with Lalusini’s saying, that again should Kwelanga’s voice be heard, though with a warning, forasmuch that not for ill had we saved her alive when all others were slain?
Now, although this white priest had declared in a friendly manner towards old Masuka, and, indeed, showed no enmity towards our own izanusi, his mind seemed evil towards Lalusini. Her he could never be brought to regard with over-great friendliness, but yet was guarded in his utterances; and, while he looked upon her coldly, said naught against her. But she, for her part, in nowise seemed to return his manner, for she ever spake softly and kindly to him—even as she did to all—but in a way as though she herself were too great to feel enmity or ill-will to such small things as those around her. And this, indeed, was partly true.
Now, time went by, and of Lalusini I saw nothing, nor could I find opportunity of speaking with her alone. I was greatly troubled in mind, too; for I thought the King desired her—he who cared not usually about women—and my days were heavy and my dreams dark.
We were seated alone, the King and I. We had been talking over many things, as our way was; for Umzilikazi seemed to trust me more and more, till it was whispered that I had become the most powerful man in the nation, young as I was—more powerful than Mcumbete, the chief induna, or even than Kalipe, the commander of the army. As we sat thus, the King said—
“It seems to me, son of Ntelani, that we have sorcerers enough and to spare. Now this one which came last among us is one too many. Wherefore, as she is young and well-favoured, I will take her to wife, so shall she practise sorcery no more.”
Here was a dark curtain for my eyes—I, who loved Lalusini. But I only answered that it was good—that the small wishes of the King were the great ones of his children.
“That is well said, Untúswa! Go now, and bring hither this sorceress, that she may learn to what great end she was born.”
I saluted, and, going forth, proceeded straight to Lalusini’s hut, sending in women to tell her the Great Great One desired speech with her. Then I returned to the King, fearing to be alone with Lalusini, lest I should by word or look betray myself—betray us both. And as I went I remembered her words, spoken first in the hiding-place up yonder, on the mountain of death: “There is that by which even Umzilikazi dare not wed me.” What was behind this saying? For a matter which should come between the King and his will must indeed be weighty—nothing less than one of life or death.
Lalusini stood before the King, royal in the stately splendour of her beauty; her large eyes smiling down upon him as she uttered the Bayéte in a voice like the murmuring of trees, yet not bending over much.
“Whau! It shall be so!” I heard him mutter, after gazing at her for a short space in silence and admiration.
“Hearken, my sister!” he said aloud. “Among this people there are sorcerers and diviners enough already. And now thou art another of them—yet thy múti is great.”
“Would the King sit here to-day, but for that múti?” she answered. “Here or on a darker seat? Yet it matters not that I should wander again if I am to find no resting-place among this people. Still, there are others.”
“That is not my mind, thou who art from nowhere,” said Umzilikazi. “Thou art indeed fair and goodly enough for a queen—and a queen thou shalt be. Thou shalt be at the head of the isigodhlo, and the delight of a King.”
Now my eyes were fixed upon the face of Lalusini; but over it came no change.
“That cannot be, Great Great One!” she answered.
“Cannot be? Ha!” cried Umzilikazi, gazing at her in displeasure and amazement. “Are, then, the wishes of a King to be uttered twice?”
“Thou art all-powerful, O Black Elephant,” she said. “The elephant may rend down forest-trees and loosen rocks with his might. Yet even he cannot walk against a broad river in flood. There is a law which is greater than even the wishes of the mightiest of kings.”
“What meanest thou, my sister?” said Umzilikazi, in a low but terrible voice.
“Thou doest well to call me thus, son of Matyobane; for within me runs the blood of Matyobane.”
“Ha!”
So great was his astonishment that for a space, save that one amazed gasp, no word could the King utter. Now stood revealed the meaning of that saying of hers; for, Nkose, so strict is this custom among us Amazulu, that no man may take to wife any girl within whose veins runs a drop of his own blood, or, indeed, as to whom exists the barest suspicion that such may be the case. Wherefore, in declaring herself to be of the blood of Umzilikazi’s father, Lalusini knew that even the King himself dare not take her to wife; nor, indeed, would he desire to, once convinced of the truth of her words.
“Is this indeed so?” he said at last, frowning suspiciously, for a king likes not to be balked in the desire of his heart, be the reason never so good.
“Say, then, who was thy father?”
“First look at me; Great Great One. Are we not of a royal tree, we in whom runs the same blood?”
Now the King started slightly, and I, too, marking that royal stamp which rested upon Lalusini, saw for the first time a certain degree of likeness between them.
“Of my father I cannot speak,” she went on. “My mother was Laliwa, sister of Matyobane.”
“Au!”
“A wonder!” broke from myself and the King at once. For she had named one of the inferior wives of Tshaka the Terrible. Well might we cry out in amazement. This strange beautiful woman, this sorceress of the Bakoni, whose witcheries had inspired both of us with love for her, was of the royal house of Senzangakona, was the daughter of that mighty king, the terror of whose name spread as far as it was known—and even among ourselves—the great Tshaka, from whom we had revolted and fled. Truly indeed had she spoken when saying that she came of a stock greater than that of Umzilikazi.
“Wonderful things have we heard to-day,” said the King. Then jestingly: “Say, daughter of the Lion whose roar is now silent! Here is a valiant fighter, my war-captain and councillor, Untúswa. Wouldst thou not wed with such, the gates of the isigodhlo being now closed?”
Lalusini turned her eyes full upon me for the first time, and the glance expressed amusement, yet beneath it I could discern something more.
“Did I mate with any, it would indeed be with such a warrior,” she said. “But this is not the day for thoughts of such things, O son of Matyobane, for great events are maturing.”
“And these events—are they for good or for ill?” said Umzilikazi.
“For good or for ill? Ha! There is a darkness over the earth, yet not the darkness of night. Lo, I see the world beneath the glow of the full moon, and it is bright as noonday, though softer. And now it is dark, and the face of the moon is wrapped in blackness until it shines forth once more. Then beware, King and founder of a new nation; for the scream of the vultures is borne upon the winds from afar, crying that a banquet awaits—yes, a banquet awaits!”
Now, Lalusini had sunk back into the state of one who dreams, and when she awakened, returning as it were to earth once more, she seemed not to know what words she had uttered, or, indeed, if she had uttered any. But the King and I forgot them not, and often afterwards did we talk them over together.
Now Lalusini began to sing in a strange, far-distant tone, and low, but the words were in the Bakoni tongue, and were mysterious enough even to me. And the song was of a shield, and seemed to tell of battle and of blood.
“See, Great Great One,” she cried, ceasing, and pointing to the white shield which the King had given me. “He who bears yonder shield must not part from it, even for a space, until after the blackness of the moon. Then it may be that he will part with it forever—yet not.”
Her words were dark now, yet, in the fulness of time, were they to be made plain enough. But the King, dissatisfied, pressed for an explanation.
“Seek not to look into the mysteries of my magic, son of Matyobane,” she replied, utterly fearless, “for to do so is to render them evil.”
“And I fear not such. No dread do I stand in of the sorcery of any. Ask now, my sister—where is Isilwane, once head of the izanusi? Where Notalwa—and others?” said Umzilikazi, frowning.
“Yet, let will be. Say, Calf of a Black Bull—was my múti for good or for ill, that guided the shield now borne by Untúswa? The magic of the Bakoni is as superior to that of the Amazulu as the might in battle of these last is to that of the peoples they have made an end of.”
“What now is thy story, my sister?” said the King, leaving that question. And some of her story Lalusini gave us then and there—how that she alone of all his children would Tshakathe Mighty recognise, even if there were any others who were not slain, for that King desired not children, lest, growing up, they should plot against him and depose him. Lalusini, however, he destined to some great though hidden end, and caused the land far and wide to be searched for those who could teach her the deeper and most hidden mysteries of their magic. Then it befell that the two brothers of Tshaka—Dingane and Mhlangana—rose up against the Great One and slew him, and Lalusini with her mother, Laliwa, and some others, fled afar to escape the death of the spear, and after many wanderings and perils reached the land of the Bakoni, which they deemed remote enough from Dingane. Here Tauane, the chief of that people, would have wedded her, but she would have none of him or his plans.
“Au! that dog who is burnt!” cried Umzilikazi. “I would he were here again, that I might make him once more taste fire. Au! A dog, to think to blend the branches of the royal stem of Senzangakona with the rank weeds of his jackal tribe.”
“Not to no purpose had I learned the magic of the wise,” went on Lalusini. “I divined your coming, Great Great One; yes, long before Untúswa’s first embassy appeared in the land, and I welcomed it. Nothing of it did I say in warning to Tauane and the People of the Blue Coloured Cattle, save darkly, and, as it were, in jest. And they mocked.”
“If you welcomed our coming, my sister, why didst thou disappear into air for a space thereafter?” said Umzilikazi cunningly.
“Ha! no evil lay behind that, son of Matyobane. Can two bulls of equal size dwell in one kraal? Yet Zululand is now just such a kraal, having two kings, Dingane and Mhlangana. Yet it should have but one.”
“Hau!” cried the King. “Should that one be Dingane?”
“Not Dingane should it be, Elephant of the Amandebeli,” she replied.
“Mhlangana, then?”
“Not Mhlangana, Great Great One in whom flows the blood of my mother.”
“Ha! Who, then, Queen of the Bakoni múti?”
“Umzilikazi, the son of Matyobane.”
“Ha!” broke from us both at the surpassing boldness of this declaration; and for some moments we sat staring in silence at this wonderful woman. Then the King took snuff, and, as he did so, I well knew what was passing in his mind. For, had but another regiment or two cleaved to us, what time the Amandebeli and we of the Umtetwa tribe, and others, fled from Zululand, no flight need we have made at all. We would have marched to Dukuza, and eaten up the whole usurping House of Senzangakona. Ofttimes had the King thus talked to me since; sorrowing even now, when it was too late, that the opportunity should have been allowed to pass. And now this woman—this sorceress of a strange tribe, yet claiming mighty descent—came thus to hold before Umzilikazi’s gaze a vision of such power as, even in the fulness of his might, the great Tshaka had never wielded. To combine the warrior strength of our nation with that of the parent stock of Zululand! Whau! there was a destiny! We should rule the world itself with such a power behind us. No wonder a strange light gleamed in the eyes of the King as they beheld such a vision.
“And how shall this be brought about, Lalusini?” he said; more to say something than because uncertain as to what her reply would be.
“What nation can konza to two kings?” she answered. “Sooner or later its choice must be made. One or both must fall. Then is the time for him who was born to be great.”
“And if but one fall?”
“Then let the other follow, and speedily. Ha! who would be great and run no risks! There are many in Zululand yet—many who are still young, as well as others—who remember how the son of Matyobane led them in battle. Many who, sitting in their huts at night, whisper, with their hands to their mouths, the name of Umzilikazi. For the foot of those of the House of Senzangakona treads heavily.”
“And how know you all this, my sister?” said the King, looking sharply at her.
“Wherefore did I disappear into air for a space?” was her reply, with just a shade of meaning, quoting Umzilikazi’s words.
“Ha! And when the House of Senzangakona is overthrown, what wilt thou, Lalusini, thou who art of that house thyself?”
“Revenge!”
“Revenge? For the death of the Black One who begat thee?” said Umzilikazi.
“Revenge!—and one other thing, and this the King will not refuse?”
“And that is—?”
“The time to declare it is not yet, Great Great One.”