Kitabı oku: «The White Shield», sayfa 8

“Welcome, great hunter,” she said mockingly. “And, where is the game?”

“I have none,” I answered shortly, for I was in no humour to be worried by this woman’s evil temper.

“None?” she echoed. “Yet there are blood spots about thee, Untúswa.”

There were. In dragging the buck down through the hole into Lalusini’s hiding-place I had become smeared with blood, and this I had forgotten to wash away.

“I slew but two small bucks,” I said. “One I ate in the middle of the day. The other I gave to old Masuka.”

“Didst thou take it to him in the isigodhlo, Untúswa? For there has the old Mosutu been since the sun was at its highest, and is there still. Yet I saw thee from far off over the plain, and certainly thou hast not been to the isigodhlo, which is far beyond this house,” she answered; and her tones were jeering, and her eyes shone with evil fire, as those of a snake.

“Enough!” I cried. “Enough of this!” And, bending down to the side of the hut, I took up a stick, and advanced towards her; for I was furious. “I have never beaten thee, Nangeza, but hadst thou belonged to any other man, I think by this time not a whole bone would remain within thee. Now, of thine evil temper have I had more than enough; also of thy tongue.”

She retreated back as far as she could to the side of the hut – her eyes flashing, her lips drawn back from her gums, like those of a wild beast. But it was time to put a stop to this, or soon the second fighting commander of the King’s army would be under the command of a woman.

“Beware, Untúswa!” she snarled. “Beware! I made thee! Yea, I! And I will unmake thee!”

“Whau! if any one made me, it was not thou, but the King, and old Masuka, perhaps.” And then, as I saw her looking around for a weapon, I – well, I gave her no opportunity of either finding one or losing one; and, I think, Nkose, my inkosikazi went to sleep that night feeling as though she had been rolled down the rocky side of a very high mountain; while I went to the huts of my two other wives, and we spent a great part of that night in singing, and jests, and laughter. But the fault lay with Nangeza’s evil and inquisitive temper; and, more still, with her attempts to rule me, as though I were the woman and she the induna of the King. Wherefore, from the intolerable weariness which she had put upon me, I sought the company of my other wives, that they might cheer and amuse me, which, indeed, they were very glad to do.

Now, on the morrow, Nangeza went and complained to the King as to the punishment I had given her; but she might have spared herself the trouble, for Umzilikazi only mocked her, telling her that she was fortunate indeed in having to deal with me, and that warriors were not to be ruled by women, but the other way round. Then he bade them drive her from his presence. And afterwards he would often laugh with me about this matter; but from that day Nangeza hated me with a surpassing hatred, and set herself to work to bring about my ruin and downfall by some method or other, even though it should cost her her life.

Chapter Thirteen.
“The Place of the Alligators.”

During this while, since we had “eaten up” the Bakoni, we had been living in hastily run up huts. Many, indeed, had not even these, but lived and slept in the open. But now the King gave orders that we should remove a day’s march further, and there build a large kraal.

The site of this was a pleasant open plain, well grassed, and sprinkled with mimosa and other bush, and watered by a good-sized river.

The slaves and women were set to work; also the young regiments; the great circles were marked out, and in a few days there stood a noble kraal, built on the Zulu plan; the great open space ringed in by a double thorn-fence as high as a man’s head, between which stood the rows of round-topped huts, and the isigodhlo, or royal enclosure, at the upper end, partitioned off by a fence of fine woven grass. This kraal was of greater size than Ekupumuleni, and the surroundings far pleasanter, for there was abundance of grass, well watered by streams which never ran dry; and the rolling plains and dark forest belts were swarming with game. The river, too, was plentiful with sea-cows and alligators, which last the King would not allow any man to kill; so that they soon increased in numbers and boldness to an alarming extent; indeed, from this it was that our new kraal took its name, for it was called Kwa’zingwenya, “the Place of Alligators.” And when it was completed there was great dancing and singing, and the slaughter of cattle and general feasting, for here we intended to make our home, at any rate for a long time to come.

Now there was another reason why the place should have been named as it was. It happened one day that the King was strolling along the river bank, I being in attendance on him, when we came upon the high brow of a cliff falling sheer down into a deep, still pool. As we looked over we beheld several small dark objects floating upon the surface of the water. They were the heads and noses of alligators.

“Ha!” cried the King. “I have an idea, Untúswa, and I think it is not a bad one.” Then, turning round, he called to a boy who was herding calves not far off. The lad drew near, and, seeing who had called him, his knees began to tremble and his eyes to start from his head in his terror and awe of the Great Great One. He prostrated himself to the ground, and his tongue nearly clove to his mouth as he stuttered the Bayéte.

“Rise up, child,” said the King, “and go quickly and bring hither yonder calves. Delay not – yet stay; call those within sight to help thee.”

The lad sped away, and soon, in obedience to his calls, about a dozen other boys came up, and, making a half-circle, drove the entire herd, to the number of about twenty well-grown calves, up to where we were standing, the King and I, leaning upon our sticks.

“Make them leap,” said Umzilikazi. “Make them leap.”

But this was not so easy, for the calves were big, and, their instincts of danger warning them, they all bunched together, nor would they suffer themselves to be driven to the edge of the cliff, notwithstanding the yells and sticks of the boys who strove to drive them; and, indeed, I myself had to seize two of them and drag them to the brink, and even then I only pushed them over at the greatest risk of falling after them myself. Then the whole herd followed with a mighty splash, which echoed like thunder from the face of the rock.

The splash subsided, the surface was dotted with the heads of the animals swimming for the other side; and then the pool was in a boil, and the calves, swimming quietly before, heaved themselves up in the water with frantic bellowing as the alligators rose to seize them. They were dragged under wildly, to reappear again but for a moment, and soon the surface was dyed red, and the tranquil water lashed into foam; and the wild bellowings of anguish mingled with the snap, snap of bony jaws, followed by a hideous crunch; and as the long, grim, ugly bodies turned with their struggling prey, we could see that these alligators were of enormous size. It was over at last, save here and there a livid head, or a mangled quarter, or other fragment floating on the surface; but the shakings of the water, and the long strings of red bubbles which came streaming up, showed that the hideous brutes beneath were tearing and devouring their welcome, though unexpected, prey.

“Hau!” cried the King. “That was a good thought of mine. Now we have a new way of disposing of evil-doers, Untúswa. Not long have the alligators taken to dispose of twenty large and well-grown calves; not long would they take to dispose of a man, or of twenty men. In truth, it was a great idea!”

To this I agreed, of course. But, looking into that horrid pool and its bloody surface, where even now two or three of the alligators were reappearing, turning their eyes upward as though looking for more, I thought of the secreted captive and the hiding-place away on the mountain, and wondered if my death would come to me down in that horrible hole; and the thought, Nkose, was not a nice one.

“Go now, children,” said the King, waving away the staring and terrified boys; and go they did, for I believe they thought they were to be thrown in after the calves. “The idea is great; yes – great!” continued Umzilikazi, in high good humour, as we walked back. “They shall be kept there, those alligators, and from time to time I doubt not but we shall find them some food.”

During this time, Nkose, I have neglected to speak of my father, Ntelani. Him the King had still suffered to live – I think, because he desired to spare two such brave fighters as Mgwali and myself the disgrace of being henceforth the sons of nobody; for had our father died the death of a convicted traitor we could never more have been known as his sons. But, though his life was spared, Ntelani was adjudged to spend it in a state of banishment. He was allowed to erect a small kraal, and here with such of his wives as chose to cleave unto him, and just enough cattle to keep him and them alive – but only just – he dwelt, soon sinking into a state of premature old age and foolishness. Indeed, he passed out of the life of the nation, and his voice from its councils.

Once settled in our new country, the King lost no time in establishing cattle outposts and military kraals, of which latter I was appointed administrator, being held responsible for their order and efficiency. We fighting indunas, too, were required to form new regiments, levying upon the youth of the nation at a far earlier age than had hitherto been customary among us; but our losses during our wars were beginning to form a serious gap, and the King preferred, where possible, to recruit our fighting strength among our own blood, rather than among that of our miserable, poor-spirited slaves. But these youths made up in martial ardour what they lacked in years, for they were continually worrying the Great Great One, through us izinduna, to allow them to go forth – it mattered not where – and wet their spears. But Umzilikazi would dismiss them, laughing, and bidding them be patient; yet at their importunity he was not ill-pleased. However, they little knew there should shortly befall that which would give all their fiery mettle as much outlet as it could take care of.

Just then I was very busy, travelling from kraal to kraal, inspecting, and, at times, reviewing, the regiments, numbering the cattle and possessions of the King and the nation – for here, in this land, we intended to dwell, and already the women – who preferred peace and plenty to wandering and war – were making the land re-echo with their songs of gladness, as they laid out new gardens for their corn and melons, and daily saw the cattle milked at the same place. And the chiefs and heads of other tribes – learning of the fate which had overwhelmed Tauana and the Bakoni – hastened to come in and konza to Umzilikazi, realising that the tread of the Black Elephant of the Amandebeli stamped far, and that from it there was no escape.

It happened that I was returning from one of my rounds to make my report to the Great Great One. The morning was yet young; indeed, the sun had only just risen, and the forest path along which we travelled – I and Mgwali, who accompanied me – was bright with a golden network of sunshine through the leaves, and joyous with the song and whistle of birds and the chatter of monkeys. We were drawing near a pile of rocks, overhung with forest trees and trailers. Suddenly, my brother, who was walking behind me, touched my elbow.

“Do you hear nothing, son of my father?” he whispered.

I listened long and hard. I was about to reply, “Nothing,” when I heard the sound as of a voice – the voice of a man murmuring – even as the voice of one of our izanusi engaged in making múti. Now, there were caves in those rocks, Nkose, caves which were not unassociated among ourselves with tagati; wherefore, with the instinct of a warrior in the presence of evil, I gripped my broad assegai, and stole silently forward, eager to see through this mystery – if mystery there was – Mgwali pressing close behind me. The murmuring of the voice sounded plainer now; then we heard a low musical tinkling, as of the ringing of a bell.

Whau! Here was a strange thing. What could such sounds mean, here among the rocks and caves? The voice, too, was murmuring in a strange language; soft, though not so soft as ours, yet immeasurably softer than the croaking tongues of those inferior peoples which we had destroyed or enslaved. Stealthily we drew nearer, and, peering out through the trees, this is what we saw.

A great slab of rock out-hung from the cliff, forming a shallow cave. In the mouth of this a man was standing, his back towards us. He was clothed in a great cloak, red in colour, and bearing a broad crossed bar down its entire length, while showing below it was a long white garment which seemed to cover him from neck to foot. His movements called to our mind those of our own izanusi when sacrificing cattle to the ghosts of our fathers on solemn occasions; yet not. But this could be no isanusi, for he was a white man! Still he must be an isanusi of some sort, for he was undoubtedly engaged in offering sacrifice. In front of him and further in the cave was a great block of stone or a ledge in the rock formation – we could not determine which – and upon it were two little pillars tipped with flame. Moreover, upon this the man’s words and actions seemed centred, for upon it was something else, which from there we could not see. But here, if possible, was a more surprising thing. Behind him, bending low, knelt another man – a dark man, one of ourselves, and of the same race, for he wore the ring upon his head, and his other adornments were as ours. He, too, seemed in some way to be assisting the other, for his movements were much the same, and a few words would now and again drop from him as though in reply to the one who was sacrificing. Hau! it was wonderful! In rigid wonder we stared, not knowing what was to come next.

But a dead silence had fallen upon these two now, and the murmuring had ceased. Then the tinkling of the bell rang out once more, and the isanusi in the red cloak, having bent low, straightened himself up, raising both hands high overhead, and in his hands there flashed forth a Something – a Something upon which a ray of the newly-risen sun now glinted with dazzling whiteness. And the man behind – the black man – bent prone as one dead – even as a man might lie who awaits the sentence of the Great Great One himself.

Whau, Nkose! I know not how it was, but something seemed to cloud the brain of Mgwali and myself, binding us to the spot, staring at this strange and marvellous mystery, so unlike aught we had ever beheld before. We watched, confused by what followed, but of it we have but small recollection, save of one thing. The white isanusi turned full towards us, more than once, still murmuring, and, while we shrank in dread lest he should be putting upon us the spell of his múti, we took note of his face and that keenly. It was the face of a white man, very dark and burned as though by many suns; but it was a strong face, that of a man to whom, we could see at a glance, fear was unknown. The eyes were black and piercing as those of an eagle, and a long, thick beard fell low upon the breast, its dark masses plentifully streaked with grey.

We stood watching this marvellous performance, we two fearless and armed warriors, and yet there was that in it which laid upon us a kind of awe. At length it came to an end. Then we saw the white man extinguish the fire upon his stone of sacrifice and wrap up carefully in coverings such things as had been upon it. But our astonishment was greatest when we watched him take off his outer cloak of red and then the long white garment which was girded around him. We saw him then in a large loose robe of black, and this he did not take off.⁷ The other dresses, however, he carefully rolled up in coverings, and while he was doing this the man who was with him – the kehla– lighted a fire, and set upon it a joint of game to roast, evidently the quarter of one of the smaller kinds of buck.

Few, indeed, Nkose, were the white men, except Amabuna, we had seen in those days, and that this was not one of those we felt certain. Mgwali was the first to recover from his astonishment.

“Whau!” he grunted. “I know not how yon isanusi– white though he be – dare come here and make múti without leave from the Great Great One. It may be tagati.”

“No hurt lurks beneath such múti, son of my father: of that I feel sure,” I answered. “But I think it is time to have speech with these.”

“Yeh-bo,” assented Mgwali, grinning. “And I think that quarter of meat roasting yonder seems too large for only two men. Au! but the smell of it is good.”

We went forward, and as we discovered ourselves but small was the surprise shown by these two strangers. The head-ringed man, who was attending to the fire and the roast, returned our salutation in the usual form, not heeding us much. But the other, speaking with our tongue, though haltingly, said:

“Welcome, my sons! Draw near, and seat yourselves; for our morning meal is nearly ready, and there is enough for all.”

Mgwali’s eyes glistened, and his mouth broadened into a grin; for he was younger than I, and hungry; and, in truth, the meat smelt good. He uttered a word or two of emphatic assent, and made a movement to comply. But I, remembering my dignity as an induna of the King, still stood. Then I said:

“First tell me, O white stranger, by whose leave you have entered this country, and made múti in the land of the Great Great One by whose light we live?”

“By whose leave?” he echoed; his face brightening up. “Ha! By the leave – nay, by the order – of the Great Great One in whose light we live.” Then, seeing that I frowned, and looked suspicious, he explained. “I will not pretend to misunderstand you; but I came into the country of your King by favour of even a greater than he.”

“Hau! You are joking, my father!” I answered, with a sneer, though my first thought was that he was speaking of Dingane. “Yet such words uttered here are dangerous, and would mean death to him who uttered them. Where, now, is he who is greater than Umzilikazi, the Mighty Elephant? Our young regiments are consumed with a longing to wet their spears; and there, I think, is the chance. Where is he who is greater than our king?”

“Pezulu!” (up above) replied the stranger, simply, pointing upward to the heavens.

Then I partly understood. I had heard strange tales of certain men among the whites who taught that a great, though invisible, King sat above the blue of the sky, and caused the sun to shine and the rain to fall; whose might was such that beside it the might of Tshaka himself was less than the might of a child. This, then, must be one of them. Yet – the strange ceremonies we had witnessed?

“Wherefore, then, wert thou making múti yonder, beneath the rock, O father of the red múti cloak? To what end was this?” I asked.

“To the end that all good might fall upon your King, and his people, and his land. With that object and intention were we making múti, as ye call it, children of this nation,” he answered, looking us fearlessly in the eyes.

And there was that about his glance which satisfied me that we might safely eat meat with him; nor did the ceremony which he and the other went through before partaking of it, and which was very like what we had seen during their strange act of sacrifice, avail to destroy this assurance. And, indeed, when, having finished, we rose up, to proceed at once to the presence of the Great Great One, we left nothing behind us but bones; for Mgwali had a fine appetite – nor came I far behind him in that way – and a quarter of buck is not quite too much among four men.

Chapter Fourteen.
The White Isanusi

We were not far from Kwa’zingwenya, Nkose, when this meeting took place, and as we came in among the people on the outskirts of the great kraal the excitement was intense. All gazed curiously to see whom we had brought with us, and we could hear the cries of wonder which broke forth from the people as they beheld a white man. Yet, though they gazed in astonishment, they did not draw near and crowd around us to gaze, for such is not our custom as regards strangers.

Now, this white man and he who attended him, bearing their burdens, walked on contentedly by our sides, and as we entered the gates of Kwa’zingwenya I sent a message to the King, reporting the strange discovery we had made. Then, having taken the strangers to my own hut, where my wives speedily set tywala before them, I went at once to learn the Great Great One’s pleasure concerning them.

“And the man is not of the Amabuna, son of Ntelani,” he said, when I had told my tale.

“Not so, Black Elephant. He says he is of a race which comes from far over the sea.”

“Ha! And the man with him, he is of ourselves?”

“He is, Father, and yet not. He is of the Aba-gaza.”

“Hau! Of the Abagaza? I would fain hear something of that people. See now, Untúswa, when these strangers are rested, I will talk with them here.”

I saluted and withdrew. When I regained my hut the white isanusi was reading from a book softly to himself. Whau! I have seen many books since, but at that time never, and it looked wonderful. At last he ceased, and, making one of those strange turns of his hand such as we had before noticed, he closed the book and looked up. Then I spoke the King’s message, and he rose to his feet, declaring he was ready.

Umzilikazi was seated outside the isigodhlo as we drew near. The white man halted in front of the King, and, inclining his head slightly, raised his hand aloft and said, “Bayéte!” The Gaza, however, bent low to the ground, murmuring words of bonga even as one of ourselves. Him the King began to question first:

“Who art thou, who art of us and yet not of us? How art thou named?”

“Ngubazana, son of Tumela, of the people of Gaza, Great Great One,” replied the man.

“And wherefore hast thou left thine own country – thou a kehla? Art thou an induna?”

“No induna am I, Black Elephant of the Amendebeli. I have left my country to follow my father here.”

“And the feet of those who pursue thee? When a man forsakes his country, is it not that he may travel faster than the feet of those who run behind him?” said Umzilikazi, with meaning.

“None such are behind me, Serpent of Wisdom,” replied the man. “In due time I return to my own country again, and to my wives. No evil have I done there that I should not return.”

“Ha! Thy wives?” said the King. Then, turning to the white man —

“And thou, stranger? They say of thee that thou art an isanusi– though white – that thou wert making múti of a wonderful and unheard-of-kind?”

“That is true, O King.”

“And wherefore was this múti?”

“Let the King listen,” answered the white man. “When the izanusi of the peoples of the Zulu offer sacrifice of cattle to the spirits of departed chiefs and kings, they do so to gain something. Is not this true, Great Great One?”

“It is no lie,” answered Umzilikazi.

“When I offer sacrifice, it is of a different kind, for it is offered to the Mighty Ruler of the world who dwells above the heavens. The sacrifice which the induna Untúswa beheld me offering amid the rocks in the forest was also to gain something – very especially to gain something.”

“And what was that?”

“The peace and welfare and happiness of the people who dwell in this land, and of the King who reigns over them.”

“Hau!” burst from all who heard these strange words. And for a space all sat gazing at this white man in silence, as he stood there in his black robe, which was torn and patched and soiled as with hard travel. His face was as the face of a good man, and in height he was not quite so tall as our warriors. Now he stood there looking round upon us all with the eyes of a friend.

“Thy words are good, white stranger,” said the King. “But there is one thing that sounds strange to our ears, and that is that thou shouldst seek to gain us peace. For we are a nation of warriors, and what have such to do with peace? Would they not speedily be eaten up, even as these miserable peoples whom we have swept from our path? No; peace is not a thing to desire for such as we.”

We who heard greeted the King’s words with a shout of assent – I, especially, gripping my hand, as though I held the great Assegai, the royal gift.

“Yet peace is good,” said the white isanusi, speaking pleasantly. “Under its shadow nations prosper and grow great.”

“Atyi! were ever such words heard!” we cried, shaking our heads. “Grow great beneath the shadow of peace! Ca-bo—Ca-bo!” And we laughed scornfully.

“I think thy words please not the ears of my children, white stranger,” said the King, with a grim smile. “It is war by which nations grow great – not peace – war, wherein they destroy all their enemies. The nation which does this is the greatest nation; and such is ours.”

“All their enemies?” repeated the white man softly, with head slightly on one side and his eyes fixed upon those of the Great Great One.

“All their enemies did the King say?”

“All – all whom they can reach.”

“Ah! But what of those who would reach them? With every nation, however great, there is at least one other which it has cause to fear – at least one other which is stronger than itself, or which any day may become so.”

Now the cry of anger, of disgust, which arose to our lips was checked, for beyond a lightening up of the eyes the King’s face showed no sign that he had grasped the full meaning of this speech. For we knew – we izinduna– that in his heart of hearts Umzilikazi was uneasy on the subject of the Amabuna and Dingane, but especially Dingane. He knew that, sooner or later, the arm of Dingane would be long enough to reach him; and it was for this reason that such immense pains were taken to keep up the strength and efficiency of our army. Even then, nearly half of it was composed of slaves reared among base peoples. How should these withstand, in the day of trial, the pure blood and disciplined numbers of the impis of Dingane? We had overthrown Tshaka’s impi among the mountain passes, but that was a running fight, and but for the cloud which descended upon the crests of Kwahlamba and rested there for days the end might well have been different, and to-day there might have been no new nation ruled over by the son of Matyobane. It was a dangerous speech to utter into the ears of the Great Great One, for a King likes not to be reminded that there may be a mightier king than himself. It was a speech which, coming from the lips of many a man, might well have amounted to a prayer for death.

“Nations are like lions,” replied Umzilikazi; “the stronger drives out the weaker, that it may keep its hunting-grounds for itself alone. The weaker, in turn, drives out the weaker still; and so things go on, and ever will go on.”

“Not so, Black Elephant. The time will come – has come in some parts of the earth – when the strong no longer drive out the weak, but both shall sit down side by side in peace. There is One who gave His life that this should come to pass, and that all should be turned into the way of the truth. And He who thus suffered death to save a world was the Son of a King – a King beside whom the might of the mightiest King the earth ever saw is less than the weakness of a child beside the strength of an elephant. For He was the Son of God.”

“What was He like? How did He die, the son of this mighty King?” said Umzilikazi.

“Thus, ruler of a nation which loves war. Thus.”

And the white isanusi drew from his robe something we had beheld sticking in it, and had deemed some portion of his múti, and held it out towards the King. And we, too, all saw it. It was a black cross, and upon it, fashioned in some shining metal, was stretched the Figure of a Man.

A gasp of astonishment went up from every throat; for we Zulus, Nkose, are always anxious to hear something new. Au! This was something new, if ever anything was.

“Seat thyself, father of the red múti cloak,” said Umzilikazi, after we had gazed awhile upon this strange object. “Seat thyself, and tell us the tale of this marvel. I would fain hear of the doings of a King whose house was mightier than that of Senzangakona.”

So the white stranger seated himself there beside the King and told his tale; and a wonderful tale it was, and long did it take in telling. Whau, Nkose! It was new then, though I have more than once heard it since from the lips of white preachers, but never did they tell it as this man told it whom we found, my brother and I, making strange múti and offering sacrifice in the forest.

But there was one side of that story which pleased not any of us, which pleased not the King, and this was the teaching that all men should live at peace. We looked at one another, we war-captains, and shook our heads as we tried to imagine ourselves even more helpless than the cowardly Bakoni, whose ways were the ways of peace. We looked at the Great Great One too, though guardedly, at those parts of a story which set forth that there could be a mightier King than himself. Au! The tale was good, as a tale; but these were not teachings we liked to listen to, we chief men among a warrior race whose greatness lay in war.

“It is a great tale!” said Umzilikazi, when we had listened for a long time; “a wonderful tale. And now, my father, I would fain behold this making of múti such as my induna Untúswa witnessed unawares. I would fain see thee offer sacrifice. Shall we go forth into the forest, or can it be offered here?”

“It can be offered anywhere, Elephant of the Amandebeli, by one who is qualified to offer it,” answered the white isanusi. “But it is a very high and holy act, and cannot be offered twice upon the same day except under certain conditions, but not at all if food has been partaken of on that day.”