Kitabı oku: «The White Shield», sayfa 9
This answer satisfied the King. But there were some among us who murmured that the will of the Great Great One should thus be crossed, saying it brought back the day when old Masuka first came into our midst, who, being desired to make múti, refused, on the ground that the moment was not propitious.
Now, whether Umzilikazi was thus reminded, or whether his ears caught some of our murmurings, I know not. But he gave orders that the Mosutu should be called.
“Here is another isanusi, Masuka,” he said, when the old man appeared, murmuring words of bonga. “He is white, but I am not sure he is not a greater than thou.”
“I am not the greatest of my kind the world ever saw, Lord. Perchance there may be greater,” answered Masuka, darting a quick glance at the stranger with his bright and piercing eyes. “But can he make fire out of nothing, Great Great One? Can he make the thunder roar forth balls of flame into a buck smoke out of nothing? Can he make the countenances of the enemies of the King show clear in a bowl? Can he do these things, O Elephant?”
But the white man showed no dismay, no anxiety. There was nothing about him of the isanusi who fears a more powerful rival still. He looked straight in the old Mosutu’s face, and in his own was nothing but friendliness.
“Not in such spells do I deal, old man of a stranger race,” he answered. “The Great Great One whom I serve loves not such. Yet thou – the múti thou usest is not generally for ill, and thy divinations are in favour of right and justice and for the well-being and safety of thy King and adopted nation. While this is so may it go well with thee.”
“Ha!” we cried, amazed that this stranger should thus describe Masuka’s múti with such wonderful exactness. And the King was greatly pleased at that saying, and the white man made a friend of the old Mosutu, who saw at once – as what did he not see? – that here was no rival claiming to be greater than himself and to steal away the favour of the King from him. In truth, also, Nkose, the words of the stranger were well said, for since Masuka had been made the father of the King’s magic, few indeed of our people had been smelt out, and then only when they had been guilty of evil-doing, as in the case of the conspirators of Ncwelo’s pool, whereas, formerly, our own izanusi were ever clamouring for “witch-findings,” ever hungry as vultures for the flesh of men; wherefore, our nation loved the old Mosutu, and we who heard were glad because there was not to be another set up in his place.
“I see that the heart of the King is good towards me, and I rejoice,” said the white man before he withdrew. “For I would fain sow the seed of the Word of Life among this people before I travel South. Then there are those who shall return, and water and tend it, before a long time has gone by.”
We saw a look steal over Umzilikazi’s face at these words, and it was a look we knew.
“So it is thy purpose to travel to the South, my father?” said the King, speaking softly and low.
“Such is my purpose, Black Elephant,” was the answer.
“Ha! the journey to the southward is long, and not over-safe,” went on the King. “There are bad peoples and tribes who will do thee hurt, my father.”
“That I must brave, Great Great One; for the soldiers of Him whom I serve often meet with hurt, and even death, in His service.”
“Something was said but now about sowing the seed of the Word of Life among this people, my father,” went on the King, still speaking softly, and with a strange look upon his face, as he gazed fixedly at the other. “Now, why should it not be sown among this people as well as among the peoples of the South?”
The face of the white isanusi lighted up for joy at these words. He replied:
“Great is the Mighty One who dwells above; who has put such into the mind of the King! Here, then, will I dwell for a while, and the people of the Amandebeli shall drink by degrees of the Fountain of Life.”
But while he thus praised, we, who listened, laughed secretly within ourselves, for we knew what thoughts were within the real mind of the King. And these were, that the day when the white isanusi was to start upon his travels for the dwellings of the peoples to the South should arrive never – no, never!
Chapter Fifteen.
“Lost!”
Now, as time went by, this white isanusi still continued to dwell in our midst in great contentment, for the King ordered that his treatment should be of the best; and, indeed, it was so. From time to time he and the Gaza would offer sacrifice together, as we had first beheld it. Howbeit, he did not importune us with this new teaching, but busied himself in going in and out among the people, talking to them, and acting as a friend to all – even among the very lowest of the Amaholi and enslaved captives. To these he taught that there would come a time when they should be free – but the way to such freedom lay through the gates of death; and this caused the slaves to shake their heads and jeer. Their lives were hard, and they wanted to be free; but if the land of freedom was only to be reached through the gates of death, why, then they preferred to remain in the land of the Amandebeli. Yet among all was this white isanusi loved, because his words were ever soft and kind; and soon the name by which he became known among the people was that of “Father.” There was one thing, too, which he never failed to bring into his teaching – and this was that, although the King was equally subject to the Great Great One who dwelt above the skies, yet the people were none the less bound to obey the “word” of the King and the orders of his indunas and captains. And, this being so, he retained the favour of Umzilikazi, who had set spies to watch him secretly, and report what his teachings really were.
It happened that a few days after his arrival among us the white stranger was with the King, for often would the Great Great One invite him to an indaba, that he might listen to wonderful tales of far countries beyond the sea. Yet when the isanusi would tell once more that marvellous tale which he had first told, and begin to set forth its teachings, Umzilikazi would laugh softly to himself, and bring round the talk to other matters. It happened, Nkose, that on the day I named, an idea seemed to strike the King.
“See, now, father of the strange múti,” he said. “Do all the white people believe that great tale?”
We who were watching the stranger’s face saw a troubled look come over it, as he answered that nearly all did.
“Do the Amabuna believe it?” went on the King.
“They believe it, Great Great One – but not the whole of it.”
“Ha! Not the whole of it! They are a lying and treacherous race, deadly as a swarm of locusts! Say, my father, if they believed the whole of it, they would lie, and steal land, and make slaves no more?”
“That is so, Black Elephant.”
The King smiled grimly to himself as he took snuff. We, too, smiled. Here were teachings which would never do for us – for although we of the Zulu race did not lie, yet we took land and slaves, even as the Amabuna did, and made war. Now these were customs we could not by any possibility give up. Then the Great Great One leaned over, and whispered a word to me.
Now the little white child we had taken from among the Amabuna was fast becoming one of ourselves. Yet not; for those with whom she played she would somehow cause to konza to her, even in their games, as though she were born to rule. If they played at building kraals, she it was whose hut was always the largest. If the boys were playing soldiers, it was always before her they came, singing the mimic war-song, and forcing the defeated side to konza. She reigned among them as a little queen. Even my two younger wives, who had the care of her, she seemed to rule. They would not, however, allow her to run wild with our children, but, as her clothing wore out, they made her garments of the softest of dressed fawn-skins, ornamented largely with the most valued of beads. And now, as in obedience to the word of the King, I led the little one forth into his presence, and the stranger looked for the first time upon the fair skin and flower-like little face – the heaven-blue eyes, and hair like a stream of sunlight falling down the beaded robe of the child – he made as though he would have leaped from his seat.
“See now, my father,” said the King, as the little one put up her hand and cried the Bayéte, “here is one of thine own colour, though but a tiny child. See now if thy story of the God of Peace is known in any way to her.”
Now the white isanusi hardly waited for the word of the King, and the change which came upon him was strange indeed. He sprang to his feet, and advanced to the little one, who stared at him with her great blue eyes, yet did not shrink from him as in fear of a stranger. Then he put his hand over her head, and, looking upward and then down at her, his lips moved.
“Au! he is placing a spell upon her,” growled one who sat near me.
“It is not a spell that will harm,” murmured another in reply. But no more was said, for now the stranger was talking quick and fast in his own language, and the little one might have been his own child, long, long lost; for tears stood in his eyes as he talked, and soon rolled down upon his great beard. Haul It was a strange sight. He wept, this white man who knew not fear: yes, here, in the presence of the King, and of we izinduna and war-captains, he wept, and that at the sight of a little blue-eyed child!
But here was another strange thing. The little one’s face wore a blank look. Clearly she did not understand a word of what he was saying. Truly a strange thing! These two white people – the old man and the tiny girl – meeting thus by chance in the midst of our nation, understood not each other’s tongue!
“Speak to her with the tongue of the Amabuna, my father,” said the King.
But of this language the white isanusi had but scant knowledge, and in the end the only tongue with which these two whites could converse was that of the Amazulu. No, Nkose, not as yours was the tongue in which that isanusi spake. It was quicker – far quicker – and accompanied with more movements, like that of ourselves.
“There, my father,” said Umzilikazi. “The little one is of thine own colour. Now begin with her, and teach her about this strange God, which seems to me to be teaching more fitted for her than for us black ones.”
The white man’s face lighted up with joy at this permission, and he poured forth many words of praise for the goodness of the King. And we, too, we echoed the words of bonga with a loud voice. And the little one, she too seemed glad because of those words; and not long after, in the presence of the King, and all who were then at Kwa’zingwenya, the white isanusi performed strange ceremonies over her, of which the principal seemed the sprinkling of water, and declared she was now especially a child of that great God of whom he had spoken. This Umzilikazi was very willing to sanction, for was not the child white – and a girl? But when it came to teaching warriors a belief that peace was better than war —Au! that was a very different matter.
Now I had been kept so busy all this while, attending to the affairs of the King and the nation, that no time had I to visit the mountain of death and her who dwelt in the secret chamber thereof. Yet my mind was ever in flight thither as I beheld its flat top standing out through the haze afar off. Wherefore I resolved, for good or for ill, to journey thither, as though to hunt.
Once well beyond the last outpost of our people I began to run, travelling with a speed worthy the days when I was the King’s chief runner. At length I stood beneath the mountain and began to ascend its slopes, and I sang softly to myself a song of gladness and of love as I thought how soon I should be drinking in the strange sweet sorcery of Lalusini’s words and looks.
I had nearly gained the summit when a loud and savage growl brought me up motionless in my own footprints, and, taking the great Assegai in my right hand and advancing my small shield forward a little in the left, I peered eagerly in search of the enemy.
Not a moment had I to look. The flaming eyes, the long, yellow shape, the shaggy mane, almost blurred up as they were by the brown of the mountain-side, represented nothing less than a lion – an enormous one, crouching for a spring. There was no turning aside. Face to face we had come, in this narrow gully. Neither could give way. One must advance over the body of the other.
Whau, Nkose! This was no light matter; for to kill a full-grown lion, single-handed, with spears only, is a business we never willingly undertake. But this one gave me no choice, for, with a savage snarl, he launched himself into the air.
I know not how I avoided that onslaught; but I was quick in those days, Nkose, quick as any wild beast. What I did was to run in upon him, flinging myself right under his spring. Then, as he flew over me, I flashed upright, and, poised on tip-toe, quick as lightning I hurled one of my casting spears. It sang, quivering on its way, striking the mighty beast slantwise in the ribs and sinking deep. With terrible roars and snarls he rolled over and over, snapping at the spear-haft, and biting his own skin in the agony of his pain, and, the more he struggled, the deeper sank the spear. Now I saw what I would do. It would be quicker and far safer, and I did not want to brave over much danger just then. A great mass of loose rock stood poised upon a firmly embedded one immediately above the body of the lion, which, with hideous roars, was writhing and struggling beneath. Running to this, I mustered all my strength for a push. It swayed and tottered. Another mighty effort, the huge stone swung over and went crashing down the slope. The aim was good. With a frightful yell the great beast yielded up his life, and lay with ribs and spine shattered, while the rock tore down the mountain-side in leaps and bounds, splitting into fragments as it rolled.
“Bayéte!” I cried, in my exultation; for I had done something really great. “Hail, king of the plain and the mountain! A short burial shall first be thine.”
Collecting stones, I piled them upon the sinewy frame of the mighty beast to protect it from the vultures; for I desired not to tarry then, so eager was I once more to behold Lalusini. Then, having gained the flat summit of the mountain, I took my way cautiously to the secret entrance of the sorceress’s retreat.
And now, as I threaded the dark passage through the earth, I began softly to sing a song of love, which should let Lalusini know that I was coming. But there came back no answering song. Whau, Nkose! Warrior as I was, I felt weak then, and my pulses began to beat. I sprang down into the great rock hollow. It was empty.
Then I felt like a man who would willingly die, so strong was the witchery of the spell which this sorceress of Zulu blood had woven around me. I called her by name, first softly, then louder, for I thought she might be doing this to try me, and, even then, might be watching me from somewhere, and laughing to herself at my discomfiture. Still, no answer.
Then a hideous thought took possession of my mind. That great lion I had slain! Had not Lalusini herself made mention of having heard its voice rolling upon the mountain at night? Had she not expressed some fear lest the beast might find its way in through the tunnel? As a man who has gone mad, I sprang to the hole and examined the ground for traces. But there were none – none such as would have been left by a lion forcing his way in, and returning, dragging a heavy body. So the possession of my senses returned, and I fell to making an investigation of the place. Ha! The mystery was a mystery no longer. Lalusini had, indeed, gone, but she had departed of her own free will, for most of the articles necessary to her comfort, such as clothing, cooking utensils, and so forth, had disappeared.
Yes, Nkose; my heart was sore within me. Whither had she gone? Was it to return once more to that great, yet distant, people, among whom she had promised to make me great? Wearied with the length of time I had been forced to leave her unvisited – in the light of my hesitation to agree to throw in my lot with hers under such mad circumstances of peril and hazard – had she decided to leave me altogether? It seemed like it. Yet, I would track her – would find her. And then I laughed at myself for a fool, for how knew I, after all this time, which way to turn to seek her? She might be far away by that time.
Sore at heart, I went up into the outer day again, and there upon the summit of the mountain I sought long and hard for footprints. But I sought in vain. There were none. Lalusini might have vanished like a bird into the air.
All that day I searched. There might be other hiding-places upon the mountain, even more secret than the one which was known only to me and to her. But if this was so I know not. I only know that, search as I would, no trace could I find of such.
Then I went down again into the rock hollow to pass the night, thinking she might chance to return. But when I lay down to sleep, sleep would not come, or if it did, only so lightly as to be more wakefulness than sleep; and it seemed that the face of the beautiful sorceress hung over me in my dreams, but when I would start to clasp her, calling her by name, there was nothing, no sound but the howling of beasts, ravening upon the mountain slopes throughout the night. And when the sun rose at last, then mounted higher into the sky, and still Lalusini did not return, I knew then that I had lost her forever, that never would I behold her more.
So, with heart heavy and sore, I dragged myself away from the place, and returning to where I had left the dead lion, cut off the head and forepaws and the tail-tuft of the mighty beast, and, thus laden, took my way back to Kwa’zingwenya, sorrowing exceedingly for the loss of her who had thus bewitched me.
Note. That this travelling priest was of French nationality was somewhat confirmed, for on hearing that language spoken, although unable to recognise any specific word, Untúswa declared that it seemed to bring back to his mind something of the stranger’s speech.
Chapter Sixteen.
A Life for Ten Lives
I returned to Kwa’zingwenya with the head and paws of the great lion I had slain, and those who beheld it envied, crying, “What a hunter is Untúswa! In the chase, as in war, his is the weapon beneath which falls the mightiest!” The King, too, was pleased when he beheld those trophies. But Nangeza, seeing them, said: —
“Ah, ah, Untúswa. Thy skill is in truth wonderful, who went forth to find a young heifer and found an old lion.”
This she said jeering, and with her eyes upon my face. But I, while affecting not to notice, found food for much thought in the words. Had Nangeza indeed discovered my secret? Was she concerned in the disappearance of Lalusini? Ha! I resolved to watch her narrowly, and were my suspicions verified, why then, indeed, there would be room in my house for a new inkosikazi.
Now at this time, things being quiet and our nation settling down in its new land, I gained the King’s leave to build myself a kraal some little distance from Kwa’zingwenya, and thither I removed with all my possessions – my cattle and my wives – and my brother Mgwali also came with me with his wives, and two other sons of my father, and soon I was the head of a large kraal of a score and a half of huts. But as time went on, and my duties in the way of seeing to the strength and efficiency of my own half of the army became greater, so far from beginning to think less of Lalusini I thought of her more. In the sunshine, darting in gold through the forest trees, it seemed that I could see her eyes, in the soft whispers of the wind at evening I could hear her voice. In my dreams I beheld her, was with her. Au! I was bewitched indeed. But although I made more than one journey again to the mountain of death, never did I discover any sign which should show she had revisited her hiding-place. All there had fallen more and more into decay, as though she had gone never to return.
“Of a truth, Untúswa, thou shouldst be an isanusi thyself,” said the King one day when we were sitting alone together in debate. “Thou hast a gift for finding izanusi and bringing them hither – first Masuka, now this white stranger; concerning which last my mind is in darkness, for I know not what to do with him.”
“Is he not content, Black Elephant? Does he not fare well among us, teaching those who care to listen – ah, ah! those who care to listen?” I added with meaning.
“For a time yes,” said Umzilikazi. “But the day will come when he will desire to travel again.”
“Let him travel back by the way he came, Calf of a Black Cow,” I answered, still with meaning. “For him the way of the South is not safe. There indeed are peoples that would do him harm.”
The Great Great One shook his head in discontent.
“Verily, Untúswa, I know not how this will end,” he said.
“Let be for the present, my father,” I answered. “The stranger is happy now, teaching the slaves. It may be that things will right themselves in this matter.”
I spoke darkly, Nkose, not seeing light. But both I and the Great Great One little guessed in what manner things would right themselves, and that at no great distance of time – ah, no! little could we we foresee that.
Now this was the meaning which underlay my words relating to the white isanusi and his teaching of the slaves. The last thing the King desired was that this white man should journey South, to bear, mayhap, the word to the Amabuna or to Dingane: “Yonder, to the North, in a fair and well-watered land, dwells Umzilikazi, and his warriors number so many, of whom a large proportion are of no account – being dogs and slaves.” The white stranger and the Gaza, Ngubazana, were but two men: what easier than to kill them secretly and thus end all trouble? There were not wanting some among the izinduna who spoke darkly to this end. But to such counsels Umzilikazi’s ears were shut. The white stranger was his friend. He was not of the race of the greedy, lying Amabuna; moreover, for himself it was easy to see he desired nothing, neither lands nor possessions; and though his teachings were not such as to be accepted by a warrior nation, there was no harm in them, no subversion of the greatness of the King. Not upon any considerations should he be harmed – neither the Gaza, his follower.
But he must be kept among us; and in furtherance of this end the King gave secret orders that a few of the lowest of the slaves should listen to his teaching, and slowly and by degrees bring themselves to accept it, or pretend to. Then a few more were added to these; but ever with caution, lest the white isanusi should suspect. But he did not suspect; on the contrary, his heart was filled with joy at the readiness wherewith, these received his teaching, and at length – for this took time – he put them under the same rites as those which he had performed over the little white girl. So he was content to dwell with us; and while we laughed among ourselves over the trick we had played upon him, yet we were glad that this other road lay open to him besides that to the South, which would have caused us trouble, and that into the Dark Unknown, which might have caused it to him.
I had left Kwa’zingwenya after this indaba with the King, and was returning to my own kraal along the river bank, sad at heart, and pondering ever upon the disappearance of the Bakoni sorceress, when I came upon an old man, stumbling along, bent double, nosing and peering on the ground. It was old Masuka.
“Greeting, my father!” I cried. “Are you seeking múti herbs?”
“Perhaps I am seeking for that which shall give sleep, son of Ntelani,” he replied, laughing at me out of his eyes. “Ha! my dreams were strange last night – strange, and they were about thee, Untúswa, about thee!”
“About me, my father?” I cried.
“E – hé! But, first give me gwai, thou holder of the King’s Assegai, for I have none left.”
I took out the long horn snuff-box which was stuck through the lobe of my ear, and, squatting down, we both took snuff in silence. Then the old man burst into a chuckle.
“My dreams took me to the summit of the mountain of death, son of Ntelani. The ghost of Tauane was there – searching for something.”
“For what was it searching, my father?”
“For a strange thing. For an outward chamber in the cliff, like unto the place of an eagle’s nest.”
“Ha!” I cried, staring at him wildly, my snuff-spoon in mid-air.
How his old eyes laughed; for my confusion was great. And well it might be, for these were the very words wherewith I had taunted the chief of the Blue Cattle on his flaming bed of death. Yet old Masuka had been nowhere near at that time, nor had any who understood that tongue.
“And why could not the ghost of Tauane find that place, my father?” I said. “Being a ghost, he could fly through the air until he found the chamber in the cliff like an eagle’s nest.”
“Not thus would he find it, destroyer of the Bakoni,” was the answer. “‘Through the darkness of the earth’ – such were his words.”
“Ha! Was it for good or for ill he spoke thus? Were those all the words of Tauane’s ghost my father?”
“Not so, Untúswa. Soon the ghost went winging through the air, crying and wailing that the place like an eagle’s nest was there, but that the she-eagle had flown away. Why art thou sad of late, son of Ntelani?”
“Thy múti is wonderful, father,” I replied. “Will the she-eagle return? Tell me. Will it return?”
“It will return. Ha! yonder alligators are hungry. They shall be fed. Oh, yes, they shall be fed. The she-eagle will return.”
I liked not his tones, Nkose, and my blood ran chill. For his speech, though dark, could have but one meaning. Lalusini I should behold again; but one or both of us should find death in the alligators’ pool. Well, what matter? One could but die once; and so great was the spell cast over me by the Bakoni sorceress that it seemed, once more to behold her, once more to have speech with her, I would gladly pay the price of death.
“I have a black cow, well in milk, which is one too many in my herd, father,” I said. “It shall be driven forth to-morrow to the place where thy cattle graze.”
But he paid scant heed, which was strange, for he loved cattle, and always welcomed such gifts. With his head on one side, as though listening intently, he repeated softly to himself:
“Yonder alligators are hungry. They shall be fed; oh, yes, they shall be fed!”
You will remember, Nkose, a certain pool in the river, which the King and I had lighted upon one evening soon after arriving at our new resting-place, and into which he had caused some calves to be driven that the alligators might seize them. Now this pool had been turned into a place of execution. No longer were those adjudged to doom led forth to die beneath the knobsticks of the slayers, as formerly, but were forced to leap, or were thrown into the pool, and from it none emerged alive. As I sat and talked with Masuka, I remembered that the Pool of the Alligators lay at no great distance from us, and between ourselves and the great kraal. Upon it the old Mosutu seemed to be concentrating his attention; and, as I listened, sounds were wafted thence.
“Evil-doers are about to meet death!” he said, at last. “Come, we will witness it.”
We rose and took our way along the river-bank. As we crested the rise, which brought us near the brow of the cliff from which the victims were thrown, we saw a multitude streaming down from the great kraal, and in the forefront of the crowd were men armed with sticks, and driving before them two other men, who were bound.
These were already half-dead with fear, and could scarcely walk, but the blows of the slayers urged them onward until they stood right upon the spot whence they should leap into the jaws of the hungry alligators. We could see at a glance that they were slaves, and sadly, indeed, they looked. From the people we learned that these two, being in charge of a flock of the King’s goats, had suffered wild dogs to break into the fold at night, whereby upwards of a score were slain. So Umzilikazi, declaring that if his goats were only fit to feed wild dogs with, assuredly to base Bakoni were only fit two feed alligators with; and they had been led forth.
Now, this scene did not move us in any way, Nkose, for the death of a slave more or less was nothing. But we just lingered to see these leap in.
Yet they would not. When driven to the edge they hung back, then cast themselves on the ground weeping and groaning for mercy. Already the surface of the pool below was alive with slimy, stealthy life. Widening lines upon the water told that the alligators well understood the cause of the tumult overhead. They moved silently to and fro, awaiting the plunge which should bring them the prey they had learned to love best – the flesh of men.
Now the slayers had grasped the screaming wretches, and were about to fling them out, when between the cliff brow and the victims a figure suddenly sprang forth, arising, as it were, by magic. All gave a shout of wonder, and the executioners paused in their work. The black robe, the long, flowing beard, the countenance stamped with a great horror and pain, were known to all. It was the white isanusi.
“Hold! my children!” he cried. “Hold! I beg of you!”
The slayers hesitated, and growled to each other. With arms outstretched, there the white man stood on the cliff brow between the hideous, hungry reptiles and their weeping, shivering victims. To fling these in was impossible without flinging him in too.
“It is the King’s will, father,” growled the chief of the slayers. “Know you not that did we hesitate we should be even as these? Stand aside.”
“Not yet, not yet,” he pleaded; and there was weeping in his voice. “Not yet. Wait – only until I hasten to the King! He will hear me, for he has given me the lives of such as these!”
