Kitobni o'qish: «The Induna's Wife», sahifa 5

Chapter Seven.
The Faith of a King

The news of what had been done had already spread fast and far, and before I reached Maqandi’s kraal a great crowd of the iron-workers had assembled. These increased more and more, and presently a vast number of these people had joined in my train, dancing in their joy, and singing songs of triumph and of praise of myself, who had rid them of a twofold terror – of destruction by this thing of tagati, and of peril of wholesale death by the assegai when the patience of the King should become exhausted. But little attention did I pay to all this, for my allotted time had nearly expired, and it would be all I could do to reach Kwa’zingwenya ere it had quite. So I levied upon Maqandi for a large body of slaves, and pushed on, travelling night and day, and taking little or no rest.

No time even had I to visit my own kraal, which was somewhat off the line of my nearest road. However, I sent messengers there, and swift runners to Kwa’zingwenya, that news of my success might reach the King as early as possible.

But as I travelled on swiftly through the night, whose dawn should see me laying my trophies at the feet of the Great Great One, my mind was torn by many misgivings, and many an anxious glance did I send upward to the heavens. The moon was at the full.

Fair and splendid rose the dawn of that day, and as I came in sight of our Great Place, and of the people flocking thither – for here, too, the news had spread, and all were eager to hear about what had been done, and, if possible, to behold the actual skin and horns of the great tagati beast – I forgot my fears, and felt proud and light-hearted as ever when I had accomplished something great. And thus I stalked into the great circle, looking neither to right nor left, and seemingly not hearing the murmurs and exclamations of wonder which broke from all who beheld the immense horned head borne behind me by the slaves.

“The Great Great One is sleeping, Untúswa,” said the commander of the armed body-guard before the gate of the isigodhlo. “His orders are that none should awaken him.”

“Yet what will he say if such news as I bring be allowed to grow old? How will that be, Ngoza?”

“Whau! I know not, son of Ntelani,” was the answer. “But I may not go behind my orders. There is no safely that way.”

Now I liked not this reply. I noticed, moreover, that the guard before the isigodhlo was much larger than usual, and in those days, Nkose, anything unusual was likely to foreshadow trouble for somebody. Further, there was a shortness in the tone of the captain of the guard which sounded strange as addressed to one of my rank and influence. There was nothing for it, however, but patience, so I sat down to await the pleasure of the Great Great One.

As I sat there, taking snuff, I ran my eyes over those present, both near and far, seemingly with unconcern, but in reality with something of anxiety. Many of my own followers could I discern among the throng, and their women; but among these last was no sign of Lalusini. Yet this did not disconcert me, for of late my inkosikazi had rather avoided coming overmuch within the notice of the Great Great One.

Presently an inceku came out and spoke to the captain of the guard. Immediately it was proclaimed that the Great Great One was about to appear; and, preceded by the izimbonga, or praisers, bellowing the royal titles, Umzilikazi came forth and took his seat at the head of the great circle, where he was wont to sit each morning and discuss matters of state, or pronounce judgment on offenders.

As soon as the prostrate multitude had made an end of shouting the royal praises I advanced to the King and made my report, leaving out, however, my experience of the witchcraft of Gasitye.

“Thou hast done well, Untúswa,” he said when I had concluded. “Now bid them bring hither that head.”

This was done – and as Umzilikazi stood up the better to examine it, even he murmured in surprise at its gigantic size. And I, gazing upon the thing, black and huge, with its glazed eyes and swollen tongue and shaggy frontlet of hair, remembered the horrible and terrifying aspect of those vast, pointed horns, tossing and tearing in the glade of the moonlit forest.

“Whau! It stinks. Let them take it away,” said Umzilikazi at length, spitting in disgust, as a swarm of flies came buzzing about his face. “And now, Untúswa, this thing will trouble the land no more?”

“No more, Great Great One.”

“Ha! That is well. And now by virtue of what múti didst thou triumph over this evil thing of witchcraft?”

“By the virtue of no múti save that of the spear of the King, O Elephant,” I answered, with a glance backward at where I had deposited the great assegai, the erewhile royal gift.

I thought the answer seemed to please him, then not; for his expression changed as though reading into my words a hidden meaning.

“But it has taken long to rid the land of this thing, Untúswa,” he said, looking at me with his head bent sideways, and speaking in a soft tone.

“That is so, Great Great One. But the thing was both crafty and fierce.”

“Yet not alone didst thou slay it, as my conditions were,” he went on, pointing at me with his short-handled spear.

“Alone indeed did I slay it, Serpent of Wisdom,” I answered.

“Now thou liest, son of Ntelani. What of the slaves who were with thee?”

“They were but bait for the ghost-bull, Divider of the Sun; and both were duly slain by it,” I replied. But now I knew my feet were standing on slippery ground indeed – for never for a long time past had Umzilikazi spoken to me in that tone, and for a longer time still, in the sight and hearing of all men.

“And what of thy slave, Jambúla?” went on the King. “Was he not armed?”

“No part did he take in slaying the thing, Father of the Wise. His part lay in running away.”

“Yet he was armed, and my condition laid down that no armed force should accompany thee.”

“Au! Now I would ask the Great Great One, the leader of the nations in war, whether one man, and he a slave, constitutes an armed force?” I replied, fully aware that whatever was in the King’s mind towards me, lack of courage never yet found favour in that mind.

“Let be, then,” he said. “For that question we will let it rest. But say then, son of Ntelani – what of the moon? That this thing should be slain before the full of the moon – was not that one of my conditions? Yet the moon has been full these two nights.”

“But the thing was so slain, Black Elephant. Before the moon was full, was it slain.”

“But it should have been brought here by the full of the moon – the head, even as now. Well, well, Untúswa! It is not always possible to carry out conditions in their entirety, is it? Ah, ah! not always possible. Now go home, thou slayer of ghost-bulls, for it may be that I have even harder conditions awaiting thee than slaying tagati beasts. Go!”

I saluted and withdrew, and as I did so, the chief of the izanusi came up and begged to be allowed to have the trophies of the ghost-bull for múti purposes. But Umzilikazi refused shortly, and gave orders that they should be prepared and preserved until he had chosen how to dispose them. And I, leaving the presence as commanded, felt sore and heavy at heart, for the King’s tone of mockery seemed cold and hostile, and to bear some hidden meaning – one that boded ill to me and mine.

So concerned was I, trying to think out this matter, that I hardly noticed how few of my own rank joined me to give me news or talk over what had been done, and of my own followers none at all. These last would give me greeting from afar, and hurry onward; yet, by what I had done, I had saved them all from the death of the assegai. But it behoved me not, as a chief of great rank and influence, to show curiosity, and so, asking questions of no man, I eventually reached my kraal.

Then as I entered the gate, looking up towards my principal hut, it came back to me how I had last beheld Lalusini standing there in the setting sun to see the last of me, on that evening when I set forth on my errand of dread. Why was she not there now, waiting to welcome me? Hau! It seemed to send a chill through my being – a foreboding of all that was direful and deathly. Man of mature age and ripe experience as I was, even I could hardly restrain a quickening of the step as I paced across the open circle, returning the greetings of those who hailed my return.

Stooping through the doorway, I entered the hut. It was empty.

Everything was in its place as I had left it. But – no Lalusini.

“She has gone about some ordinary business,” I thought; “or has come to welcome me in the path, and we have missed.” But my sinking heart cried aloud that such thoughts told idle tales.

Stepping forth, I beckoned a young man standing near.

“Where is Mgwali?” I inquired.

He replied that he thought my brother must have tarried at the Great Place, for he had seen him there that morning.

“Where is Ncala-cala?” I then asked.

He replied that the old man, who was the responsible head of the kraal under me, had been sent for by the King the day before, and had not yet returned. I asked him no more questions, but entered the hut of one of my other wives.

I found Nxope and Fumana squatted together on the ground. They greeted me in a manner that struck me as showing great if subdued fear.

“Where is Lalusini?” I said.

Then indeed was fear upon their countenances. They looked at each other as though each expected the other to reply.

“Where is Lalusini?” I repeated.

“We know not,” said Fumana sullenly.

Then my patience gave way.

“Ha! Ye know not! Hear me now, ye witches. I am tired of such as you. Look at this,” holding forth the great assegai, from which I never parted, save when forced to disarm in the presence of the King. “Look well at it and bear in mind I do not speak twice. This spear has drunk much blood, but never yet the blood of women. Fail to answer my next question and it will begin. Now. Where is Lalusini?”

“In truth we know not,” screamed Nxope.

I know not how it was, Nkose, that in my awful grief and rage that blade did not shear swiftly through the speaker’s heart, even as I had promised. I know not how it was, I say, unless it were that something about the woman – some movement, perhaps – reminded me of Lalusini, but my hand seemed arrested in the very act of striking.

“Ha! One more chance,” I said. “Now, quick. Tell me.”

“We will tell you all, lord,” yelled Fumana, more quick-witted than the other. “The third night after you left she disappeared. No one saw her go; nor has she ever returned.”

“Seven nights ago that would be; and she has never returned?”

“Never, lord.”

“And that is all we know about it,” whimpered Nxope, still in fear for her life.

But she need not have been. My anger against them was past now, for I could see they had told me all they knew, and that was – nothing. Besides, of them I had no further thought. I sat down on the floor of the hut and thought. The third night after I left. Ha! The vision in Gasitye’s cavern! Had I not seen Lalusini’s face among the others – among the faces of the dead – for such were all the others? She, too, had passed into the Great Unknown.

Now my thoughts at once flew off to the King. I saw his hand in this matter. Umzilikazi had broken faith with me. He had seized the opportunity of my absence to put my sorceress-wife to death, and that secretly and in the dead of night. Ha! I saw it all now. All that had been said that morning connected him with this. Had he not repeatedly taxed me with not carrying out the conditions of my challenge, so as to justify his own act of treachery? And then his words, uttered in soft, mocking tones: “Well, well, Untúswa. It is not always possible to carry out conditions in their entirety, is it? Ah, ah! not always possible,” That pointed to some breach on his part of his own conditions. And again: “I have even harder conditions awaiting thee than the slaying of tagati beasts.” It was all as clear now as the noonday sun. Yet why should he thus have tried to excuse what he had done? At a nod from him – one word – I had gone to join the others whose faces I had seen, dim and horrible, in the wizard cave. And then I knew that if the son of Matyobane, founder and first King of the Amandebeli nation, had never made a mistake in his life, he had made one when he failed to give that nod, to utter that word; for, so sure as he had ordered the death of Lalusini, so sure would a new king reign over the Amandebeli, and that speedily.

I have already told you, Nkose, that the love which I felt for Lalusini was after the manner of the love which white people bear for their women; and, indeed, I think but few, even, of them. Now, as I sat there, realising that never again should I behold my stately and beautiful wife, never again hear the tones of her voice – always soft with love for me – the thoughts that hunted each other through my mind were many and passing strange. In truth, I was bewitched. All that had constituted the joy of living was as nothing now – my rank and influence, my ambitions, the fierce joy of battle, the thunder of the war-march, of rank upon rank of the splendid warriors I commanded – all this was as nothing. And at this moment there crossed my mind the thought of that priest-magician, the white man whom we found offering sacrifice in the forest – of whom I told you in a former story – and who dwelt with us long. I thought of his teaching and his mysteries, and of the God of Peace of whom he taught, and how that, if he were here now, I would gladly put myself through his strange water-rite, and participate in his mysterious sacrifices, so that I might once more be reunited to Lalusini in another world; for such seemed to me to have been his teaching – at least, so as I remembered it. But he, too, was dead; and, though I might sacrifice oxen at his grave, I doubted whether his voice even then would tell me what to do, for I remembered he liked not such sacrifices. Besides, he had always taught that it was not lawful to kill any man, save in defence of our lives or nation; and if there was one thing as firmly rooted in my mind then, Nkose, as the Intaba Zungweni yonder is rooted to the plain, it was that the son of Matyobane should himself travel the road of death. I cared not what fate should be mine therefor; nor, indeed, that my whole kraal – wives, children, relatives, followers – should die the death of the spear or the stake; I myself would slay the King with my own hand. And then it seemed that waves of blood were rolling red around my brain. I saw myself King – I saw all those of Umzilikazi’s House led forth to die – I saw the surface of the Pool of Death scarlet with the blood of all who, in the farthest degree, boasted a single drop of the blood of Matyobane, till even the alligators, surfeited, refused to devour any more. Haul I would slay. Haul I would invent new tortures for every man, woman, and child of the now reigning House; I would execute such a vengeance that the tale of it should be handed down as long as the tongue of the Zulu was spoken in the world.

I know not, Nkose, what change this cloud of blood and flame rolling around my brain must have produced in my countenance, but I awoke from my thoughts to find Nxope and Fumana staring at me as though at a thing of horror. Their eyes were starting from their heads, their mouths were open, they seemed turned to stone, as though they were staring into the very jaws of the most terrible form of death. Then I remembered. If I would render my vengeance complete, I must be wary; silent and crafty as the leopard when marking down his prey. The strength of the warrior, the craft of the councillor, the coolness and self-control of both – such must be the rôle of every moment, waking or sleeping, of life.

“I think I have travelled too fast and too far, and am tired,” I said in an ordinary and even tone; yet, even as it was, so frightened were those two women that they half leapt at the sound of it. “You two,” pointing at them with my spear, “attend now. It is not good to talk too much. The tongue that wags too much must be cut out with this” – fingering the edge of the blade – “or the throat is less trouble to cut. Bear that in mind, for I know not how ye escaped with your lives but a short while ago.”

They were quick in their declarations of silence and careful utterance, and I knew I had sufficiently frightened them. And thus I left them.

Chapter Eight.
Gegesa’s Tale

For several days I went about as usual, to the eyes of men showing no difference in my converse and behaviour. At first all would watch me furtively, as though to observe what effect my loss would have on me, if any; but this soon ceased as they saw no difference, and indeed this was not strange, for it is not our custom to allow ourselves to be affected by the loss of a woman, more or less. There were plenty more women in the nation, and I, Untúswa, the second commander of the King’s hosts, could take as many wives as I chose. The King had given me this particular wife, and if he chose to take her from me, openly or secretly, who might run his will against the will of the Great Great One, at whose word we held our lives?

So men looked at it, but I – well, I looked at it from another point of view. That the King’s hand moved behind the matter I could see by the uniform silence with which it was treated, nor could I even overhear so much as the “darkest” of talking among any of the people. But I was awaiting my time, and to allay suspicion I took a new wife. She was young and good-tempered, and was a daughter of Xulawayo, an induna of rank, and a commander of high standing in the army, by reason of which he demanded much cattle in lobola for her, all of which I paid him without objection. This astonished him greatly, nor could he sleep for three nights for wishing he had demanded more. But I had an object in view, which was to bind so influential a leader as Xulawayo more closely to me against the time for striking my blow.

Now of this I never lost sight for a moment. Carefully I sounded my own followers, and lost no opportunity of rendering myself popular among the army at large. Yet the game was a terribly risky one, and I felt as a man might who attempts to walk on a ridge of rock no wider than an assegai blade, with the depth of a whole mountain on either side. But the game was worth the risk, for I was playing for a throne and for revenge.

Now and again the King would rally me.

“Taking new wives at last, Untúswa?” he would say. “Whau! but you have been long content with old ones. How often have I told you that women are like a bowl of tywala: delightful and stimulating when fresh; but, when stale, sour and injurious, and the sooner thrown away the better.”

And I would laugh pleasantly at the royal wit, and send lobola for yet another girl, this one, as before, the daughter of an influential fighting induna; but, for all that, the loss of Lalusini was none the less present in my mind, and the desire for my projected vengeance grew, the longer that vengeance was delayed.

Two things, however, I observed, and these did not look well for my plot. One was that never now would Umzilikazi commune with me alone as in the old friendly manner of former days; the other that he never appeared without a strong body-guard in attendance, fully armed, and composed of young warriors chosen from houses whose fidelity to the House of Matyobane was beyond suspicion, they being themselves of that House. But my time was coming, and that I knew, for the very desperation and assurance of a man who values not his own life.

There were times when, looking upon the múti bag – Lalusini’s last gift to me, which I ever wore – I felt moved to open it. But her words were explicit. It was only to be opened in the very last extremity, and such extremity I felt had not yet been reached. So I forebore.

And now, Nkose, there befell one of those occurrences which will befall even the wisest and coolest and most experienced of any of us when least we look for it, which are destined to alter all our most carefully laid plans, for there is ever some moment in life when the wisest and most carefully thinking man is no better than a fool. And this is how it came about.

One evening I was walking back, along the river bank, to my kraal, alone – thinking, as ever, upon my now fast ripening scheme – when I heard my name called out in a quavering croak. Turning, I beheld the shrivelled figure of an old crone, perched upon a point of rock overhanging a long deep reach. Beside her was a bundle of sticks she had been gathering.

“Give me snuff, Untúswa, O Great Fighter,” she cried, stretching out a bony claw. “Give me snuff from that pretty box stuck in your ear, for I have none.”

I stepped aside, and, taking the horn tube from the lobe of my ear, poured half its contents into her skinny old hand, and as I did so I recognised in the old witch one who had an evil repute among us for Umtagati; indeed, it was reported that she had been “smelt out” and killed in the time of Tshaka, but had somehow managed to come to life again, and had not been interfered with since because of our custom under which no one can be killed twice.

She was very, very old – so old that beyond a wisp or two of white wool her scalp was entirely bald. Her limbs were mere bits of stick, to which even her few rags of clothing would hardly cling. Looking at her squatting there, I thought she would make an exact mate for old Gasitye, as I had seen him in the tagati cave, squatting in like fashion; and I must have laughed at the thought, for she said, with some show of fire:

“Laugh, Untúswa, laugh, I am old and shrivelled, am I not? But that is a complaint you will never suffer from. Oh, no! Oh, no!”

“What mean you, mother?” I said, pausing as I was about to continue on my way, for there was that in her words which fitted not well in with my thoughts just then. “I am a fighting man, and such may reasonably not live to grow old.”

“Ah, ah! A fighting man. Thou art more. He who would sit in the seat of the mighty is hardly likely to die of old age,” she answered slowly, poking her head forward with a meaning chuckle.

“Now,” I thought, “this old witch knows too much. I will just drop her over into the river and make her safe.”

But before I could do so, she again croaked out:

“What will you give to know something, Untúswa? What will you give me if I tell you that which you would most like to learn?”

The blood seemed to stand still within me at the words. “That which I would most like to learn” – the secret of Lalusini’s disappearance, of course. I strove to restrain all semblance of anxiety, but the dim eyes of the old hag seemed to pierce my thoughts through and through.

“If it is indeed something I would like to learn, mother, then will I give anything – not too great – you may choose to ask. But, beware of fooling me with old women’s tales.”

“Ha, ha! And the fate of the Daughter of the Great – is that an old woman’s tale?”

“Tell me of that, if you know it, mother,” I said.

“Ah, ah! If I know it. See now, Untúswa, I am old – so old that I am as they of another world. And the other world moves about at night – and I – often I steal out at night and talk with those of another world.”

I murmured assent, and she went on.

“See yon pool, Untúswa?” pointing up the river where the alligators dwelt, to whom were cast those whom the King had doomed to die. “Often, at night, I go out and sit over that pool that I may talk with the ghosts of them who have died there; and they come creeping up, those ghosts of dead men, all dripping and bloody, as though fresh from the alligators’ jaws. Ha! and we have such talks, I, old Gegesa, and those ghosts of dead men – yes, and of women, too, Untúswa – of women, too;” and she paused with a shrill cackle, and leered at me. “There was thy former inkosikazi, Nangeza, she who died there, and she came up and talked with me, saying she should soon have fitting company in the land of ghosts, for it was not healthy to be the inkosikazi of Untúswa. And just then I heard steps – the footsteps of men – although it was night, and the neighbourhood of the pool was one of fear and of death. So I hid myself, Untúswa – crept away behind a stone which the moon threw into a black shadow, and this is what I saw. Four great, fierce looking men came down to the brink of the rock which overhangs the pool, and in their midst was a woman – ”

“A woman!” I echoed, staring at her.

“Eh-é! a woman – tall and shapely and beautiful, as a daughter of the Great.”

“What then?”

I hissed the words rather than uttered them. Again that blood-wave surged around my brain. I knew what was coming – knew the worst.

“What then? This,” went on the hag. “They led her to the brink of the pool, and were about to throw her in. But she spoke, and her voice was firm and sweet, as the wind’s whisper. ‘Lay not hands on me,’ she said, ‘for I come of the greatest the world ever saw.’ Then they refrained, and the foremost said, ‘Go in thyself, then, Daughter of the Great, for it is the word of the King. It is our lives or thine.’ Then she looked for one moment in front of her, the moon full on her face, and dropped quietly over. And I heard the splash and the rush through the water, as the alligators seized their meat, even as I have often heard it. But while the moon was on her face, I knew her.”

“Who was she?” I whispered.

“Lalusini, the daughter of that Great One, the founder of all nations. Thine inkosikazi, Untúswa.”

“And the men, who were they?”

“They were chief among the King’s slayers.”

“Their names? Did you not know them, Gegesa?”

“Did I not know them? Ah, ah! who is there I do not know?” And she told me the names of all four, and I laid them up in my memory; for I thought how I would have those slayers let down by thongs over the edge of the rock so that the alligators might eat them piece by piece – might crunch off first a foot, then a leg, and so on, as they dangled there. Oh, what vengeance should be mine!

“But how do I know this is true, thou witch?” I said. “How can I tell it is not all a made-up story?”

“What have I to gain by making it up? Have I not rather to gain by not telling it? Go home, Untúswa, and be happy with your new wives; they are young and bright-eyed, and round, as I was once. Yau! Rest content now you know Lalusini can never return. A returning inkosikazi is not always welcome; ha, ha!”

I stood gazing at her in silence, and the old hag went on.

“Yet it is better to lose an inkosikazi, if by that loss you sit in the seat of a King! Ah, ah! Untúswa; there will be food for the alligators then.”

“Meanwhile they shall have some now. You have lived too long, Gegesa, and you know too much. I trust not that croaking old tongue. This is the price I pay for thy news – the price it is worth.”

So saying, I picked her up by her ragged old blanket where it was knotted round her, and before she had time to utter a cry, tossed her clean over the brink of the rock. I heard the splash in the water beneath, and without troubling to look over, I turned away.

With the blood-wave surging around my brain, I strode quickly onward. Now the mystery of Lalusini’s disappearance was a mystery no more. Any last hope I might have clung to that she might one day reappear was shattered. She had died as my first inkosikazi had died, a death of horror and of blood. Whau! but other blood should flow – should flow in rivers – before many days had gone by. When the King had rid me of Nangeza I had been well pleased, for her pestilent tongue and evil temper had gone far towards rendering life a weariness; but I had lived even longer with Lalusini than with Nangeza, but so far from doing aught that should cause my love for her to decrease, Lalusini had taken care that it should grow instead.

By the time I reached my kraal, night had fallen. Entering my large hut, I called for Jambúla the slave who had been with me in the slaying of the ghost-bull. By birth Jambúla was of the Amaxosa, a numerous and warlike people whose land is to the southward, as you know, Nkose. When a young man his family had been “eaten up” by order of its chief; and he, narrowly escaping with is life, had at last found refuge with a tribe of Basuti, among whom we had captured him. And now I knew that if there was one man upon whose fidelity I could entirely reckon, that man was Jambúla.

Having made sure that none could overhear us, to him now I opened the plot. His face lighted up with joy as he listened.

“To-morrow, by this time, we shall both be ghosts in the shadow world, or I sit in the seat of Umzilikazi, and you among the izinduna of this nation. How like you that, Jambúla?”

“If you are dead, my father, I too am dead,” he answered. “Not too soon, either, is it to strike, for my eyes and ears have not been closed in these days, nor have those of the Great Great One. It is his life or ours. The time when this place shall awaken hemmed in by the spear-points of the slayers is but a question of a few nights more or less.”

I believed this to be true, but even if it were not so it would have made but little difference. The tale told me by old Gegesa had so inflamed my blood that I could wait no longer. Vengeance, now at once – now, before it escaped me. I could wait no more.

A little while longer did Jambúla and I whisper together. Then softly and silently we stole forth into the night.