The White Shield
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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.
Chapter Eighteen.
In Dark Warning
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.