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This, then, was the secret of their fate, which so far had lain in dark and terrible mystery. They had been kept for such an end.
Five chief traitors had there been; yet here were but four! The first astonishment over, men looked at each other – their eyes asking in mute surprise where was the fifth? And of those who thus marvelled none wondered more than myself.
On the centre stake, raised half the height of a man above the others, was the body of Tyuyumane. On either hand of him were impaled Ncwelo and Senkonya, and, a little in front, Notalwa. Where, then, was Ntelani? Where, then, was my father? Well, wherever he was, it was not there.
The stake of impalement is a terrible thing, Nkose, and was seldom used among us – only once, indeed, since we had gone out from Zululand, and then in the case of three chiefs who had come in to konza to Umzilikazi, and had departed, laughing at their promise. Now, however, by the hideous fate to which he had adjudged these ringleaders of the conspiracy, it was clear that the King intended to strike terror into all who might at any future time be tempted to travel the same road.
They were still alive, those wretches – for a man may live a day or more in that torment, and these had not long been on the stakes. And as we stood gazing upon them thus suffering, several izimbonga came running forth from the isigodhlo– roaring like lions, trumpeting like elephants, bellowing like bulls – shouting the praise and the royal titles of the King. And from the whole army, ranged on either side of the open space in two immense half-moons, these were taken up, and re-echoed again and again.
But Umzilikazi, advancing down the centre, with his head thrown proudly back, halted, and held up his hand.
“Cry not to me the Bayéte, my children!” he said, in clear and ringing tones. “Cry it to your King, Tyuyumane. Behold him, yonder – your King, Tyuyumane!”
Bitter and biting as serpents were the words, splendid the gesture, as the Great Great One waved a hand towards the chief of the impaled traitors, who was raised higher than the rest. An awestruck murmur ran through the ranks. None knew what to do; for the humour of a King is of the nature of fire, in that it is not a thing to be played with.
“What? Have ye no word, my children? Have ye no greetings for your King, Tyuyumane – your new King, who reigns from a high seat? See, I will set you the example.”
Then going before the stake whereon writhed Tyuyumane, the Great Great One mocked him, crying —
“Hail, Tyuyumane! Hail, new King of the Amazulu – ruler of the world! Is thy seat high enough? Is it soft enough? Ha! Praise him, ye izimbonga! Cry him the Bayéte, ye warriors!”
The impaled wretch gave a quivering heave, and his lips curled back from his jaw, baring the teeth, which were locked together in the agony of his torment. It was a fearful sight, for though ruthless in the heat of battle, yet at this moment we saw not red; and these sufferers, though deservedly thus punished, were of our own blood. Yet none pitied overmuch Notalwa, for the izanusi were hated and feared by all.
“We leave thee in peace, Tyuyumane,” went on Umzilikazi, still mocking. “We go out from thee, because a nation cannot own two kings. We leave thee, but will konza to thee from afar. We leave thee our royal dwelling, Ekupumuleni. We leave thee in the midst of thine izinduna,” – with a wave towards Ncwelo and Senkonya, between whom he was impaled. “We leave thee, too, our head izanusi, Notalwa, and we go forth, homeless and scanty in possessions, to seek a new home. Thou, who art weary, need travel no further. Ekupumuleni, ‘the Place of Rest,’ shall be thy resting-place forever. Ha! Hlala gahle, Tyuyumane! Rest in peace!”
With this mocking salutation, the King turned away, and, preceded by the izimbonga shouting in praise of the royal justice, he paced for the last time, and with great state, through the principal gate of Ekupumuleni, and, mounting his horse, which was awaiting him outside, signed that we should commence our march. Then, as the immense array of armed warriors, in full war adornments, filed out of the great gate, spreading forth over the plain as the waves of a dark sea, once more was raised the song of triumph which told of our victory over the Amabuna:
“Ningepinde nimhlab ’Umzilikazi! Ha—ha—ha! Ca-bo! Ca-bo!”
And soon the mighty kraal which had been the home of a warrior-nation for so long a time was quite deserted – given over to those four grisly figures, writhing there upon their stakes in blood and agony.
But scarcely had the rear of the last column passed out through the gates than flames and smoke were seen issuing from four points of the kraal at once. The King had given secret orders that it should be thus fired; and the blaze, once kindled, leaped from dome to dome of the thatch huts, running along the dry thorn fences with a crackling roar like the volleys from the guns of the Amabuna; and now in a marvellously short space of time the immense circle of Ekupumuleni was wrapped in huge sheets of flame; and in the dense smoke-clouds which rolled down upon the whole of its area, before towering aloft to the heavens, the bodies upon the stakes were completely swallowed up. And then all cried aloud in praise of the mercy of the King, who had thus shortened the just suffering of those traitors by the swift death of suffocation, while rendering them such a noble tomb as the ashes of a royal dwelling.
Such then was the end of Ekupumuleni, the Place of Rest; and again as we resumed our journeyings, again as we swept northward upon our devastating way, our path might have been read by the line of the vultures in the heavens, by the track of wild beasts through the brake and the grass, running side by side with us, well knowing who should supply them with plentiful and easy prey.
Now none knew why the King should have been minded to spare my father, Ntelani, for that the latter had been spared all now knew. Yet he was cut off from all fellowship with his equals, and was forced to accompany our march, sullen and sad, unarmed, and in the midst of a guard consisting only of slaves. Some thought it was because he was the father of him who wielded the King’s Assegai; others that he was reserved for an even worse fate; but all wondered he did not take his own life rather than live on thus – he an induna of high degree, now forced to herd with Amaholi and the lowest of the people.
The little blue-eyed child whom I had taken from among the Amabuna had by now quite lost all fear of us, and would laugh and play as merry as the merriest of our children. My two younger wives cared for her greatly; indeed, I think they loved her more than they did their own children. But Nangeza, my inkosikazi, looked upon this little one with a scowling brow. It would draw ill upon us, she used to declare, to bring into our midst a child of such a race. However, beyond frowns and growlings even she dare not go; for the child had been given into my charge by the King, and to harm it meant death; nor was Nangeza tired of life just then. This little one, too, feared nothing, not even the King himself; and often, when Umzilikazi was moving abroad, and all were bowing down before him with words of bonga, she would dart away from those who would have restrained her, and run out all alone, and, standing before the Great Great One, throw up her tiny hand in the air, and cry aloud the Bayéte, her blue eyes laughing up into the King’s face. And he would talk softly to her, and presently send round a couple of white calves or two or three goats for her to play with. And we named her Kwelanga, from “Kanya Kwelanga,” the “Light of the Sun,” because her hair, all bright as of gold, seemed to reflect that light.
So our nation journeyed on, and more than one moon had waxed and waned. And there was a brightening up of spirits among the warriors, and talk and songs of war; for now we knew we were drawing near the country of the People of the Blue Cattle, the land of richness and promise, the land which should be ours.
Chapter Seven.
Untúswa’s Embassy
We had halted some days at a convenient place to hunt. The King was in high good humour, for the land with each day’s progress fell off in no wise from the report I had made upon it.
“In truth, Untúswa, thou art a wise man as well as a brave one, though young in years,” he said one day, as we sat beneath the shade of a great tree, taking snuff; for Umzilikazi, with a number of his body-guard, and three or four izinceku, had gone on in advance of the remainder of the nation, intending to hunt before the game was scared out of our path. But the game we sought was fierce and dangerous game – the lion, and the elephant, and the buffalo – and in the slaying of such none was bolder or more skilful than the King himself. I was the only induna of the party, and, indeed, it seemed to me that Umzilikazi liked to find some reason for keeping me about him, even as when I was a boy and unringed.
“It seems to me,” he went on, after I had uttered my thanks for his word of approval, “it seems to me that we are drawing near to the country of the Chief of the Blue Cattle, yet the choicest of those cattle have not travelled our way, nor have their owners sent to beg to be allowed to live. How do you explain this, Untúswa?”
“The Bakoni are a nation of fools, Great Great One. Their warriors are numerous, but they do not look much of warriors. They, in their ignorance, fear not the might of the all-devouring Amazula. Give but the word, Father, and the day we sight their town, there shall not be a man left.”
“Thou art a lion-cub, indeed, Untúswa,” said the King, with a laugh. “No. I have another mind in this matter. I will not destroy these people, for I think to make use of them – that is, I will give them one more chance. I will send to their chief, that he delay not to come in and place his neck beneath my foot. But who to send? None but these slaves speak with the tongue of those people – and who can trust a slave? – and Masuka is too old, and to me too valuable.”
This last the King said rather to himself than to me, yet I understood his meaning.
“Send me, Father,” I said. “I am able to converse with these people, and who better can explain the mind of the King in such a matter?”
“That is so, Untúswa. But it is like sending thee to thy death; for, if these people are wallowing in their folly to the extent of refusing to konza to me, it is as likely as not they will slay my messenger. And it is not a very great death for a fighting captain.”
“When a man dies in the service of the King, any death is a great death,” I answered. “Send me, Black Elephant.”
Umzilikazi took snuff a moment and pondered.
“I will send thee, son of Ntelani,” he said. “Who now is there to bear thee company, for thou must go alone, with one other, and four slaves to carry thy game. I will not that an induna of the King go before the chief of a numerous nation unattended.”
It was, as the King had said, a dangerous service. The Bakoni, I knew, were relying on their numbers. It was extremely probable they would put me to death in the first instance, and, at any rate, certain that they would do so later, when they realised that our impis were actually drawing near to sweep them off the face of the earth. Yet I felt sure that the Great Great One had some reason in sending me; and, even had I not, never was I known to think twice when ordered to any post of danger. I was the only induna with the King there in our advanced camp, but among the royal body-guard was that aforementioned younger brother of mine, Mgwali, son of the same mother as Sekweni, who was put to death for suffering himself to be overpowered at his post. Him now I named to the King.
“It is well,” said Umzilikazi. “Go now to this chief named Tauane, which appears to mean in the tongue of his race, ‘A Young Lion,’ and say that not many days off draweth near an old lion, whose roar is louder – that unless I behold the usual tribute, brought by himself in person, before we are within a day’s march of his town, he and his people are already dead. Go!”
I stood before the King, cried aloud the Bayéte, and strode off. I armed myself with my great war-shield, several strong assegais, and a heavy knobstick. Then I took in my hand the King’s Assegai, and sent for my brother Mgwali.
“Pick out four of the slaves, load them with such things as we need for a long march, and follow me. It is the ‘word’ of the King!”
I stepped forth from the camp with my face turned northward. Before I had gone far I heard a sound of singing, and footsteps behind me, and immediately I was overtaken by my brother, and behind him the four Amaholi bearing loads.
“Whither are we bound, son of my father?” he asked, now that he had time for speech. I told him.
“Whau! It is like the King sending two men to take a whole nation by the beard!” he said, with a joyous laugh. “Yet, Untúswa, I am glad to be one of those chosen, for know that I am tired of my own hair, and would fain wear the ring instead of it. Moreover, thou sayest that these Bakoni maidens are fair.”
“Thou shalt soon see for thyself, Mgwali. Yet it may be that a grimmer embrace awaits us both in their town. How likest thou that, son of my father?”
“I care not. Hau! Ibúbese!” he cried, hurling an assegai with the quickness of lightning at a long, yellow gliding shape, which had darted from a thicket in front of us. But the lion uttered a quick, frightened yelp, and made off unhurt. The spear had fallen short.
“No more of that – no more of that!” I cried, in anger. “We are on the King’s service, boy. No time have we to stop and hunt. Our game lies yonder, and it may be yet more dangerous than the slaying of lions.”
Not many days had we to travel before we drew near the Great Place of the Bakoni; and, from the commotion which our appearance excited among the inhabitants of such outlying kraals as we passed, we felt pretty sure that the news of our approach had already been conveyed to the chief. And such, indeed, was the case; for on the last rise, which should bring us within sight of the town, we were surrounded by two large bands of armed warriors.
“Delay us not,” I cried haughtily, with a wave of the hand, as these made as though they would have drawn up across our path. “Delay us not. We carry the ‘word’ of the Black Elephant to the Chief of the Blue Cattle.”
We did not halt, we did not slacken our pace. We marched right into the midst of that company of armed men as though none were there. They gave way in silence, but formed up on either side of us in the manner of an escort, and in this order we drew near to the town – not exchanging a word, though we could hear the slaves behind, who bore our burdens, whispering to each other excitedly. Thus we entered, and as we did so the same thought was in both our minds. How, and in what manner should we depart from it again?
The plain for some distance outside the town was dotted about with people: women in groups, men with weapons in their hands, children herding the sleek, blue-coloured cattle, but all gazing with unbounded curiosity upon two men walking alone into their midst as though kings over them, and such indeed we felt.
In those days, Nkose, I was at the very height of my strength and manhood. Now I am old and wrinkled, but I am not short. Then I was of a largeness of limb in proportion to my lofty stature. My body was a framework of hard muscles, and indeed there was not a man in our nation who could overcome me in strength or surpass me in agility, in which my brother, Mgwali, was somewhat my inferior; yet even he was a giant in comparison with the people among whom we now were, though in other matters than strength and stature they seemed far from being a race of fools. Indeed, I have thought since that the King may have had such a contrast in his eye when he sent me to represent him among these people.
If this place had struck me as large before, it now seemed doubly so. In among the huts, too, were strange circular stone walls, here and there, looking like old and strong buildings, for their strength was immense. The huts were without end; they were built of grass, rising to a point, and were neat and clean. We were conducted to one, and bidden to rest, for that the chief would confer with us on the morrow.
“That may not be,” I said decidedly. “This night must the ‘word’ of the Great King be spoken. To-morrow may be too late for ye, O people of the Blue Cattle.”
“E – hé!” assented my brother.
Our escort looked at one another, and their looks were blank. However, they invited us to enter the hut, saying that food and drink should be brought us, and that meanwhile my words should be carried to the ears of Tauane.
We had finished the piece of beef which had been sent us, and had drained the large bowl of tywala, when messengers arrived to announce that the council of the nation would be convened at sundown, and that the “word” to be returned to our King would then be made known to us.
At the appointed time we set forth, Mgwali and I, fully armed, and bearing our shields. As we walked behind our guides, I noted the intense curiosity which our appearance was inspiring, and laughed to myself. For I heard the bystanders, especially the women, comparing our stature and fierce aspect with that of their own people, and saying if we were representatives of that horrible race – of which they had already begun to hear – then, indeed, they were as good as dead. Moreover, while not appearing to do so, I took note of the high fortified hill, which lay a little way back from the town, and thought I could find a way up it – wherein, however, I might have been wrong.
The men of the nation were gathered in an immense half-circle, like the formation of one of our impis when throwing out flanking “horns.” They sat at the upper end of a great open square, and in the bend of the half-circle were grouped the principal councillors and chiefs, and, a little in advance of the rest, clothed in the skin of a maned lion, and wearing ornaments of gold, sat the chief, Tauane. Behind were several huts of much larger size than any of the others.
Although those immediately in front of us were not armed, yet the ranks on either side showed a perfect glitter of spears. The shields were square, and not made of oxhide, like ours, but of wood. We knew at a glance that, were our death intended, we should stand no chance whatever. Two men, however brave, however well armed, would be nothing among these.
“Greeting, Chief of the Blue Cattle!” I said, as we drew near. “Remember you the name of Untúswa, son of Ntelani, and an induna of the Great King? It is a name I promised you should hear again.”
Tauane frowned, and I could see his gaze rest meaningly on our weapons. These we had gone so far as to hold in our left hands only, extending the right, open and in greeting. Further, he expected we should have bent down before him; but I, an induna of the King, a Zulu of pure blood, and coming of a kingly house, thought myself an immeasurably greater man than even the head chief of such a large and wealthy tribe as this.
“Is the nation gathered to hear my message, the ‘word’ of the Great Great One?” I asked, without further ceremony.
“Speak it, stranger,” said the chief shortly.
“This it is, then, Chief of the Blue Cattle, and councillors and people of the Bakoni. The ‘word’ of Umzilikazi, the Great King – the Black Elephant, whose tread shaketh the world – is short, even as the measure he meteth out to they who think to defy him. This it is: – ‘Go, now, to this chief, Tauane, the lion-cub, and say that not many days off there draweth near an old lion, whose roar is louder than his own – that unless I behold the usual tribute, brought by himself in person, before we are within a day’s march of his town, he and his people are already dead.’ Such was the word of the founder of nations, the eater-up of disobedient peoples, O Tauane, and councillors of the Bakoni.”
I was not sure, Nkose that that moment was not my last. Such a chorus of rage went up from the armed ranks as I delivered my message as might have been heard a great way off.
“To death with him!” they roared. “To death with the man who wears the black ring! Let him be burnt in the fire!”
But of all this I took no notice. I even gave a slight laugh, as I stood, with my head thrown back, looking down upon Tauane.
“Such is the word of the Great Great One,” I repeated, slowly.
“Have you ever done a bolder act, stranger?” said Tauane. “Hear you these? They howl for the blood of him who has insulted their nation and chief. Have you ever done a bolder act?”
“I have, indeed – an act which has won me the isicoco I wear – also this” – holding forth the King’s Assegai. “If they howl now, what will they do when the ‘word’ of Umzilikazi, the mighty King, is not obeyed. Never does he send forth his ‘word’ twice. Now, when wilt thou konza to the Elephant, O Tauane? The sooner the better!”
The howl that went up now was terrible to hear. The dense lines of armed warriors sprang to their feet and hurled themselves upon us, spears uplifted.
Mgwali and I stood back to back, covered by our shields. We would die like Zulu warriors, but before we did so the King’s Assegai should cleave in twain the heart of the chief. This Tauane knew, and made furious signs to his people to forbear. But they would not listen, and it seemed that in a moment more we should fall beneath the weight of the corpses of the Bakoni whom we would carry with us to the Dark Unknown, when there arose a new and sudden tumult out beyond the lines of those who would have slain us.
Up the open square men were running – fleeing as before some great and unknown terror – calling out wildly and looking back as they ran. Every hand was stayed, each uplifted weapon lowered. Away, over the plain, dust-clouds were moving, and soon we could descry among them the advancing horns of driven cattle. Our hearts leaped. Soon we expected to behold the avenging spears of our nation. The King had repented him of our errand of peace. Our army was even now hurrying to sweep this rebellious people from the land.
“Arm yourselves, men of the Bakoni!” cried the fugitives. “Foes are at our gate! Three days have we fled before them, such of us as are left to flee, with what we could save of our cattle. Yonder they come! They will soon be here!”
Now in the disturbance which followed, the Bakoni thought no more of taking our lives. Wildly the fugitives urged that all should at once take refuge in the hills, for that a strange and mighty race was advancing like a devouring swarm of locusts, its warriors as countless in number as the destroying insects themselves. They had received warning in time and had fled; had received warning from the remnant of those who had already been devoured. But those around us laughed. Look at their strength; at their armed might! Whom did they fear? Had they not behind them, too, an impregnable fortress?
The eyes of all were directed to the fleeing cattle. But as these drew near, urged on by their drivers, no further dust-cloud beyond them betokened the advance of a pursuing enemy. If there had been such, he had prudently drawn off on finding himself too near their great town, the Queen of the North, decided the chiefs and councillors of the Bakoni. They little knew – ah, they little knew!
During this disturbance we two had quite recovered our proud and disdainful calmness. We stood watching what went on as though in it we had no lot or part. At last, when it had quieted down somewhat, Tauane spoke:
“It will be well to retire to your house, ye two strangers. On the morrow will be decided the answer that shall be sent to your King.”
Chapter Eight.
The Scourge
The morrow came, but with it no answer to the King’s “word.” The day was spent by the Bakoni in sending forth scouting parties to look for the rumoured enemy, but these returned bearing no further news, and the chiefs and people of this doomed race felt safer than ever.
No council was convened in the evening and now, feeling sure that no answer was intended, I sent an angry message to Tauane, saying that I would give him till the middle of the following day, and that unless I had his reply by then I should depart; that his chance of safety would have gone by, and that when next he saw me it would be in the forefront of the destroyers.