The White Shield

Chapter Ten.

The Mystery Queen

While the young men were thus amusing themselves, Nkose, I ran my gaze over the faces of the prisoners whom we had spared, and as I did so it fell upon a countenance which made me start and grip my assegai. The man who owned this face met my glance, and shook with fear. And well he might; for, in spite of a plentiful besmearing of red ochre, I knew that face and he saw that I did – knew it for the face of the deserter, the slave Maroane.

“Spare me, father,” he murmured quickly in the Sechuana tongue. “Spare me, and I will tell you something that will be worth knowing – something which the King would give me my life ten times over to know.”

“Speak, dog!” I said. “Speak or die!”

But he would not. He talked swiftly and low in the Sechuana tongue, which none of our people understood, urging me to go apart with him for a space.

Just then the mountain-top was covered with our warriors, for Kalipe’s impi had now joined mine. All were in a state of the highest excitement and delight. Some were resting, some were dancing, some singing, some jeering the prisoners, others caring for wounds they had received, but the hubbub of voices was enough to make a man deaf. In the commotion I managed to get Maroane apart unobserved.

“Now, slave, thy last hour has come,” I said. “What are thy tidings?”

“Spare my life, father, and they shall be yours,” he said. “Only promise me my life.”

“Hearken, dog,” I growled, fingering the point of my spear. “If what thou showest me is worth thy miserable life, then I will not take it. But speak, or I slay thee here. That is my ‘word.’”

He knew it was. He knew that I was not one to speak twice.

“Come with me, father,” he said. “But – come alone.”

We threaded our way through many a noisy and boisterous group who jeered and threatened the man in front of me, reckoning him one of the Bakoni. But I restrained them, giving an order here, and a word of advice there, in my capacity of second in command. All thought I was going on a round of inspection, and then thought no more about anything at all. The while Maroane had been craftily leading me the complete circle of the mountain-top, and now we had gained the rocky cone which arose from the further end. Then, as we passed behind it, and the people were lost to view, Maroane bent down suddenly in the grass and dragged out by the heels the dead body of a man. Another, too, he dragged forth, then turned panting to me.

“In here, leader of the King’s might,” he said.

I looked in amazement. Under the bodies which he had removed was a hole slanting downwards into the earth, partly hidden in the long grass. The slave explained that these two had been purposely killed by their own people, in order to conceal this opening with their bodies.

Now, I had already known what it is to walk in darkness through the heart of the earth, as you will remember, Nkose, when I followed Gungana into the cave of the Izimu, or Eaters-of-Men. But for such places I have no liking, wherefore I growled:

“And what will I find, dog, when I have left the light of day?”

The fellow’s eyes shone with excitement.

“The Queen of the múti of the Bakoni, father. She is beautiful,” he whispered. “And, indeed, my life is well worth this secret.”

“Ha! lead on, dog,” I said. “But beware that thou beholdest not the end of this spear-point through thy chest.”

I trod in Maroane’s footsteps in almost complete darkness for a little way, and while I did so I pondered. What was going to be revealed? I was ever eager to look into strange mysteries – a longing implanted in me, I think, by old Mazuka. And now I heard a wild, sweet voice singing, and it seemed to me the words were in the Zulu tongue.

Now it grew light, and in a moment we walked out from the darkness of the underground passage, and stood in the light of day.

It was a marvellous place, like an enormous bowl hollowed out in the face of the cliff. The rock sloped gradually outward, and above it a narrow belt of blue sky, but overhead the vaulted roof of the cliff. The floor of this place was of solid stone. It was a marvellous hiding-place, for from beneath the face of the cliff showed no sort or sign of a break. Why had not the craven Tayane sought refuge here? But perhaps even from him was the secret hidden.

This strange rock-nest was occupied by one human being – a woman. As I sprang into her view a low sharp scream of terror escaped her, and, covering her head, she sank down at the further end of the place; not, however, before I was able to see that she was of most beautiful and shapely build. She expected instant death. Yet she begged for mercy, and the voice that came from beneath the beaded robe which covered her was marvellously enthralling. She begged that her life might be spared, or taken as quickly and painlessly as possible. That she was terrified could hardly be wondered at, for my appearance must have been terrifying in the extreme. I had borne far from the smallest share in the slaughter of the Bakoni, and now, weapons, shield, and person were covered with blood. As I leaped into view she at once took me for the first of the slayers. But the words with which she appealed to me were spoken well and fluently in our own tongue.

“What is this?” I said. “The tongue of the Zulu in the mouth of a stranger?”

“I know you, son of Ntelani,” she said, without looking up from her crouching attitude. “I have seen you more than once, messenger of the King.”

“But I have not seen you, stranger, who speakest with the voice of the west wind. Uncover now, that I may do so, before we return to the King.”

“To the King? To Umzilikazi?” she uttered, in a tone as of fear. “That may not be. Look now, son of Ntelani, and say whether I am to fall a spoil to the King.”

Throwing off the beaded robe, she stood upright, and now I saw that my first glimpse had told me no lie. She was tall – tall as Nangeza – but never did I see more perfect proportions and rounder, firmer limbs. She, like Nangeza, was light of colour; but, unlike Nangeza, there was a softness, a sweetness in her face, and in her clear eyes, which was enough to befool any man, being young, who looked. She wore the short beaded petticoat and gold ornaments of the Bakoni, but her hair was gathered up in the impiti, or reddened cone, such as is worn by Zulu women.

Now, for all my bragging to the King that I cared not about women, I was, in those days, just as great a fool as others of my age, and although in a general way I did not care to add to the number of my wives, yet, when I came upon such a woman as this, I was apt to leave my reason and ordinary sense so far behind that a long journey would be required to pick it up again. So when this one – revealing herself thus suddenly – threw out those words about falling a spoil to the King, my reason started away – to hunt game perhaps; and the thought that ran through my mind was that I would, by some means, keep her for myself.

“Who art thou, sister?” I said; “and how art thou called?”

“I am called Lalusini, and my Zulu blood is as pure as thine own, son of Ntelani. Perhaps purer.”

“Hau!” I cried, bringing my hand to my mouth in amazement. “Here is a marvel! Then how earnest thou here, Lalusini, whom this dog just now named Queen of the Bakoni múti?”

“In that he told no lie, Untúswa,” she answered, with a glance at the slave. “But the tale is over-long to be told at such a time.”

My attention being recalled to the slave, I turned to look at him. He was crouching on the ground behind me – eyes, ears, mouth, all wide-open, looking scared somewhat; and, indeed, he would have looked more so could he have read what was passing in my mind. For I had resolved that this woman should belong to me alone; and that this should be so I must leave her here – and, indeed, her first words had seemed to point that way – for such an one as she, did Umzilikazi once set his eyes upon her, she would be taken into the isigodhlo at that moment. But the secret of this hiding-place was known to three of us – Maroane being the third – and I felt that it was shared by just one too many.

“I saw thee, Untúswa,” she went on, “thee and another. I saw thee, the chief of two men, laying down terms to an armed and angry nation. I saw thee again – thee and another – in the ruined walls; two men keeping back swarms of yonder dogs; and my heart went out to thee, and to the days when I dwelt among my own people. Yes, my heart went out to thee, thou great, brave fighter; but if it were better that it should go out to the King – ”

This she spoke in a low voice, but with a look that shook my pulses, and made me mad. I sware then that she should not be delivered up to the King, but should remain hidden there, and belong to me, and to me alone; and my words seemed to please her. I promised to return shortly, but now I must depart, or the warriors would be wondering at my absence.

“Lead on now, dog!” I said to the slave. And it was the last word his ears ever heard, for when we had passed through the dark passage, and gained the outer air, I seized him by the ankle, and overthrew him; then bringing my knobstick down upon the back of his neck, I laid him dead before he could utter a sound. No second blow was required. The secret of the hiding-place was now shared by two only.

It is true, Nkose, that I had made a half-promise to spare his life, but to do so now would be to throw away my own. Nor could the dog be relied upon to preserve silence. He had betrayed me once, and deserted to the Bakoni; he would certainly not hesitate to betray me again – this time to the Great Great One himself.

But as I returned, and mixed with the people, I told myself that I was indeed the very king of fools. Had I not thrown away my life before for the sake of a woman, and to-day this same woman was an element of great trouble and disturbance in my life? And now, here I was, older, and with plentiful experience, doing exactly the same thing again! For to secrete captives or cattle taken in war was one of the most deadly offences in the eyes of the King. Its penalty was death, and more than death, for it was usually death by torture. And this deadly offence, I, Untúswa, the second fighting captain and trusted induna of the King, had deliberately committed; and all for the sake of a woman! In truth was I the very chief of fools!

Yet, at the time, I did not so name myself; for as we returned in triumph, with the captives in our midst, streaming down the mountain-side, and singing the war-song of Umzilikazi, I, for once, thought but little of warrior-pride, for my mind was back in that strange hiding-place, and in my ears was still the music of the voice of her whom I had found there. A spell indeed as of witchcraft had she cast over me; and now, as I walked among the triumphant warriors, I seemed quite outside of their rejoicings. It might be witchcraft, I told myself, but it was witchcraft that rose above the fear of death.

The plain beneath was covered with the blue cattle of the Bakoni, and, huddled in groups, were the women captives, frightened and sad. Other captives were there – men – and these had a set, still, stony look, for they reckoned themselves as already dead. To these were added the others we had brought down from the summit of the mountain – that fortified mountain which Tauane had boasted was able to defy the world. Yet we had ascended it so easily!

“Ha, Chief of the Blue Cattle!” I said mockingly. “Behold thy fortress! Behold the lion who roars louder than thee! Thou art already dead, thou who wouldst have done violence to the ambassadors of the Great King!”

“Perhaps not,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Perhaps not. It may be that I can tell the King that which is worth my life.”

Now, Nkose, my heart stood still within me, for these were exactly the words of Maroane the slave. To how many was known the existence of Lalusini – the secret of her hiding-place? Had I dared, I would have slain Tauane with my own hand, but this was impossible. He was the King’s prisoner. Walking in the midst of the other captives, no colour had I for slaying him, and had I done so I should have drawn down upon myself the darkest suspicion. True, there was no direct proof, as yet, that I was aware of the secret, but the King’s distrust would be aroused and my undoing would then be a certainty. And, over and above all this, the thought that Lalusini might be reft from me filled my mind with a fierce and savage dread. I felt capable of slaying the King himself rather than that should befall.

Then the whole army mustered in two immense half-circles, and the tufted shields and waving plumes, and the quiver of assegai-hafts made a noise like that of a mighty wind shaking a forest, and amid the thunder of the war-song, the King appeared, preceded by several izimbonga. These were roaring like lions, trumpeting like elephants, bellowing like bulls, wriggling like snakes, each ornamented with the skin, or horns, or teeth of the animal he represented and which constituted the King’s titles.

Umzilikazi was arrayed in a war-dress of white ostrich-feathers and flowing cow-hair. The great white shield was held over him by his shield-bearer, but he himself carried a shield made of the skin of a lion, and a broad-bladed dark-handled spear similar to the one which he had given to me. It was not often the King appeared in all the war-adornments of a fighting leader, and now that he did the mad delight of the warriors knew no bounds.

“Elephant who bears the world!” they roared. “Divider of the sun! Black Serpent of Night! Black Bull, whose horns bear fire! Lion whose roar causeth the stars to fall!” were some of the phrases of bonga which arose; and, indeed, the King himself could hardly command silence, and then not for a very long time, so great was the excitement.

“Come hither, Untúswa,” said the Great Great One. “Thou shalt be my voice, for I talk not with the tongue of these dogs. Bring forward the dog who names himself a young lion.”

Tauane was brought forward. Deeming his obeisance not low enough, one of the body-guard seized him by the back of the neck and forced his face down on to the very earth before the King.

“Down, dog!” he growled. “Down before the Founder of Nations, the Scourge of the World!”

And in fierce, threatening chorus the warriors echoed the words.

Having contemplated with a scornful sneer the grovelling captive, Umzilikazi said —

“Speak now with my tongue, Untúswa. But wait. Let old Masuka be sent for. Two tongues are better than one.”

Now I saw myself again undone, Nkose, for in turning that language into our own I thought not to render it all, and therein lay safety. But the old Masuka would certainly render it word for word. Still, my snake was watching over me then, for a message came from the old isanusi that he was making múti, as befitted so serious a time. This answer, which no other man among us would have dared to send, unless he were more than tired of his life, seemed to satisfy the King.

“No matter,” he said. “Thou wert my tongue before, Untúswa, when I despatched thee to offer favour to this dog who calls himself a lion Thou shalt be my tongue now.”

Chapter Eleven.

The End of Tauane

As the King thus spoke, Nkose, I felt safe again, for old Masuka might not arrive before I had finished interpreting, and when that time had come I felt sure that the moments left to the captive chief of the Blue Cattle would be few indeed.

“So, brother!” said the Great Great One, speaking in that soft and pleasant voice which was the most terrible of all, “so, brother – who thought to rule the world? What bad dreams disturbed thy night’s rest to cause thee to make a mock of my messengers?”

This I put to Tauane. But he made no reply save a murmur, waiting for the King to continue.

“I offered thee life, and thou didst choose death; death for thyself and thy people. Go, ask such as remain of the tribes and peoples which have lain in and around our path – ask if the son of Matyobane was ever known to send forth his ‘word’ twice?”

Still the chief made no reply, save for a murmur. But there was a light in his eyes as of hope, for Umzilikazi’s voice was soft and pleasant, and therein he read mercy. Ha! we knew better than that – knew that for such a purpose the King’s voice had better have in it the roar of thunder.