The Induna's Wife

“Yield now,” I roared, raising my bloodstained spear. “Yield or I cleave thee to the heart.”

“As thou wouldst have done Tola,” said a soft voice; and then I stood staring. The tall figure of the fugitive had halted, and, turned towards me, under the full light of the moon, I beheld the face of Lalusini.

“What hast thou done, woman?” I stammered, feeling bewitched.

“The stroke of Sopuza has fallen,” she answered simply. “The spirit of Tshaka the Mighty no longer roars aloud for blood. What then?”

“What then?” I repeated, now quite bewildered. “What then?”

But Lalasini laughed, a low, sweet, bewitching laugh.

“Art thou going to deliver me to be torn in pieces by the cubs of the Lion who is dead, Untúswa?”

For some moments I gazed at her as though I were changed into a stone. Then I turned away.

“Hlala gahle, Lalusini,” I said, over my shoulder. Again she laughed.

“Hamba gahle, son of Ntelani,” she said. “We shall again be together, but not great together – not great – ah, no! – never now.”

Her words seemed to beat within my brain as I took my way backward through the forest, and there was that in them which I liked. No, in truth I could not deliver her over to vengeance; any other person – but Lalusini – ah, no! I could not do it.

“The stroke of Sopuza” had indeed fallen, and these, Nkose, were the words of a prophecy uttered long before by an old magician as to the manner in which death should one day find out Dingane, and for this reason fierce war had been waged upon the tribe which owned Sopuza for chief, and whose dwelling was upon the Swazi border. But, secure in its mountain fastnesses, our impis had not always been able to reach it.

Quickly I took my way back to the kraal. The King was not dead, and had been inquiring for me; and when I entered the royal house, he spoke drowsily, calling me by name. I found that he had received several stabs, one of them cleaving his entrails in a frightful manner. He would hardly see the rising of another sun.

“Hither, Untúswa,” he murmured. “Didst thou make an end of those scorpions?”

“An end, indeed, Black Elephant,” I answered.

“All of them?”

“That is yet to be done, father. There will shortly be howling throughout the Swazi nation, for of that race are those who struck the Great Great One.”

“Yet I thought – or dreamed – that the hand of a woman was in it,” said the King.

“Ha! the women of the Amaswazi shall help to pay the penalty, then,” I answered, fearful lest the Great Great One should have recognised Lalusini, whom I would fain save.

“No matter, the stroke of Sopuza has fallen – ah, yes, it has fallen at last,” he murmured. “And now, Untúswa, send and gather together all the warriors. Bid that they come in full array of war; for I desire to feast my eyes upon the sight I have ever loved best.”

“That I have already done, father.”

“Thou art a very prince of indunas, Untúswa,” replied Dingane. “Hast thou gathered in all?”

“All, father. I have sent swift runners to Silwane’s impi and to all our outlying kraals.”

“That is well.”

Now the izanusi craved leave to enter, but Dingane would have none of them. There was but one in whose magic he had any faith, he said, and that was Mahlula; and since the battle Mahlula had been seen or heard of by none. Ha! I could have revealed a strange tale, Nkose, but that was furthest of all from my mind. Then the izanusi, thus refused admittance, set up a doleful howling outside the hut, until Dingane, wrathful, bade me go forth and drive them away, which I was glad to do.

All through the night I sat beside the King, never leaving him; all through the night bands of warriors were arriving at the kraal, and the tramp of their feet and the renewed wailings of the King’s women in their huts was all the sound that was heard; for men cared not to talk, so great a mourning and grief had fallen upon all.

With the dawn of day Dingane aroused himself.

“I will go forth, Untúswa. Give me the aid of thy shoulder.”

But even thus it was found that he could not walk, so I caused his chair to be brought, and thus he was borne forth, I supporting him; but although four stalwart warriors bent to the task, it was a hard one, for the men of the House of Senzangakona are large beyond the ordinary, as you know, Nkose.

Outside the kraal the warriors were mustered, squatting behind their great war-shields, forming a huge half circle even as on the day when they hailed the fugitive King in his place of concealment, only now their number had nearly doubled. There they sat, rank upon rank, motionless. As the King’s chair was lowered to the ground the whole of this dense mass of armed men threw their war-shields to the earth and fell prostrate upon them, and in the roar of the “Bayéte” which thundered forth was a subdued growl of grief and wrath. Then they arose, and squatted crouching as before.

The eyes of the dying King kindled, as he swept his glance over this splendid army, and his form seemed to gather renewed life as he sat upright in his chair, his shield-bearer holding on high the great white shield behind him. Then he spoke:

“My children, I have called you here because I desire that the last sight my eyes shall rest on shall be the sight which they have always loved the most to behold, the sight of warriors under arms, of warriors of Zulu.

“What prouder name has the world ever known? Warriors of Zulu! And you – you, my children, have well deserved it and worthily won it. Not in you was it to place your necks beneath the foot of any base slave of the Amabuna, any cur who seeks to roar like the lion, any calf who would fain stamp with the rumble of the elephant, any changeling bastard who would drag the House of Senzangakona into the dust beneath the shoes of the Amabuna. Not in you was it to do this. But you have faithfully cleaved to your real King in shadow as in sunshine, and see now the result. Look around on your own ranks. Very soon now should we have gone forth, for not always was it my intention to sit down here and rest. Then we would have swept the traitors of our own race and the Amabuna into one common pit, and covered them up and stamped them in there for ever.

“I cannot talk many more words to you, my children. But if you have been loyal and faithful to me, your well-being has ever been my care as your father, your brave deeds have ever been my pride as your King. The nation has been divided, but I would have knit it together again. I would have restored it through you, faithful ones, to all its former greatness. But now I have to leave you. The base hand of evil wizardry has found me in my sleep, has struck me down in the night, and now I go into the Dark Unknown.”

“Ma-yé!” moaned the warriors, their heads bowed in grief as Dingane paused. Then, gathering once more fresh strength, with an effort the dying King went on, and his voice rolled clear and strong like a call to battle:

“Lo! I see not the end. I know not who shall reunite this people, who shall deliver it from slavery and disgrace – extinction; for now I must leave it. My eyes are dim and the Dark Unknown is closing in around me. Yet still my last gaze is upon that sight which is the grandest the world ever saw – the warriors of Zulu under arms. Farewell, warriors of Zulu!”

The voice ceased. The head drooped forward on the chest. The great form would have fallen prone from the chair but for those who stood by. The King was dead.

Through the dense ranks there shivered forth one deep moan, and for long no man stirred. All sat in silence, mourning thus the loss of their father and King.

So died Dingane, the second of the mighty Kings of Zulu. Even as the great Tshaka had died the death of the spear at his hand, so died he the death of the spear, being struck in his sleep. But he died as he had lived, and his was the death of a true warrior-king – his last gaze upon the ranks of his assembled army – face to face with it – his last words to it, words of commendation and loving farewell – and who shall say, Nkose, that such was not a great and glorious death?

Chapter Twenty Five.

Conclusion

We buried the King with great ceremony and the sacrifice of beasts; and the whole army sat around in deep silence, the silence of grief and mourning for that the nation was now left without a head; but it was a silence that was rendered more awesome by the death-rites of the izanusi and the wailings of the women. Only for a short while, however, was the Great Great One to sit upon that seat, for he was taken up again in the dead of night and removed to a secret grave, known to but very few, as the custom is to keep secret the burial-places of kings.

Yes, with the passing away of Dingane the army was as a body without a head. At such a time the thought would often be in my mind how Lalusini would have me seize the opportunity of putting myself in Dingane’s place; for I too was of a royal tree – that of Dingiswayo, of the tribe of Umtetwa, whose place had been seized by Tshaka – yet not near enough was I to the stem of that tree, being but a branch. But I could clearly see that if opportunity there had been it was now no more. The loyalty of the army to the House of Senzangakona was too great; and now, being without a head, the warriors began to talk among themselves of the expediency of doing konza to the other Great One of that House. So we consulted together – I and Silwane and some of the principal war-chiefs – and in a short time we sent messengers to Mpande, who was the rightful King now, however he might owe his seat to the Amabuna. But with the army that had followed the Great One who was dead turned into his own army, Mpande might perhaps remedy even that.

Our messengers returned accompanied by others, including an induna of note, assuring us of the royal favour. That decided us.

It was a great day, the day that saw the nation reunited once more. Mpande sat in state, as our army filed in to his kraal near the Tugela – for Nodwengu had not then been erected – singing songs of war and praises to the new King; and when as one man the whole number of those black ones threw down their weapons and shields and shouted aloud the “Bayéte,” bending low before him, the look upon the face of the King was one of gladness and great pride. Then he spoke to us. We had fought hard and valiantly for that Great One who was no more. We had been faithful to our rightful King, and had cleaved to him through his reverses. The stroke of some evil wizard had laid that Great One low in the dark hours of the night, but the House of Senzangakona was not dead yet, and we, quick to see this, had hastened to cry the “Bayéte” to the head of that house, and the head of the Zulu nation. By reason of the fidelity we had shown he assured us of his favour, for upon such he felt he could rely.

Then the principal indunas of the returning army were called up, one by one, and “named,” and thus were continued in the commands they had held up till now; some indeed being advanced to even greater honour – among them myself. And Mpande’s word stood, for he ever regarded those who had adhered to Dingane with greater favour than those who had divided the nation with him. But that day was passed in great rejoicing, and many cattle were slaughtered, and the feasting went on far into the night.

Towards its close I retired to my hut, thinking perhaps to find there my Swazi wives, who had been given me by that Great One who was gone. But they were not there, nor was any – and while I was thinking what had become of them the door was pushed softly open, and a voice said:

“Now, Untúswa, do I return. Am I welcome?”

Whau, Nkose! Then did I leap to my feet in amazement and joy. For the voice was that of Lalusini.

She had entered, and was standing upright within the hut.