The Induna's Wife

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.