The Induna's Wife

“He confesses!” cried those standing around. “Enough – enough. Let him be shot.”

The leader of the council, having obtained silence, spoke:

“On your own showing, Tambusa, you are guilty of counselling and planning the cruel and treacherous murder of our brothers at Nkunkundhlovu while they were at that place by the invitation of the King and Zulu nation. They were set upon and slain in cold blood while partaking of Zulu hospitality; and for your share in this unprovoked and abominable massacre this council adjudges you, Tambusa, to suffer death; and that, in execution of this sentence, you be taken outside the camp and forthwith shot.”

There was a deep silence as the leader ceased speaking. It was broken by the voice of Tambusa:

“I, too, have something to say.”

All started. Would this braggart, they thought, turn coward, and endeavour at the last moment to save his life? Ah, they little knew.

“Speak, then,” said the leader. “But let it be brief.”

“This boy,” said Tambusa, with a wave of the hand towards Nkombazana, who squatted a little distance off. “He has slain no Amabuna. Let him go home.”

No reply was made at first, and the Amabuna looked at each other. But Nkombazana, who had heard all, now sprang to his feet. He to go home, when his father and chief was to die here? No, no! Then, with flashing eyes, he began bellowing out the number of Amabuna he had slain. Why, he had helped to batter out the brains of that very party, and had ripped up white women with his own spear what time we rushed the waggon camp. If his chief was to die, he would die with him. A warrior must follow his chief everywhere.

Well, he obtained his wish. The leaders would have spared him at first, but when they heard him glorying in the slaughter of their countrymen – and countrywomen, too – they soon desisted in their attempts, and the Amabuna at large howled for his blood.

So Tambusa and his young follower were ordered to proceed in the midst of their armed guard to the outskirts of the camp to meet their death.

No further word did Tambusa speak, save one of commendation of the bravery shown by his follower. He strode forth in the midst of his guard, his head thrown back – his great stature and fearless countenance worthy of a Zulu of the noblest rank and birth. When they ordered him to halt he did so, and, facing round upon the line of levelled guns, stood proudly, with folded arms, his young follower standing equally fearless at his side. A line of flame shot forth, and a rolling crash. Tambusa and Nkombazana sunk quietly to the ground, pierced by many bullets, dying without a struggle.

Such, then, was the end of Tambusa, and although, Nkose, I had no liking for him nor he for me – indeed, had he lived he would ever have been my bitterest enemy – yet his end was that of a brave man, and in every way worthy of an induna of the Zulu nation who sat at the right hand of the King.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Dividing of the Nation

The time had been well chosen for the return of the Bapongqolo to the heart of the nation, for now the Amabuna were advancing upon us, and with them Nongalaza at the head of a strong army, made up of the rebel traitors whom he had induced to desert their true king. The killing of Tambusa while on a message of peace had infuriated Dingane. He ordered Nkunkundhlovu to be burnt, vowing to rebuild it no more until he had driven the rebels and their white friends from the land, and exacted a fearful vengeance for the slaughter of his faithful induna. So the izanusi were called up, and we were doctored for battle, and Lalusini, or Mahlula, as she was known here, together with her band of girls decked out in their richest dresses, stood forth and heartened the warriors by their songs of battle and victory; even as she had once heartened us to defeating, under the shadow of my white shield, these very warriors with whom I now fought, and a section of whom I was now leading. Yes, these hundreds of men, the Bapongqolo, were worth much to Dingane now.

The day had come at last, and the nation was divided. And now, with the one great struggle for the very life of the nation at our gates, Dingane showed himself, as he never had so shown himself before, as a noble and worthy warrior-king of a mighty warrior people.

It was the morning of the battle, that great struggle which should mean, to him and his, all or nothing. Ha! he was great, he was majestic, that warrior King, as he came forth to address his children – to hearten us for what lay before us. Not that we needed burning words of encouragement, for of all that dense array crouching there behind their shields, not one at that moment but longed for the gleam of the spears of Nongalaza to come into view.

Then the King stood forth arrayed in full war dress, his great form towering to the height of the waving ostrich plumes which rose above his head-ring – his head thrown back in royal pride as his eyes swept proudly over the dense ranks of those who adhered to him – and his words rolled like thunder upon the still air:

“My children, the day is upon us at last when the might of the People of the Heavens is to be put upon its sorest trial; the day which is to decide whether the name of Zulu is to blaze forth again in all its brightness, to strike terror once more upon the world, or to become a forgotten thing. For a space it has been hidden, but only that it might blaze forth again the more brightly. Yonder there come against us enemies. There are those who came among us with false words – calling themselves a holy people – and striving, with fair words, to wrest from us the lands which, bit by bit, we have added to the greatness of our nation – a people which knows not how to keep faith – a people which, in its greed, knows not how to observe its own agreements – a nation which slays ambassadors bearing a peace message. But worse. With that people, who comes? Who but they who would divide the nation – who, to do this, have not scrupled to place their neck beneath the foot of this other race – of these Amabuna, the scum and refuse of all white peoples – they of our own blood – they who have grown great under the shadow of the House of Senzangakona. These indeed are worse than dogs, for even a dog will not bite the hand that fattens him. Ha! and with them is one of the House of Senzangakona – yet not, for it cannot be that a real bough of that great and royal tree can have joined with the refuse of all the white races, to turn and destroy his father’s house. Some bastard must it be – changed at birth – some low, base bastard, foisted by fraud upon the House of Senzangakona. And he, he who would, by the favour of the Amabuna, call himself King, where is he? Not among those who come against us. He is not even a leader of men. See him skulk behind the guns of the Amabuna while my dog, Nongalaza, leads his army for him. His army! Hau! a pack of cur dogs whom the lion-cubs of Zulu shall disperse howling, for how shall so base and traitorous a band of runaways face and stand against the might of these?”

And as Dingane waved his hand over the assembled army a sound went up like the sullen roar of a sea-wave that curls and breaks. The King went on:

“My children! this is a time, not for talking, but for doing. I, your father, am here with you – I, your leader. Let the lion-cubs of Zulu fall on bravely under the eye of the lion. Lo! those who direct you are men to follow. Where is Umhlela? where is Silwane? where Nomapela and Untúswa?” And with each name a storm of applause rolled from the warriors. “Where they are, there follow. Lo! I see the enemy. Lo! there are they who come against us. In perfect order, rank upon rank, go now to meet them. Fall on and strike – and strike hard. Strike until not one of them is left. Go, my children! Go, lion-cubs of Zulu!”

Away in the distance a dust-cloud was advancing, and through it the sheen and flash of spears. With a great roar the whole army sprang to its feet and saluted the King, who stood, with head thrown back and outstretched arm, pointing with his spear towards the approaching host; and as the regiments formed up in columns and began their march, moving out over the plain like huge black serpents, the war-song of Dingane rolled forth like thunder upon the still and brooding air:

“Us’eziténi!Asiyikuza sababona.”(“Thou art in among the enemy.We shall never get a right of him.”)

Louder and louder it swelled, uttered in fierce, jerky roars, as the roars of ravening beasts who can no longer be restrained from their prey. Then the red mist was before all eyes. The host of Nongalaza was singing, too; but for that we had no ears, only eyes for the body of our foe. Our warriors now swung forward at a run, the ranks steadied and kept in line by the warning word of an induna, or a sub-captain. Otherwise none spoke.

Now they are before us. Their appearance is even as that of ourselves. They have the same shields, the same broad spears, the same discipline. But their courage? Ha! We have that – we, the chosen, we, the faithful. Now we are among them; there is the slap of shield meeting shield, the tramp of struggling feet, the soft tearing of spear ripping flesh. Ha! The red blood is flowing; warriors go down by hundreds – beaten to earth – ripped as they lie – as many of ours as of theirs. The savage, gargling groan of the dying, as they strive to drag themselves upward, and, spear in hand, die fighting still – the death-hiss of their slayers – the “I-ji!” that thrilling whistle that shakes the air – the laboured panting of those who strive – the shiver and clash of hard wood and the crunch of bone, as the heavy knob-sticks meet other hard wood, or perchance a skull – these are the sounds that turn the air itself verily warring. But neither side gives way – neither side yields a foot’s breadth – or, if so, it is but for a moment, to charge again in renewed fury.

Again and again this happens. No advantage can either side gain. Both strive with equal fury; both trained in valour and discipline under the same training. Whau! there will be none left to tell of this battle, so surely shall we make an end of each other.

Now I, with the Bapongqolo, being in command of the left “horn” of our army, am striving to surround that of the enemy, though his numbers are almost as great as our own, and in this I am partially succeeding. But what is the other “horn” doing? By this time we have gained some slightly rising ground, and now I can see. Ha! Can it be? Those on that side are fighting against us – fighting against their own brethren – fighting against their King. They have gone over to the side of Nongalaza.

But, so far from disheartening our people, this traitorous defection acts differently. Umhlela, watching and partly directing the battle from a little distance off, gives the word, and himself at the head of the force he has been holding in reserve, charges furiously upon these traitors, rolling them back upon the thick of Nongalaza’s force, and throwing the latter into confusion. Umhlela is a small man and old, but never was there a braver one. He is in the hottest of the battle, and they whom he leads follow like lions. The tossing of shields, and the tramp and pushing of striving feet, shakes both earth and air. Ha! Umhlela is down. A wounded warrior, supposed to be dead, has sprung to his feet, and with last stroke has cleft the brave induna through the heart. But the rallying cry on the dying lips: “On, children of Zulu! The Lion watches you,” thrills our people with renewed strength. Now we gain. The rebels are giving way. Now is the time. We press them harder and harder. Not hundreds now, but thousands lie slain, or writhing in death-throes. They are beginning to withdraw. The day is ours.

Is it? Ha! What is that shout, gathering in volume as it rolls along behind the rebel army – heartening those in front to face us more fiercely.

“They come, the Amabuna! The Amabuna are at hand!”

We who hear it can see Nongalaza riding on horseback along his rank – he and other of Mpande’s indunas – and with shout and gesture they point behind them, then wave their men on. And in the distance can be heard the rattle of the discharge of guns.

“They come, the Amabuna!”

That cry loses us the day. The younger regiments waver, fall into confusion, and flee. The men of the Imbele-bele – a splendid ringed regiment – stand their ground. So, too, do the Bapongqolo. Then we have work to do. One glance behind us, and we can see the land covered with fleeing fugitives; but the spot whence the King watched the battle is empty. We have saved the King.

Well, we are doomed. Thick and fast our warriors fall, being hugely outnumbered, and it wants but the coming of the Amabuna to make an end of us completely.

Now Nongalaza came riding along in my direction, where I, at the head of the Bapongqolo, stood at bay, and waved on his army, crying aloud that they should make an end of us, at all events. So seeing the rebel host – which now was stronger than we – sweeping up to surround us, I gave the word to retreat, and not too soon either, for we had to fight our way through the closing “horns.” But the land on that side was broken, and seamed with dongas; and Nongalaza’s people, tumbling over each other in their hurry and confusion, were less quick than we. Yet many were slain in that rout, and ere night fell the land seemed alive with pursuers and pursued. But I set my face in the direction of the Ngome forests, where my outlawry had been spent. There, I knew, were holes and retreats wherein not all the men of Nongalaza twice over would succeed in finding me.

And, as night fell, the dull red glow of burning kraals lit up the land, and from afar you could hear the exultant war-song – the song of victory. Yet not altogether, for the song of Mpande was the song of bondage too, in that he, a prince of the House of Senzangakona, had purchased his kingship dear; for he had purchased it at the price of doing konza to the Amabuna, in order to be allowed to hold it – in order to sit in the seat of Tshaka the Mighty, and of the warrior-king Dingane, who, however, might even yet be heard of again.

The slaughter on either side that day was immense, Nkose. Yet not by might or by bravery did Nongalaza win that victory. Oh, no! He won it by a trick. Had he not cried that the Amabuna were at hand, we should not have given way. But up till then we had gained no great advantage, and the approach of these people, who could gallop into our very midst and discharge their guns without harm to themselves, took all heart out of our warriors, already hard pressed by the forces of Nongalaza, nearly equal as these were to our own. So we fled, and lost the day. Yet we need not have, for the Amabuna were not really coming. But a good general will despise no method of snatching a victory, and Nongalaza was right.

Chapter Twenty Three.

A Hard Ordeal

“Waken, Untúswa!”

The whisper was soft, so, too, was the touch, yet I sprang to my feet, grasping my spear. But at the same moment my grasp on it relaxed, for before me stood Lalusini.

Wearied with the hard fierce fighting of the day, I had crept into a secure hiding-place beneath a rock overhung with all manner of undergrowth, and had slept soundly. Yet my dreams had been full of warring and battle, and now my great assegai was clotted and foul with blood, and more than one deep gash on body or limb felt stiff and smarting.

But all thought of myself seemed at an end as I looked at Lalusini. There was a hard fierce look upon her face such as I had never seen there before, and in it I saw a strong likeness to Dingane.

“The time has come, Untúswa,” she said shortly. “Take thy spear, look well to its point, and follow me.”

“That I will gladly do, Lalusini,” I answered. “But, as we travel, tell me, what work is before me now?”

“One stroke of thy broad spear – the King’s Assegai – ha, ha! it is well named – it will be a royal weapon indeed! One stroke of thy broad spear and we shall be great together, great even as I have often predicted to thee. Come! Let us hasten.”

There was an eager fierceness in her tone and manner that kept me marvelling; however, I would see what her plan was.

She led the way – not speaking. We passed beneath spreading forest trees, where the thick undergrowth impeded our advance, and the silence of the shade was only broken by the call of birds. It seemed as though men’s feet had never trodden here; yet I knew the spot, for this was one of the very refuges I had at first thought of running for myself.

“There,” said Lalusini, in a quick, fierce whisper, pointing with her hand. “Strike hard and true. So shall we be great together.”

I went forward. In front was a low cliff, hanging over as though it had intended to form a cave, but was not quite sure of its own mind. Under the shelter thus formed, just screened from view in front by a dense growth of scrub lay the form of a man.

Cautiously I peered through the bushes, then put them aside. The form, which was turned away from me, did not stir. Noiselessly I stepped beside it, and then as I bent down to gaze into the face, I could hardly forbear a start. It was the face of Dingane – the face of the King.

Yes; it was the Great Great One himself. He was sound asleep, his head pillowed on one hand, interposed between it and the rock. But how came he here, he who moved armed men in their countless might – he before whom the nations trembled and hid their heads – how came he here, in hiding and alone?

But was he alone? It seemed so, for I could descry no sign – no sound of the presence of men. And while I thus gazed, again that soft whisper breathed into my ear, “Strike, and strike hard! So shall we be great together!”

Strike! Nothing could have been easier. The large form lay there without movement, the heave of the breast, above the heart, turned towards me as though inviting the stroke. Yet, as I gazed, the noble majesty on the countenance of the sleeping King seemed to paralyse my arm. One blow, and Lalusini, by her sorcery, aided by my own warrior prowess, might set me upon Dingane’s seat. Yet, I could not do it.

Then I thought the sleeper stirred.

“He wakes,” I whispered, withdrawing again behind the bushes. Lalusini followed me.

“And art thou so weak, Untúswa?” she said. “Au! For this have I laboured, for this have I plotted and exercised my magic until it was nearly too much forme. Yet not all for greatness, but for revenge. The blood of Tshaka the Mighty flowed over the spear of Dingane; now shall the blood of Dingane flow over thy spear!”

Still I moved not, and she went on:

“The blood of that Mighty One from whom I am sprang, and who caused me to learn my magic that through it vengeance might fall, shall it not be avenged? The time has come for which I have waited and striven. Now go, and make an end of it, Untúswa, so shall we be great together; else canst thou be great alone – or small – with no help from me.”

Now I nerved myself. That which she seemed to threaten looked too terrible, for in truth, by her I was as one bewitched.

“Go, Untúswa. My múti is upon him. He will not waken too readily,” she whispered, in her sweetest of tones, gently pushing me towards the cave once more.

Again I parted the bushes and peered through; again I stood over the sleeping King. A great white shield lay almost beneath him, and two broad assegais had slid from his relaxed grasp. I raised my spear – No, I could not do it.

Had he been awake, and standing up, the deed would be an easy one at that moment; but alone, deserted, and asleep – no, I could not thus slay him.

And then I thought of the favour he had shown me, even to allowing me the chance of escaping to the Bapongqolo, what time Tambusa and Umhlela had striven to compass my death. I thought how he had spared me, spared the Bapongqolo, and had raised me to honour when all men trembled at his frown; and now that he lay here, a deserted fugitive, I could not turn against him. His life lay within my hand, yet I could not take it. No, not to win greatness for myself; not even to retain Lalusini’s love.

“Farewell, Untúswa!” came that soft whisper behind me. “Farewell; we may meet no more.”

She stepped swiftly through the belt of bushes. For a moment I stood stupidly gazing after her, then I followed. But she had disappeared. I called her, I searched for her. All in vain.

Then I went back to the sleeping King. Him I would save at all events. I had helped in saving him during the battle yesterday, by holding back the impi of Nongalaza; to-day I would save him entirely by myself. Even now Lalusini might have gone to find those who would carry out her bidding readily enough.

“Awaken, Great Great One!” I said, not too loud, lest others ears might be about. “Thy servant knows of a better sleeping-place than this.”

At first Dingane seemed to arouse himself but slowly. Then he sprang up, gripping his shield and spears.

“Who art thou?” he cried, darting upon me his lion-like glance. “Ha! Untúswa, is it? Another traitor perhaps. How sayest thou, Untúswa? All, all are traitors.”

“No traitor am I, Black Elephant,” I answered. “It is safer, however, for the lion of Zulu to make his lair elsewhere.”

In the glance which Dingane bent upon me was distrust, suspicion, contempt by turns, but no sign of fear.

“What, Untúswa, and art thou faithful to me – thou, the wanderer – thou who art not of us, while they whom my hand has fed have deserted me – have turned their spears against me? Whau! It cannot be.”

“Who am I to fill the ears of the Great Great One with words,” I answered. “Yet, my father – wanderer or no wanderer – I know of no man whom the Lion of Zulu may more safely trust.”

“What, then, are thy counsels, Untúswa?” said the King.

“This, Lion. Hard by is a place known to none, where thou canst sit still in safety until the army is collected again. It was badly routed in the more open plain, yet here in these fastnesses none will dare venture – not even the Amabuna – until the trumpeting of the Elephant shall scatter the traitors and rebels once more. Such is my counsel, Ruler of the Great.”

“I will even trust thee, Untúswa,” said the King. “And now let us go forth.”

I picked up my shield and weapons, which, of course, I had let fall, being in the royal presence, and we took our way thence, I walking in advance and spying carefully around to guard against possible surprise.

For long we thus travelled, and when night came we sat and feasted upon the meat of a young impala which I had killed by a lucky spear-cast; but we slept away from any fire, and in a place of secure concealment. On the morrow we kept on our way once more, and by noon came to the resting-place I had designed for the King. This was a group of caves, somewhat high up among the rocks of the Lebombo range. Beneath, the slope fell away, bushy, but not too thickly so as to prevent us from descrying the approach of friend or foe, while on either side so strewn with rocks and boulders was the base of the cliff that retreat would be easy in the event of pursuit.

“Whau, Untúswa!” said the King, with a laugh in his eyes. “When Tambusa would have broken a nest of wasps around thy kraal, thou wert turning thy wanderings to good account!”

“That is so, Great Great One,” I answered, recalling to mind the words of Sifadu – “The day might come when Dingane himself would be glad to join us.” And strange it was that my enforced flight from the hate of the principal indunas should be the means of providing the King with a place of refuge and concealment in the day of his downfall.

So we rested there for many days, Dingane and I. Yes, this dreaded one, before whom all men and all nations had trembled, now treated me as a friend, so entirely does adversity draw the greater and the lesser together. Yet never for a moment did I forget who it was that I thus foregathered with; never was there aught that was unbecoming in word or tone or action of mine towards the King – the real and true ruler of the great Zulu nation.

Often would the thought of Lalusini return to me, of her purposed revenge, which she intended to seize through me. This, then, was that for which she had plotted – this the means by which I was to become great. Had I in refusing it acted the part of a fool? No, that could not be, for, Nkose, although I spared not such as would injure me or could not keep faith, yet never did I lift hand against any who did well by me. Wherefore now I rejoiced that I had not slain the King – had not slain a sleeping and helpless man at the bidding of a woman, even though that woman were Lalusini.