The White Shield. Mitford Bertram

to be slain for us to feast on, and we departed from his presence uttering shouts of bonga.

      When I gained my hut I found Nangeza, my principal wife, awaiting me with ill-concealed impatience.

      “Welcome, Untúswa,” she said. “And so upon the news you bring it depends whether we move onward or no?”

      “Who am I, to seek to interpret the mind of the King?” I answered darkly, for Nangeza was ever trying to wring out of me what went on in the secret councils of the izinduna, and even in my private conferences with the Great Great One himself. This was all very well while I was unringed and a thoughtless boy, but now things were different. The less women had to say to such matters the better; but although I could see this now, Nangeza never could be brought to do so. She would show an evil temper at such times, and hint that she had been the making of me – that I had been ready enough to take counsel of her in times past, but that now I was somebody I thought I could do without her. Then she would bid me beware, saying that, even as she had made me, it might still be within her power to unmake me. Now of this sort of talk, Nkose, I began to have more than enough. Nangeza might be the inkosikazi– she deserved that – but she should not be the chief, too.

      (Inkosikazi means Chieftainess. The principal wife of a man of rank.)

      She was now a tall, fine, commanding woman, and as fearless and ready of wit as she had been when a girl, yet with the lapse of time she had become too commanding – had developed an expression of hardness which does not become a woman. She had slaves to wait on her, and had little or no hard work to do herself. Moreover, by this time, I had two other wives, those two girls whom I had promised to lobola for when they had surprised me and Nangeza together; and I had kept my word. They were soft-hearted, merry, laughing girls, who never dreamed that the second fighting induna of the King’s army ought to take his commands from women; wherefore it not unfrequently befell that I preferred their huts to that of Nangeza, my inkosikazi.2

      A woman of Nangeza’s disposition could not be other than a jealous woman. She hated my other two wives. She had borne me one child, a daughter, whereas the other two had each borne me a son, and she feared lest I should name one of these as my successor, and as chief son, thus conferring precedence over any she might hereafter bear me. You white people, Nkose, think that we Zulus keep our women in the lowest subjection. Well, we do not allow them to rule us, yet now and again we find one who tries hard to do so, and gives a great amount of trouble before we can convince her that it is not to be done; and Nangeza was one of these. And of her I was even then beginning to have more than enough.

      Now she sullenly acquiesced in my reticence, for I would not unfold one word of the King’s counsels. But she gave me a very dark look and turned away muttering. Yet during my absence events of the gravest moment had been transpiring.

      In the evening Umzilikazi sent for me. I found him alone in his hut, and as I sat opposite him it seemed as though I were once more the inceku and shield-bearer, and that the dread ordeal which had terminated in the winning of my head-ring and the King’s Assegai had been all a dream.

      “What think you, Untúswa?” said the King at first. “Is it for good or for ill that we leave Ekupumuleni, ‘The Place of Rest,’ and depart for this new land?”

      “It is for good, Great Great One. The land is better one than this. There is more room in it for a new nation to become mighty and rich.”

      “Yet there are some who would remain here, some who shake a doleful head over the prospect of going farther.”

      “Those who shake their heads against the will of the King may happen to shake them off, O Elephant.”

      “Ha! Thou sayest well, son of Ntelani. They may happen to shake them off – ah! ah! they may.”

      Now Umzilikazi spoke in that soft and pleasant voice of his, and I thought that trouble was gathering for somebody. Then as his keen eyes, half-closed, were fixed upon mine, piercing through and through my brain, I did not sit at ease, for I had been absent many moons, and certain powerful enemies of mine had not. Then he went on, still speaking in that soft and terrible voice.

      “There are those who have reason to love Ekupumuleni, for it is not too far from the land of their birth. Good. Ekupumuleni shall indeed be their resting-place – their resting-place forever.”

      Now I knew that ill awaited somebody, and strangely, too, at that moment, I remembered Nangeza’s dark looks and words. Yet how could the shadow of coming ill affect me? I aspired to be nothing but a fighting leader! My mind was the mind of the King. I cared nothing for intriguing or plotting. I only asked to lead my shields against the enemies of the King. The occupation I favoured most was that of fighting.

      Then Umzilikazi went on to talk about this new land, and of the chief and people who owned the blue cattle.

      “There will be spoil for all, for all who deserve it,” he said; “and these slaves you have brought back please me well. Whau, Untúswa! How is it that a man like you, and a fighting captain, has but three wives – only three?” he asked, laughing at me.

      “I care not for such, Great Great One. I desire only to wield the King’s Assegai in battle,” I said.

      “That is well. In a few days we shall see. Go now, Untúswa.”

      I saluted and left the King. As I passed the gate of the isigodhlo, or royal enclosure, which gate was only wide enough to admit one man at a time, I met my father, Ntelani, entering. Not a word had the King let fall on the matter of my father, and this meeting, which was a surprise to both of us, seemed an evil omen; for now that I wore the head-ring, and had become great, and commanded the King’s troops, my father was more jealous than ever, and hated me more. We exchanged greetings, and then in the darkness I made my way to old Masuka’s hut.

      I pushed the wicker door open and crept in. The old witch-doctor was awake, and, seated by his fire, looked more like a big black spider than a man, such a skin-and-bone old skeleton had he become.

      “I have seen you, Untúswa,” he said, looking up.

      “Greeting, father,” I replied.

      “Au!” he said, handing me snuff. “And have you brought back cow and calf from the land of the Blue Cattle, Untúswa? The cow, whose milk keeps the life in my old frame, is dead – a lion killed her.”

      “No cattle did I bring from the land of the Bakoni, father, though it will not be a long time before we go and take all of it,” I replied; “but there is a red cow in milk among my herd. Tomorrow she and her calf shall be driven in among your beasts, my father.”

      The old man looked pleased. He loved cattle, and although by now he was one of the wealthiest among us, yet he never lost an opportunity of adding to his herds; but if any man gave him a cow he did not ask for more; unlike our own izanusi, who were wont to go on asking and asking until they had obtained ten or twelve beasts. Now I, each time that I was enriched by increase in my herd, or took spoil from an enemy, never failed to send a head or two to old Masuka; but from me our own izanusi got nothing – wherefore they hated me. But the old Mosutu had been the means of saving my life and making me great; wherefore I grudged him not such gifts from time to time.

      When the King had caused Isilwana, the head isanusi, to be killed, for failing to cure a man who was wounded by the poisoned arrows of the mountain tribes, he had desired to put Masuka in his place; but the old man begged permission to refuse, saying that his múti (Medicine, or charm) would be of no avail if worked with others. So Umzilikazi, not sorry to set up a rivalry between the witch-doctors, had allowed him to go his own way; and since the rain-making, the old Mosutu had stood higher in the King’s favour than ever.

      “That is well, my son,” he replied, “but delay not to send the cow with morning light, for by nightfall it may be that she will never be sent.”

      “Hau!” I cried. “What mean you, my father?”

      “You are brave, Untúswa, and I have made you great. It is a pity that such should die young.”

      “What

2

It is customary for each wife of a Zulu of rank to have a hut to herself.