The Induna's Wife. Mitford Bertram

without fear. “Pause a moment for a sign.”

      She had half turned, and with one hand was pointing towards the ascending smoke-cloud towering above the hill of death. A sharp, crashing peal of thunder shook the world, and the lightning-gleam seemed to flash down right upon the smouldering pile. A silence was upon all as, with upturned faces, King, izinduna, guards, slayers, the whole multitude sat motionless, waiting for what should next befall. Not long had we to wait.

      Lalusini stood, her eyes turned skyward, her hand outstretched, her lips moving. To many minds there came the recollection of her as she had thus stood, long ago, singing the Song of the Shield—that glorious war-song which had inspired each of our warriors with the daring of ten, which had saved the day to us at the Place of the Three Rifts. Then there came such a deafening crash that the very earth rocked and reeled; and from the rent thunder cloud a jagged stream of fire poured itself down upon the remainder of the burning wood, scattering logs, sparks, cinders, and the bones of the tortured slaves, whirling them in a mighty shower far and wide over the plain. Those of the slayers who still lingered around the spot lay as dead men.

      “Behold the sign, O son of Matyobane!” cried Lalusini, in clear, ringing tones, turning again to the King. “Yonder are the dogs who lied against me. The heavens above would not suffer their very bones to rest, but have scattered them far and wide over the face of the world. No others have met with harm.”

      Now all began to cry aloud that indeed it was so; and from the multitude a great murmur of wonderment went up. For then those of our men who had been struck down were seen to rise and walk slowly down towards the kraal—stupified, but alive and unharmed. Then I, who could no longer sit still, came before the King.

      “A boon, Great Great One,” I cried. “Suffer me to go and root out this mystery of the Red Death, and slay for ever this evil thing that causeth it; I alone. So shall it trouble the land no more.”

      A hum of applause rose from among my fellow izinduna, who joined with me in praying that my undertaking be allowed.

      “Ever fearless, Untúswa,” said the King, half sneering; yet I could see that the wrathful mood was fast leaving him. “Yet thou art half a magician thyself, and this thing seems a thing of fearful and evil witchcraft. But hear me. Thou shalt proceed to the Valley of the Red Death, but with no armed force; and before this moon is full thou shalt slay this horror, that its evil deeds may be wrought no more. If success is thine, it shall be well with thee and thine; if failure, thou and thy house shall become food for the alligators; and as for thine inkosikazi, the stake which she has for the time being escaped shall still await her. I have said it, and my word stands. Now let the people go home.”

      With these words Umzilikazi rose and retired within the isigodhlo, and, as the rain began to fall in cold torrents, in a very short time the open space was clear, all men creeping within the huts to take shelter and to talk over the marvel that had befallen. But while only the izanusi retired growling with discontent, all men rejoiced that Lalusini had so narrowly escaped what had seemed a certain doom.

      Such doom, too, Nkose, had the King himself narrowly escaped; but that all men did not know, it being, indeed, only known to me.

Chapter Three.

       Table of Contents

      An Ominous Parting.

      You will see, Nkose, that my times now were stormy and troublesome, and indeed I have ever observed that as it is with nations and people so it is with individuals. There comes a time when all is fair—all is power and strength and richness—then comes a decline, and neither nation nor individual is as before.

      Such a time had come upon myself. After the battle of the Three Rifts, when we had rolled back the might of Dingane—a matter, indeed, wherein I had fully borne my part—there had followed a time of great honour and of rest. I was, next to the King, the greatest man in the nation, for Kalipe, the chief fighting induna, was getting on in age, and would fain have seen me in his place, having no jealousy of me. I had taken to wife the beautiful sorceress whose love I had longed to possess; moreover, the King had rid me of Nangeza, whose tongue and temper had become too pestilent for any man to bear aught of. My cattle had increased, and spread over the land, and they who owned me as chief were many, and comprised some of the best born and of the finest fighting men in the nation. Yet this was not to last, and as age and security increased for Umzilikazi, his distrust of me gained too, and now I knew he would almost gladly be rid of me, and quite gladly of Lalusini, my principal wife. Yes. To this had things come. I, Untúswa, the second in command of the King’s troops, who had largely borne part in the saving of our nation, who had even been hailed as king by the flower of the Zulu fighting indunas, had now to set out upon a ghost hunt, and, in the event of failure, the penalty hanging over me was such as might have fallen upon a miserable cheat of an izanusi.

      Thus pondering I took my way back to my principal kraal, followed by Lalusini and others of my wives and followers who had separated from the throng and joined themselves on to me when the order was given to disperse. Arrived there, I entered my hut, accompanied by Lalusini alone. Then I sat down and took snuff gloomily and in silence. This was broken by Lalusini.

      “Wherefore this heaviness, holder of the White Shield?” she said. “Do you forget that you have a sorceress for inkosikazi?”

      For a while I made no reply, but stood gazing at her with a glance full of admiration and love. For, standing there, tall and beautiful and shapely, it seemed to me that Lalusini looked just as when I first beheld her in the rock cave high up on the Mountain of Death. Time had gone by since I had taken her to wife, yet she seemed not to grow old as other women do. My two former wives, Fumana and Nxope, were no longer young and pleasing, but Lalusini seemed ever the same. Was it her magic that so kept her? She had borne me no children, but of this I was rather glad than otherwise, for we loved each other greatly, and I desired that none should come between to turn her love away from me, as children would surely do. For my other wives it mattered nothing, but with Lalusini it was different. I loved her, Nkose, as some of you white people love your women. Whau! Do you not allow your women to walk side by side with you instead of behind? This I have seen in my old age. And those among us who have been at Tegwini (Durban) tell strange tales of white men who go out with their women, that they might load themselves with all the little things their women had bought from the traders. Few of us could believe that, Nkose—the tale is too strange; and yet it was somewhat after this manner that I loved Lalusini—I, the second induna of the King’s warriors, I, who since I was but a boy had slain with my own hand more of the King’s enemies than I could count. I, moreover, who had known what the ingratitude and malice of women could do, in the person of my first wife, Nangeza, for whom I had sacrificed my fidelity to the King and the nation—even my life itself. But with Lalusini, ah! it was very different. No evil or sullen mood was ever upon her; nor did she ever by look or word give me to understand that a daughter of the House of Senzangakona, the royal house of Zululand, might perchance be greater than even the second induna of a revolted and fugitive tribe, now grown into a nation. Even her counsels, which were weighty and wise, she would put forward as though she had not caused me to win the White Shield—had not saved our nation at the Place of the Three Rifts.

      “It seems to me, Lalusini,” I said at last, “it seems to me that in this nation there is no longer any room for us two. I have served Umzilikazi faithfully and well. I have more than once snatched back the life of the King, when it was tottering on the very brink of the Dark Unknown, but kings are ever ungrateful; and now I and my house are promised the death of the traitor. The destruction of the Red Terror, which is my ordeal, is no real trial at all—it is but a trick. The King would be rid of us, and, whether I succeed or whether I fail, the Dark Unknown is to be our portion.”

      Lalusini bent her head with a murmur of assent, but made no remark.