THE THREE DAYS
He was gone, his presence had ceased to poison the air, and, the long
strain over, Rachel gave a gasp of relief. Then she sat down upon the
bench and began to think. Her position, and that of Richard, was
desperate; it seemed scarcely possible that they could escape with
their lives, for if he died, she would die also—as to that she was
quite determined. But at least they had three days, and who could say
what would happen in three days? For instance, they might escape
somehow, the Providence in which she believed might intervene, or the
Zulus might come to seek her, if they only knew where she was gone. Oh!
why had she not brought a guard of them with her to Ramah? At least
they would never have insulted her, and Ishmael’s shrift would have
been short.
She wondered why he had given her three days. A reason suggested itself
to her mind. Perhaps he believed what she had told him—that she was as
safe from him as the eagle in the air—and was sure that the only way to
snare her was by using Richard as a lure, in other words, by
threatening to murder him. It is true that he could have brought the
matter to a head at once, but then, if she remained obdurate, he must
carry out his threat, and this, she believed, he was afraid to do
unless it was absolutely forced upon him. Doubtless he had reflected
that in three days she might weaken and give way.
Whilst Rachel brooded thus the door in the wall opened, and through it
came three women, who saluted her respectfully, and announced that they
were sent to clean the hut, and attend upon her. Rachel took stock of
them carefully. Two of them were young, ordinary, good-looking Kaffirs,
but the third was between thirty and forty, and no longer attractive,
having become old early, as natives do. Moreover, her face was sad and
sympathetic. Rachel asked her her name. She answered that it was Mami,
and that they were all the wives of Ibubesi.
The women went about their duties in the hut in silence, and a while
afterwards announced that all was made clean, and that they would
return presently with food. Rachel answered that it was not necessary
that three of them should be put to so much trouble. It would be enough
if Mami came. She desired to be waited on by Mami alone, her sisters
need not come any more.
They all three saluted again, and said that she should be obeyed; the
two younger ones with alacrity. To Rachel it was evident that these
women were much afraid of her. Her reputation had reached them, and
they shrank from this task of attending on the mighty Inkosazana of the
Zulus in her cage, not knowing what evil it might bring upon them.
An hour later the door was unbolted, and Mami reappeared with the food
that had been very carefully cooked. Rachel ate of it, for she was
determined to grow strong again, she who might need all her strength,
and while she ate talked to Mami, who squatted on the ground before
her. Soon she drew her story from her. The woman was Ishmael’s first
Kaffir wife, but he had never cared for her, and against all law and
custom she was discarded, and made a slave. Even some of her cattle had
been taken from her and given to other wives. So her heart was bitter
against Ishmael, and she said that although once she was proud to be
the wife of a white man, now she wished that she had never seen his
face.
Here, then, was material ready to Rachel’s hand, but she did not press
the matter too far at this time. Only she said that she wished Mami to
stay with her after the evening meal, and to sleep in her hut, as she
was not accustomed to be alone at night. Mami replied that she would do
so gladly if Ibubesi allowed it, although she was not worthy of such
honour.
As it happened, Ishmael did allow it, for he thought that he could
trust this old drudge, and told her to act as a spy upon Rachel, and
report to him all that she said or did. Very soon Rachel found this out
and warned her against obeying him, since if she did so it would come
to her knowledge, and then great evil would fall on one who betrayed
the words of the Inkosazana.
Mami answered that she knew it, and that Rachel need not be afraid. Any
tale would do for Ishmael, whom she hated. Then, saying little herself,
Rachel encouraged her to talk, which Mami did freely. So she heard some
news. She learned, for instance, that the whole town of Mafooti,
whereof Ibubesi was chief, which counted some sixty or seventy heads of
families, was much disturbed by the events of the last few days. They
did not like the Inkosazana being brought there, thinking that where
she went the Zulus would follow, and as they were of Zulu blood
themselves, they knew what that meant. They were alarmed at the deaths
of the white sky-doctor, who was called Shouter, and his wife, with
which Ibubesi had something to do, for they feared lest they should be
held responsible for their blood. They objected to the imprisonment of
the white chief, Dario, among them, because “he had hurt no one, and
was under the mantle of the Inkosazana, who was a spirit, not a woman,”
and who had warned them that if any harm came to her or to him, death
would be their reward. They were angry, also, because Ibubesi had
killed one of them in some quarrel about the chief Dario at Ramah.
Still, they were so much afraid of Ibubesi, who was a great tyrant,
that they did not dare to interfere with him and his plans, lest they
should lose their cattle, or, perhaps, their lives. So they did not
know what to do. As for Ibubesi himself, he was actively engaged in
strengthening the fortifications of the place; even the old people and
the children were being forced to carry stones to the walls, from which
it was evident that he feared some attack.
When Rachel had gathered this and much other information concerning
Ishmael’s past and habits, she asked Mami if she could convey a message
from her to Richard. The woman answered that she would try on the
following morning. So Rachel told her to say that she was safe and
well, but that he must watch his footsteps, as both of them were in
great danger. More she did not dare to say, fearing lest Mami should
betray her, or be beaten till she confessed everything. Then, as there
was nothing more to be done, Rachel lay down and slept as best she
could.
The next day passed in much the same fashion as the first had done. For
the most of it Rachel sat under the tree in the walled yard,
companioned only by her terrible thoughts and fears. Nobody came near
her, and nothing happened. In the morning Mami went out, and returning
at the dinner hour, told Rachel that she had seen Ishmael, who had
questioned her closely as to what the Inkosazana had done and said, to
which she replied that she had only eaten and slept, and invoked the
spirits on her knees. As for words, none had passed her lips. She had
not been able to get near the huts where Dario was in prison, as
Ishmael was watching her. For the rest, the work of fortification went
on without cease, even Ishmael’s own wives being employed thereon.
In the afternoon Mami went out again and did not return till night,
when she had much to tell. To begin with, while the sentry was dozing,
being wearied with carrying stones to the wall, she had managed to
approach the fence of the hut where Richard was confined. She said that
he was walking up and down inside the fence with his hands tied, and
she had spoken to him through a crack in the reeds, and given him
Rachel’s message. He listened eagerly, and bade her tell the Inkosazana
that he thanked her for her words; that he, too, was strong and well,
though much troubled in mind, but the future was in the hands of the
Heavens, and that she must keep a high heart. Just then the sentry woke
up, so Mami could not wait to hear any more.
That evening, however, a lad who had been sent out of the town to drive
in some cattle, had returned with the tidings which she, Mami, heard
him deliver to Ibubesi with her own ears.
He said that whilst he was collecting the oxen, a ringed Zulu came upon
him, who from his manner and bearing he took to be a great chief,
although he was alone, and seemed to be tired with walking. The Zulu
has asked him if it were true that the Inkosazana and the white chief
Dario were in prison at Mafooti, and when he hesitated about replying,
threatened him with his assegai, saying that he would cut out his heart
unless he told the truth. The Zulu replied that he knew it, as he had
just come from Ramah, where he had seen strange things, and spoken with
a man of Ibubesi’s, whom he found dying in the garden of the house.
Then he had given him this message:
“Say to Ibubesi that I know all his wickedness, and that if the
Inkosazana is harmed, or a drop of the blood of the white chief,
Dario, is shed, I will destroy him and everything that lives in his
town down to the rats. Say to him also that he cannot escape, as
already he is ringed in by the children of the Shouter, who have come
back, and are watching him.”
The lad had asked who it was that sent such a message, whereon he
answered, “I am the Horn of the Black Bull; I am the Trunk of the
Elephant; I am the Mouth of Dingaan.”
Then straightway he turned and departed at a run towards Zululand.
Moreover, Mami described the man in the words of the lad, and Rachel
thought that he could be none other than Tamboosa, whom she had
commanded to follow her with the white ox. Mami added that when he
received this message Ibubesi seemed much disturbed, though to his
people he declared that it was all nonsense, as Dingaan’s Mouth would
not come alone, or deliver the King’s word to a boy. But the people
thought otherwise, and murmured among themselves, fearing the terrible
vengeance of Dingaan.
On the next day Mami went out again. At nightfall, when she returned,
she told Rachel that she had not found it possible to approach the huts
where Dario was, as the hole she made in the fence to speak with him
had been discovered, and a stricter watch was kept over him. Ibubesi,
she said, was in an ill humour, and working furiously to finish his
fortifications, as he was now sure that the town was being watched,
either by the Kaffirs of Ramah, or others. As for the people of
Mafooti, they were grumbling very much, both on account of the
heavy labour of working at the walls, and because they were in terror
of being attacked and killed in payment for the evil deeds of their
chief. Mami declared, indeed, that so great was their fear and
discontent, that she thought they would desert the town in a body, were
it not that they dreaded lest they should fall into the hands of the
Kaffirs who were watching it. Rachel asked her whether they would not
then take her and Dario and deliver them up to the Zulus, or to the
white people on the coast. Mami answered she thought they would be
afraid to do this, as Ibubesi alone had guns, and would shoot plenty of
them; also if the Zulus found them with their Inkosazana they would
kill them. She added that she had seen Ibubesi, who bade her tell the
Inkosazana that he was coming for her answer on the morrow.
Rachel slept ill that night. The space of her reprieve had gone by, and
next morning she must face the issue. For herself she did not so
greatly care, for at the worst she had a refuge whither Ishmael could
not follow her—the grave. After all she had endured it seemed to her
that this must be a peaceful place; moreover, in her case what Power
could blame her? But there was Richard to be thought of. If she refused
Ishmael he swore that he would kill Richard. And yet how could she pay
that price even to save her lover’s life? Perhaps he would not kill him
after all; perhaps he would be afraid of the vengeance of the Zulus,
and was only trying to frighten her. Ah! if only the Zulus would
come—before it was too late! It was scarcely to be hoped for. Tamboosa,
if it were he who had spoken with the lad, would not have had time to
return to Zululand and collect an impi, and when they did come, the
deed might be done. If only these servants of Ibubesi would rise
against him and kill him, or carry off Richard and herself! Alas! they
feared the man too much, and she could not get at them to persuade
them. There was nothing that she could do except pray. Richard and she
must take their chance. Things must go as they were decreed.
If she could have seen Ishmael at this hour and read his thoughts, that
sight and knowledge might have brought some comfort to her tortured
heart. The man was seated in his hut alone, staring at the floor and
pulling his long black beard with hands rough from toiling at the
walls. He was drinking also, stiff tots of rum and water, but the fiery
liquor seemed to bring him no comfort. As he drank, he thought. He was
determined to get possession of Rachel; that desire had become a
madness with him. He could never abandon it while he lived. But _she_
might not live. She had sworn that she would rather die than become his
wife, and she was not a woman who broke her word. Also she hated him
bitterly, and with good cause. There was only one way to work on
her—through her love for this man, Richard Darrien; for that she did
love him, he had little doubt. If it were choice between yielding and
the death of Darrien, then perhaps she might give way. But there came
the rub.
Dingaan had sworn to him that if he made Darrien’s blood to flow, then
he should be killed, and, like Rachel, Dingaan kept his oaths.
Moreover, that Zulu who met the cattle herd had sworn it again in
almost the same words. Therefore it would seem that if he wished to
continue to breathe, Darrien’s blood must not be made to flow. All the
rest might be explained when the impi came, as it would do sooner or
later, especially if he could show to them that the Inkosazana was his
willing wife, but the murder of Darrien could never be explained. Well,
the man might die, or seem to die, and then who could hold him
responsible? Or if they did, if any of his people remained faithful to
him, an attack might be beaten off. Brave as they were, the Zulus could
not storm those walls on which he had spent so much labour, though now
he almost wished that he had left the walls alone and settled the
affair of Rachel and of Darrien first.
Ishmael poured out more rum and drank it, neat this time, as though to
nerve himself for some undertaking. Then he went to the door of the hut
and called, whereon presently a hideous old woman crept in and squatted
down in the circle of light thrown by the lamp. She was wrinkled and
deformed, and her snake-skin moocha, with the inflated fish-bladder in
her hair, showed that she was a witch-doctoress.
“Well, Mother,” he said, “have you made the poison?”
“Yes, Ibubesi, yes. I have made it as I alone can do. Oh! it is a
wonderful drug, worth many cows. How many did you say you would give
me? Six?”
“No, three; but if it does what is wanted you shall have the other
three as well. Tell me again, how does it work?”
“Thus, Ibubesi. Whoever drinks this medicine becomes like one dead—none
can tell the difference, no, not a doctor even—and remains so for a
long while—perhaps one day, perhaps two, perhaps even three. Then life
returns, and by degrees strength, but not memory; for whole moons the
memory is gone, and he who has drunk remains like a child that has
everything to learn.”
“You lie, Mother. I never heard of such a medicine.”
“You never heard of it because none can make it save me, and I had its
secret from my grandmother; also few can afford to pay me for it.
Still, it has been used, and were I not afraid I could give you cases.
Stay, I will show you. Call that beast,” and she pointed to a dog that
was asleep at the side of the hut. “Here is milk; I will show you.”
Ishmael hesitated, for he was fond of this dog; then as he wished to
test the stuff he called it. It came and sat down beside him, looking
up in his face with faithful eyes. Then the old witch poured milk into
a bowl, and in the milk mixed some white powder which she took out of a
folded leaf, and offered it to the animal. The dog sniffed the milk,
growled slightly, and refused it.
“The evil beast does not like me; he bit me the other day,” said the
old doctoress. “Do you give it to him, Ibubesi; he will trust you.”
So Ishmael patted the dog on the head, then offered it the milk, which
it lapped up to the last drop.
“There, evil beast,” said the woman, with a chuckle, “you won’t bite me
any more; you’ll forget all about me for a long time. Look at him,
Ibubesi, look at him.”
As she spoke, the poor dog’s coat began to stare; then it uttered a low
howl, ran to Ishmael, tried to lick his hand, and rolled over, to all
appearance quite dead.
“You have killed my dog, which I love, you hag!” he said angrily.
“Then why did you give medicine to what you love, Ibubesi? But have no
fear, the evil beast has only taken a small dose; to-morrow morning it
will awake, but it will not know you or anyone. Who is the medicine
for, Ibubesi? The Lady Zoola? If so, it may not work on her, for she is
mighty, and cannot be harmed.”
“Fool! Do you think that I would play tricks with the Inkosazana?”
“No, you want to marry her, don’t you? but it seems to me that she has
no mind that way. Then it is for the man for whom she has a mind? Well,
Ibubesi, you have promised the six cows, and you saved me once from
being killed for witchcraft, so I will say something. Don’t give it to
the chief Dario.”
“Why not, you old fool; will it kill him after all?”
“No, no; it will do what I said, no less and no more, in this
quantity,” and she handed him another powder wrapped in dry leaves;
“but I have had bad dreams about you, Ibubesi, and they were mixed up
with the Inkosazana and this white man Dario. I dreamed they brought
your death upon you—a dreadful death. Ibubesi, be wise, set Dario free,
and change your mind as to marrying the Inkosazana, who is not for
you.”
“How can I change my mind, Descendant of Wizards?” broke out Ishmael.
“Can a river penned between rocks change its course? Can it run
backwards from the sea to the hill? This woman draws me as the sea
draws the river; because of her my blood is afire. I had rather win her
and die, than live rich and safe without her to old age. The more she
hates and scorns me, the more I love her.”
“I understand,” said the doctoress, nodding her head till the bladder
in her hair bobbed about like a float at which a fish is pulling. “I
understand. I have seen people like this before—men and women too—when
a bad spirit enters into them because of some crime they have
committed. The Inkosazana, or those who guard her, have sent you this
bad spirit, and, Ibubesi, you must run the road upon which it is
appointed that you should travel; for joy or sorrow you must run that
road. But when we meet in the world of ghosts, which I think will be
soon, do not blame me, do not say that I did not warn you. Now it is
all right about those cows, is it not? although I dare say the Zulus
will milk them and not I, for to-night I seem to smell Zulus in the
air,” and she lifted her broad nose and sniffed like a hound. “I wish
you could have left the Inkosazana alone, and that Dario too, for he is
a part of her; in my dreams they seemed to be one. But you won’t, you
will walk your own path; so good night, Ibubesi. The dog will wake
again in the morning, but he will not know you. Good night, Ibubesi—of
course I understand that the cows will be young ones that have not had
more than two calves. Mix the powder in milk, or water, or anything; it
is without taste or colour. Good night, Ibubesi,” and without waiting
for an answer the old wretch crept out of the hut.
When she was gone Ishmael cursed her aloud, then drank some more rum,
which he seemed to need. The place was very lonely, and the sight of
his dog, lying to all appearance dead at his side, oppressed him. He
patted its head and it did not move; he lifted its paw and it fell down
flabbily. The brute was as dead as anything could be. It occurred to
him that before night came again he might look like that dog. His story
might be told; he might have left the earth in company of all the deeds
that he had done thereon. He had imagination enough to know his sins,
and they were an evil host to face. Old Dove and his wife, for
instance—holy people who believed in God and Vengeance, and had never
done any wrong, only striven for years and years to benefit others; it
would not be pleasant to meet them. Rachel had said that she saw them
standing behind him, and he felt as though they were there at that
moment. Look, one of them crossed between him and the lamp—there was
the mark of the kerry on his head—and the woman followed; he could see
her blue lips as she bent down to look at the dog. It was unbearable.
He would go and talk to Rachel, and ask her if she had made up her
mind. No, for if he broke in on her thus at night, he was sure that she
would kill either herself or him with that spear she had taken from the
dead Zulu, reddened with his own blood. He would keep faith with her
and wait till the morrow. He would send for one of his wives. No, the
thought of those women made him sick. He would go round the
fortifications and beat any sentries whom he found asleep, or receive
the reports of the spies. To stop in that hut in the company of a dog
which seemed to be dead, and of imaginations that no rum could drown,
was impossible.
Once more the morning came, and Rachel sat in the walled yard awaiting
the dreadful hour of her trial, for it was the day and time that
Ishmael had appointed for her answer. Until now Rachel had cherished
hopes that something might happen: that the people of Mafooti might
intervene to save her and Richard; that the Zulus might appear, even
that Ishmael might relent and let them go. But Mami had been out that
morning and brought back tidings which dispelled these hopes. She had
ventured to sound some of the leading men, and said that, like all the
people, they were very sullen and alarmed, but declared, as she had
expected, that they dare do nothing, for Ibubesi would kill them, and
if they escape him the Zulus would kill them because the Inkosazana was
found in their possession. Of the Zulus themselves, scouts who had been
out for miles, reported that they had seen no sign. It was clear also
that Ishmael was as determined as ever, for he had sent her a message
by Mami that he would wait upon her as he had promised, and bring the
white man with him.
Then what should she say and what should she do? Rachel could think of
no plan; she could only sit still and pray while the shadow of that
awful hour crept ever nearer.
It had come; she heard voices without the wall, among them Ishmael’s.
Her heart stopped, then bounded like a live thing in her breast. He was
commanding someone to “catch that dog and tie it up, for it was
bewitched, and did not know him or anyone,” then the sound of a dog
being dragged away, whining feebly, and then the door opened. First
Ishmael came in with an affectation of swaggering boldness, but looking
like a man suffering from the effects of a long debauch. About his eyes
were great black rings, and in them was a stare of sleeplessness. He
carried a double-barrelled gun under his arm, but the hand with which
he supported it shook visibly, and at every unusual sound he started.
After him came Richard, his wrists bound together behind him, and on
his legs hide shackles which only just allowed him to shuffle forward
slowly. Moreover he was guarded by four men who carried spears. Rachel
glanced quickly at his face, and saw that it was pale and resolute;
quite untouched by fear.
“Are you well?” she asked quietly, taking no note of Ishmael.
“Yes,” he answered, “and you, Rachel?”
“Quite well bodily, Richard, but oh! my soul is sick.”
Before he could reply Ishmael turned on him savagely, and bade him be
silent, or it would be the worse for him. Then he took off his hat with
his shaking hand, and bowed to Rachel.
“Rachel,” he said, “I have kept my promise, and left you alone for
three days, but time is up and now this gentleman and I have come to
hear your decision, which is so important to both of us.”
“What am I to decide?” she asked in a low voice, looking straight
before her.
“Have you forgotten? Your memory must be very bad. Well, it is best to
have no mistake, and no doubt our friend here would like to know
exactly how things stand. You have to decide whether you will take me
as your husband to-day of your own free will, or whether Mr. Richard
Darrien shall suffer the punishment of death, for having tried to kill
his sentry and escape, a crime of which he has been guilty, and
afterwards I should take you as my wife with, or without, your
consent.”
When Richard heard these words the veins in his forehead swelled with
rage and horror till it seemed as though they would burst.
“You unutterable villain,” he gasped, “you cowardly hound! Oh! if only
my hands were free.”
“Well, they ain’t, Mr. Darrien, and it’s no use your tugging at that
buffalo hide, so hold your tongue, and let us hear the lady’s answer,”
sneered Ishmael.
“Richard, Richard,” said Rachel in a kind of wail, “you have heard. It
is a matter of your life. What am I to do?”
“Do?” he answered, in loud, firm tones, “do? How can you ask me such a
question? The matter is not one of my life, but of your—of your—oh! I
cannot say it. Let this foul beast kill me, of course, and then, if you
care enough, follow the same road. A few years sooner or later make
little difference, and so we shall soon be together again.”
She thought a moment, then said quietly:
“Yes, I care enough, and a hundred times more than that. Yes, that is
the only way out. Listen, you Ishmael:—Richard Darrien, the man to whom
I am sworn, and I, give you this answer. Murder him if you will, and
bring God’s everlasting vengeance on your head. He will not buy his
life on such terms, and if I consented to them I should be false to
him. Murder him as you murdered my father and mother, and when I know
that he is dead I will go to join him and them.”
“All right, Rachel,” said Ishmael, whose face was white with fury, “I
think I will take you at your word, and you can go to look for him down
below, if you like, for if I am not to get you here, he shan’t. Now
then, say your prayers, Mr. Darrien,” and stepping forward slowly he
cocked the double-barrelled gun.
“Men of Mafooti,” exclaimed Rachel in Zulu, “Ibubesi is about to do
murder on one who like myself is under the mantle of Dingaan. If his
blood should flow to-day or to-morrow, yours shall flow in payment,
yours, and that of your wives and children, for the crime of the chief
is the crime of the people.”
At her words the four natives who had been watching this scene
uneasily, although they could not understand the English talk, called
out to Ishmael in remonstrance. His only answer was to lift the gun,
and for an instant that seemed infinite Rachel waited to hear its
explosion, and to see the grey-eyed, open-faced man she loved, who
stood there like a rock, fall a shattered corpse. Then one of the
Kaffirs, bolder than the rest, struck up the barrels with his arm, and
not too soon, for whether or no he had meant to pull the trigger, the
rifle went off.
“Try the other barrel,” said Richard sarcastically, as the smoke
cleared away, “that shot was too high.”
Perhaps Ishmael might have done so, for the man was beside himself, but
the Kaffirs would have no more of it. They rushed between them, lifting
their spears threateningly, and shouting that they would not allow the
blood of the white lord and the curse of the Inkosazana to be brought
upon their heads and those of their families. Rather than that they
would bind him, Ibubesi, and give him over to the Zulus. Then, whether
or not he had really meant to kill Richard, Ishmael thought it politic
to give way.
“So be it,” he said to Rachel, “I am merciful, and both of you shall
have another chance. I am going with this fellow, but the woman, Mami,
shall come to you. If within three hours you send her to me with a
message to say that you have changed your mind, he shall be spared. If
not, before nightfall you shall see his body, and afterwards we will
settle matters.”
“Rachel, Rachel,” cried Richard, “swear that you will send no such
message.”
Now the brute, Ishmael, rushed at him to strike him in the face. But
Richard saw him coming, and bound though he was, put down his head and
butted at him so fiercely, that being much the stronger man, he knocked
him to the ground, where he lay breathless.
“Swear, Rachel, swear,” he repeated, “or dead or living, I will never
forgive you.”
“I swear,” she said, faintly.
Then he shuffled towards her. Bending down he kissed her on the face,
and she kissed him back; no more words passed between them; this was
their farewell. Two of the Kaffirs lifted Ishmael, and helped him from
the yard, whilst the other two led away Richard, who made no
resistance. At the gate he turned, and their eyes met for a moment.
Then it closed behind him, and she was left alone again.