As they entered the outer enclosure, a deep humming roar vibrated upon
the air. Two regiments, fully armed, were squatted in a great crescent,
facing the King's private quarters, and were beguiling the time with a
very energetic war-song--while half a dozen warriors, at intervals of
space apart, were indulging in the performance of _gwaza_, stabbing
furiously in the air, right and left, bellowing forth their deeds of
"dering-do" and pantomiming how they had done them--leaping high off the
ground or spinning round on one leg. The while, the great crescent of
dark bodies, and particoloured shields, and fantastic headgear, swaying
to the rhythmic chant; the sparkle and gleam of assegais; the entirely
savage note of anticipation conveyed by nearly two thousand excited
voices, constituted a spectacle as imposing as it was indisputably
awe-inspiring.
"The Imbizo and Induba regiments," said Sybrandt, with a glance at this
martial array.
But with their appearance the song ceased, and the warriors composing
this end of the crescent jumped up, and came crowding around, in much
the same rowdy and threatening fashion which had distinguished the
execution party down in the valley.
"Lay down your arms, Amakiwa!" they shouted. "_Au_! it is death to come
armed within the gates of the Ruler of the World."
"It has never been death before--not for us," replied Sybrandt. "At the
inner gate, yes--we disarm; not at the outer."
The answer only served to redouble the uproar. Assegais were flourished
in the faces of the four white men--for they had already dismounted--
accompanied by blood-curdling threats, in such wise as would surely have
tried the nerves of any one less seasoned. The while Sybrandt had been
looking round for some one in authority.
"Greeting, Sikombo," he cried, as his glance met that of a tall
head-ringed man, who was strolling leisurely towards the racket. "These
boys of thine are in high spirits," he added good-humouredly.
The crowd parted to make way for the new arrival, as in duty bound, for
he was an induna of no small importance, and related to the King by
marriage.
"I see you, Klistiaan," replied the other, extending his greeting to the
rest of the party.
But even the presence of the induna could not restrain the turbulent
aggressiveness of the warriors. They continued to clamour against the
white men, whom they demanded should disarm here instead of at the inner
gate.
To this demand, Sybrandt, who was tacitly allowed by the others to take
the lead in all matters of native etiquette or diplomacy--did not deem
it advisable to accede. But something in Sikombo's face caused him to
change his mind, and, having done so, the next best thing was to do it
with a good grace.
"What does it matter?" he said genially. "A little way here, or a
little way there." And he stood his rifle against the fence, an example
which was followed by the others. The warriors then fell back, still
with muttered threats; and, accompanied by the induna, the four white
men crossed the open space to the gate of the King's stockade.
There perforce they had to wait, for the barbarian monarch of Zulu
descent and tradition is, in practice, in no greater hurry to receive
those who come to consult him than is the average doctor or lawyer of
twentieth-century England, however eager he may be in his heart of
hearts to do so, and the last of the Matabele kings was not the man to
forget what was due to his exalted position.
"What does it all mean, Sybrandt?" said Blachland, as, sitting down upon
the dusty ground, they lighted their pipes. "Why are the swine so
infernally aggressive? What does it mean anyhow?"
"Mean?" returned Young, answering for Sybrandt, who was talking to the
induna, Sikombo. "Why, it means that our people yonder will soon have
to fight like blazes if they don't want their throats cut,"--with a jerk
of the hand in the direction of the newly occupied Mashunaland. "The
_majara_ are bound to force Lo Ben's hand--if they haven't already."
From all sides of the great kraal the ground sloped away in gentle
declivity, and the situation commanded a wide and pleasant view in the
golden sunlight, and beneath the vivid blue of a cloudless subtropical
sky. To the north and west the dark, rolling, bush-clad undulations
beyond the Umguza River--eastward again, the plain, dotted with several
small kraals, each contributing its blue smoke reek, led the eye on to
the long flat-topped Intaba-'Zinduna. Down in the valley bottom--where
now stands the huge straggling town, humming with life and commerce--
vast cornfields, waving with plumed maize and the beer-yielding
_amabele_; and away southward the shining rocky ridge of the
Matya'mhlope; while, dappling the plain, far and near, thousands of
multi-coloured cattle--the King's herds--completed the scene of pleasant
and pastoral prosperity. In strange contrast to which the cloud of
armed warriors, squatted within the gates, chanting their menacing and
barbarous strophes.
Suddenly these were hushed, so suddenly indeed as to be almost
startling. For other voices were raised, coming from the stockade which
railed in the _esibayaneni_--the _sanctum sanctorum_. They were those
of the royal "praisers" stentoriously shouting forth the king's
_sibonga_:--
"He comes--the Lion!"--and they roared.
"Behold him--the Bull, the black calf of Matyobane!"--and at this they
bellowed.
"He is the Eagle which preys upon the world!"--here they screamed; and
as each imitative shout was taken up by the armed regiments, going
through every conceivable form of animal voice--the growling of
leopards, the hissing of serpents, even to the sonorous croak of the
bull-frog--the result was indescribably terrific and deafening. Then it
ceased as suddenly as the war-song had ceased.
The King had appeared. Advancing a few steps from the gateway, he
paused and stood surveying the gathering. Then, cleaving the silence in
thunder tones, there volleyed forth from every throat the salute royal--
"Kumalo!"
Over the wide slopes without it rolled and echoed. Voices far and
near--single voices, and voices in groups--the melodious voices of women
at work in the cornfields--all who heard it echoed it back, now clear,
now faint and mellowed by distance--
"_Kumalo_!"
There was that in the aspect of the King as he stood thus, his massive
features stern and gloomy as he frowned down upon those whose homage he
was receiving, his attitude haughty and majestic to the last degree,
which was calculated to strike awe into the white beholders if only
through the consciousness of how absolutely they were in his power. He
had discarded all European attempts at adornment, and was clad in
nothing but the inevitable _mutya_ and a kaross made of the dressed skin
of a lioness, thrown carelessly over his shoulders. His shaven head was
surmounted just above the forehead by the small Matabele ring, a far
less dignified-looking form of crest than the large Zulu one. Then, as
he advanced a few steps further, with head thrown back, and his form,
though bulky, erect and commanding, a more majestic-looking savage it
would be hard to imagine.
A massive chair, carved out of a single tree stump, was now set by one
of the attendants, and as Lo Bengula enthroned himself upon it, again
the mighty shouts of praise rent the air--
"Thou art the child of the sun!"
"Blanket, covering thy people!"
"King mountain of the Matopo!"
"Elephant whose tread shaketh the world!"
"Eater-up of Zwang'indaba!"
"Crocodile, who maketh our rivers to flow clear water!"
"Rhinoceros!"
Such, and many more, were the attributes wherewith they hailed their
monarch, who was, to all intents and purposes, their god. Then the
chorus altered. A new and more ominous clamour now expressed its
burden. It became hostile and bloodthirsty in intent towards the white
strangers within their gates.
Who were these whites? chanted the warriors. It were better to make an
end of them. They were but the advance-guard of many more--swarms upon
swarms of them--even as the few locusts who constituted the
advance-guard of swarms upon swarms of that red locust, the devourer,
which had not been known in the land before the Amakiwa had been allowed
to come and settle in the land. The locusts had settled and were
devouring everything--the Amakiwa had settled and were devouring
everything. Let them be stamped out.
Those thus referred to sat still and said nothing. For all the effect
the bloodthirsty howling had upon them outwardly, they might just as
well not have heard it. Lo Bengula sat immovable in frowning
abstraction. The two regiments, waxing more and more excited, began to
close in nearer. As warriors armed for some service, they were allowed
to approach that near the King, with their weapons and shields. They
growled and mouthed around their white visitors, and one, at any rate,
of these expected to feel the assegai through his back any moment.
But at this juncture one of the indunas seated near the King leaned
forward, and spoke. He was a very old man, lean and tall, and, before
the stoop of age had overtaken him must have been very tall indeed.
"Peace, children," he rebuked. "The dogs of the King have other game to
hunt. These Amakiwa are not given to you to hunt. They are the friends
of the Black Elephant."
Growls of dissatisfaction greeted this reproof, which seemed not
supported by Lo Bengula.
"Have done, then," thundered the old induna. "Get back, dogs, who have
but yesterday learned to yap. Offend ye the ears of the Great Great One
with your yelpings? Get back!"
This time the rebuke answered. Respect for age and authority is among
the Bantu races instinctive and immense, and the speaker in this
instance represented both, for he had participated in the exodus from
Zululand, under Umzilikazi, early in the century, and had been one of
that potentate's most trusted indunas before Lo Bengula was born;
wherefore the malcontents shrunk back, with stifled growlings, to take
up their former position at a distance.
Order being restored, Sybrandt judged it time to open the proceedings.
"Kumalo!" he began, saluting the King, his companions joining.
"I see you, Klistiaan," returned Lo Bengula, somewhat surlily. "All of
you."
"The King has sent for us, and we have come," went on Sybrandt.
"Strange messengers entered our camp this morning, three _majara_,
armed. Furthermore, they were rude."
"_Au_!" exclaimed Lo Bengula, with a shake of the head. "See you not,
Klistiaan, my fighting men love not white people just now. It would be
better, indeed, if such were to leave the country. It is no longer the
healthy season for white people here."
Which apparently commonplace remark conveyed to these experienced
listeners, three distinct meanings--first, that their position was
exceedingly dangerous; secondly, that Lo Bengula was aware that even his
authority might be insufficient to protect them from the fanatical hate
of his warriors, but did not choose to say so in so many words; and
lastly, the tone in which it was uttered conveyed a royal command. But
to the recipients of the latter, it was exceedingly distasteful. An
order of a more startling nature was, however, to follow.
"You, Isipau," addressing Blachland. "Turn your waggon wheels homeward,
before the going down of the sun."
"Isipau," signifying "mushroom," was Blachland's native name, and as
such he had been known among the natives on his first arrival in the
country, years before, owing to his inordinate partiality for that
delectable vegetable wherever it could be obtained.
"When white people come into my country I welcome them as my friends,"
went on the King. "When I give them leave to hunt and to trade, it is
well. It is not well when they seek to look into things for which I
have given them no permission. Now I have given an order, and I give
not my orders twice. Fare ye well. _Hambani-gahle_."
And without another word, Lo Bengula rose from his seat, and stalked
within the stockade.
Blachland was the first to speak. "Damn!" he ejaculated.
"Be careful, man, for Heaven's sake," warned Sybrandt. "If they got
wind you were cursing the King, then--good-night!" Then, turning to the
old induna, who had quelled the outcry against them, "Who has poisoned
the heart of the Great Great One against us, Faku? Have we not always
been his friends, and even now we have done no wrong."