THE SIN OF UMBELAZI
About eighteen months had gone by, and once again, in the autumn of the
year 1856, I found myself at old Umbezi’s kraal, where there seemed to
be an extraordinary market for any kind of gas-pipe that could be
called a gun. Well, as a trader who could not afford to neglect
profitable markets, which are hard things to find, there I was.
Now, in eighteen months many things become a little obscured in one’s
memory, especially if they have to do with savages, in whom, after all,
one takes only a philosophical and a business interest. Therefore I may
perhaps be excused if I had more or less forgotten a good many of the
details of what I may call the Mameena affair. These, however, came
back to me very vividly when the first person that I met—at some
distance from the kraal, where I suppose she had been taking a country
walk—was the beautiful Mameena herself. There she was, looking quite
unchanged and as lovely as ever, sitting under the shade of a wild
fig-tree and fanning herself with a handful of its leaves.
Of course I jumped off my wagon-box and greeted her.
“_Siyakubona_ [that is, good morrow], Macumazahn,” she said. “My heart
is glad to see you.”
“_Siyakubona_, Mameena,” I answered, leaving out all reference to _my_
heart. Then I added, looking at her: “Is it true that you have a new
husband?”
“Yes, Macumazahn, an old lover of mine has become a new husband. You
know whom I mean—Saduko. After the death of that evil-doer, Masapo, he
grew very urgent, and the King, also the _Inkosazana_ Nandie, pressed
it on me, and so I yielded. Also, to be honest, Saduko was a good
match, or seemed to be so.”
By now we were walking side by side, for the train of wagons had gone
ahead to the old outspan. So I stopped and looked her in the face.
“‘Seemed to be,’” I repeated. “What do you mean by ‘seemed to be’? Are
you not happy this time?”
“Not altogether, Macumazahn,” she answered, with a shrug of her
shoulders. “Saduko is very fond of me—fonder than I like indeed, since
it causes him to neglect Nandie, who, by the way, has another son, and,
although she says little, that makes Nandie cross. In short,” she
added, with a burst of truth, “I am the plaything, Nandie is the great
lady, and that place suits me ill.”
“If you love Saduko, you should not mind, Mameena.”
“Love,” she said bitterly. “_Piff!_ What is love? But I have asked you
that question once before.”
“Why are you here, Mameena?” I inquired, leaving it unanswered.
“Because Saduko is here, and, of course, Nandie, for she never leaves
him, and he will not leave me; because the Prince Umbelazi is coming;
because there are plots afoot and the great war draws near—that war in
which so many must die.”
“Between Cetewayo and Umbelazi, Mameena?”
“Aye, between Cetewayo and Umbelazi. Why do you suppose those wagons of
yours are loaded with guns for which so many cattle must be paid? Not
to shoot game with, I think. Well, this little kraal of my father’s is
just now the headquarters of the Umbelazi faction, the _Isigqosa_, as
the princedom of Gikazi is that of Cetewayo. My poor father!” she
added, with her characteristic shrug, “he thinks himself very great
to-day, as he did after he had shot the elephant—before I nursed you,
Macumazahn—but often I wonder what will be the end of it—for him and
for all of us, Macumazahn, including yourself.”
“I!” I answered. “What have I to do with your Zulu quarrels?”
“That you will know when you have done with them, Macumazahn. But here
is the kraal, and before we enter it I wish to thank you for trying to
protect that unlucky husband of mine, Masapo.”
“I only did so, Mameena, because I thought him innocent.”
“I know, Macumazahn; and so did I, although, as I always told you, I
hated him, the man with whom my father forced me to marry. But I am
afraid, from what I have learned since, that he was not altogether
innocent. You see, Saduko had struck him, which he could not forget.
Also, he was jealous of Saduko, who had been my suitor, and wished to
injure him. But what I do not understand,” she added, with a burst of
confidence, “is why he did not kill Saduko instead of his child.”
“Well, Mameena, you may remember it was said he tried to do so.”
“Yes, Macumazahn; I had forgotten that. I suppose that he did try, and
failed. Oh, now I see things with both eyes. Look, yonder is my father.
I will go away. But come and talk to me sometimes, Macumazahn, for
otherwise Nandie will be careful that I should hear nothing—I who am
the plaything, the beautiful woman of the House, who must sit and
smile, but must not think.”
So she departed, and I went on to meet old Umbezi, who came gambolling
towards me like an obese goat, reflecting that, whatever might be the
truth or otherwise of her story, her advancement in the world did not
seem to have brought Mameena greater happiness and contentment.
Umbezi, who greeted me warmly, was in high spirits and full of
importance. He informed me that the marriage of Mameena to Saduko,
after the death of the wizard, her husband, whose tribe and cattle had
been given to Saduko in compensation for the loss of his son, was a
most fortunate thing for him.
I asked why.
“Because as Saduko grows great so I, his father-in-law, grow great with
him, Macumazahn, especially as he has been liberal to me in the matter
of cattle, passing on to me a share of the herds of Masapo, so that I,
who have been poor so long, am getting rich at last. Moreover, my kraal
is to be honoured with a visit from Umbelazi and some of his brothers
to-morrow, and Saduko has promised to lift me up high when the Prince
is declared heir to the throne.”
“Which prince?” I asked.
“Umbelazi, Macumazahn. Who else? Umbelazi, who without doubt will
conquer Cetewayo.”
“Why without doubt, Umbezi? Cetewayo has a great following, and if _he_
should conquer I think that you will only be lifted up in the crops of
the vultures.”
At this rough suggestion Umbezi’s fat face fell.
“O Macumazana,” he said, “if I thought that, I would go over to
Cetewayo, although Saduko is my son-in-law. But it is not possible,
since the King loves Umbelazi’s mother most of all his wives, and, as I
chance to know, has sworn to her that he favours Umbelazi’s cause,
since he is the dearest to him of all his sons, and will do everything
that he can to help him, even to the sending of his own regiment to his
assistance, if there should be need. Also, it is said that Zikali,
Opener-of-Roads, who has all wisdom, has prophesied that Umbelazi will
win more than he ever hoped for.”
“The King!” I said, “a straw blown hither and thither between two great
winds, waiting to be wafted to rest by that which is strongest! The
prophecy of Zikali! It seems to me that it can be read two ways, if,
indeed, he ever made one. Well, Umbezi, I hope that you are right, for,
although it is no affair of mine, who am but a white trader in your
country, I like Umbelazi better than Cetewayo, and think that he has a
kinder heart. Also, as you have chosen his side, I advise you to stick
to it, since traitors to a cause seldom come to any good, whether it
wins or loses. And now, will you take count of the guns and powder
which I have brought with me?”
Ah! better would it have been for Umbezi if he had listened to my
advice and remained faithful to the leader he had chosen, for then,
even if he had lost his life, at least he would have kept his good
name. But of him presently, as they say in pedigrees.
Next day I went to pay my respects to Nandie, whom I found engaged in
nursing her new baby and as quiet and stately in her demeanour as ever.
Still, I think that she was very glad to see me, because I had tried to
save the life of her first child, whom she could not forget, if for no
other reason. Whilst I was talking to her of that sad matter, also of
the political state of the country, as to which I think she wished to
say something to me, Mameena entered the hut, without waiting to be
asked, and sat down, whereon Nandie became suddenly silent.
This, however, did not trouble Mameena, who talked away about anything
and everything, completely ignoring the head-wife. For a while Nandie
bore it with patience, but at length she took advantage of a pause in
the conversation to say in her firm, low voice:
“This is my hut, daughter of Umbezi, a thing which you remember well
enough when it is a question whether Saduko, our husband, shall visit
you or me. Can you not remember it now when I would speak with the
white chief, Watcher-by-Night, who has been so good as to take the
trouble to come to see me?”
On hearing these words Mameena leapt up in a rage, and I must say I
never saw her look more lovely.
“You insult me, daughter of Panda, as you always try to do, because you
are jealous of me.”
“Your pardon, sister,” replied Nandie. “Why should I, who am Saduko’s
_Inkosikazi_, and, as you say, daughter of Panda, the King, be jealous
of the widow of the wizard, Masapo, and the daughter of the headman,
Umbezi, whom it has pleased our husband to take into his house to be
the companion of his leisure?”
“Why? Because you know that Saduko loves my little finger more than he
does your whole body, although you are of the King’s blood and have
borne him brats,” she answered, looking at the infant with no kindly
eye.
“It may be so, daughter of Umbezi, for men have their fancies, and
without doubt you are fair. Yet I would ask you one thing—if Saduko
loves you so much, how comes it he trusts you so little that you must
learn any matter of weight by listening at my door, as I found you
doing the other day?”
“Because you teach him not to do so, O Nandie. Because you are ever
telling him not to consult with me, since she who has betrayed one
husband may betray another. Because you make him believe my place is
that of his toy, not that of his companion, and this although I am
cleverer than you and all your House tied into one bundle, as you may
find out some day.”
“Yes,” answered Nandie, quite undisturbed, “I do teach him these
things, and I am glad that in this matter Saduko has a thinking head
and listens to me. Also I agree that it is likely I shall learn many
more ill things through and of you one day, daughter of Umbezi. And
now, as it is not good that we should wrangle before this white lord,
again I say to you that this is my hut, in which I wish to speak alone
with my guest.”
“I go, I go!” gasped Mameena; “but I tell you that Saduko shall hear of
this.”
“Certainly he will hear of it, for I shall tell him when he comes
to-night.”
Another instant and Mameena was gone, having shot out of the hut like a
rabbit from its burrow.
“I ask your pardon, Macumazahn, for what has happened,” said Nandie,
“but it had become necessary that I should teach my sister, Mameena,
upon which stool she ought to sit. I do not trust her, Macumazahn. I
think that she knows more of the death of my child than she chooses to
say, she who wished to be rid of Masapo for a reason you can guess. I
think also she will bring shame and trouble upon Saduko, whom she has
bewitched with her beauty, as she bewitches all men—perhaps even
yourself a little, Macumazahn. And now let us talk of other matters.”
To this proposition I agreed cordially, since, to tell the truth, if I
could have managed to do so with any decent grace, _I_ should have been
out of that hut long before Mameena. So we fell to conversing on the
condition of Zululand and the dangers that lay ahead for all who were
connected with the royal House—a state of affairs which troubled Nandie
much, for she was a clear-headed woman, and one who feared the future.
“Ah! Macumazahn,” she said to me as we parted, “I would that I were the
wife of some man who did not desire to grow great, and that no royal
blood ran in my veins.”
On the next day the Prince Umbelazi arrived, and with him Saduko and a
few other notable men. They came quite quietly and without any
ostensible escort, although Scowl, my servant, told me he heard that
the bush at a little distance was swarming with soldiers of the
_Isigqosa_ party. If I remember rightly, the excuse for the visit was
that Umbezi had some of a certain rare breed of white cattle whereof
the prince wished to secure young bulls and heifers to improve his
herd.
Once inside the kraal, however, Umbelazi, who was a very open-natured
man, threw off all pretence, and, after greeting me heartily enough,
told me with plainness that he was there because this was a convenient
spot on which to arrange the consolidation of his party.
Almost every hour during the next two weeks messengers—many of whom
were chiefs disguised—came and went. I should have liked to follow
their example—that is, so far as their departure was concerned—for I
felt that I was being drawn into a very dangerous vortex. But, as a
matter of fact, I could not escape, since I was obliged to wait to
receive payment for my stuff, which, as usual, was made in cattle.
Umbelazi talked with me a good deal at that time, impressing upon me
how friendly he was towards the English white men of Natal, as
distinguished from the Boers, and what good treatment he was prepared
to promise to them, should he ever attain to authority in Zululand. It
was during one of the earliest of these conversations, which, of
course, I saw had an ultimate object, that he met Mameena, I think, for
the first time.
We were walking together in a little natural glade of the bush that
bordered one side of the kraal, when, at the end of it, looking like
some wood nymph of classic fable in the light of the setting sun,
appeared the lovely Mameena, clothed only in her girdle of fur, her
necklace of blue beads and some copper ornaments, and carrying upon her
head a gourd.
Umbelazi noted her at once, and, ceasing his political talk, of which
he was obviously tired, asked me who that beautiful _intombi_ (that is,
girl) might be.
“She is not an _intombi_, Prince,” I answered. “She is a widow who is
again a wife, the second wife of your friend and councillor, Saduko,
and the daughter of your host, Umbezi.”
“Is it so, Macumazahn? Oh, then I have heard of her, though, as it
chances, I have never met her before. No wonder that my sister Nandie
is jealous, for she is beautiful indeed.”
“Yes,” I answered, “she looks pretty against the red sky, does she
not?”
By now we were drawing near to Mameena, and I greeted her, asking if
she wanted anything.
“Nothing, Macumazahn,” she answered in her delicate, modest way, for
never did I know anyone who could seem quite so modest as Mameena, and
with a swift glance of her shy eyes at the tall and splendid Umbelazi,
“nothing. Only,” she added, “I was passing with the milk of one of the
few cows my father gave me, and saw you, and I thought that perhaps, as
the day has been so hot, you might like a drink of it.”
Then, lifting the gourd from her head, she held it out to me.
I thanked her, drank some—who could do less?—and returned it to her,
whereon she made as though she would hasten to depart.
“May I not drink also, daughter of Umbezi?” asked Umbelazi, who could
scarcely take his eyes off her.
“Certainly, sir, if you are a friend of Macumazahn,” she replied,
handing him the gourd.
“I am that, Lady, and more than that, since I am a friend of your
husband, Saduko, also, as you will know when I tell you that my name is
Umbelazi.”
“I thought it must be so,” she replied, “because of your—of your
stature. Let the Prince accept the offering of his servant, who one day
hopes to be his subject,” and, dropping upon her knee, she held out the
gourd to him. Over it I saw their eyes meet. He drank, and as he handed
back the vessel she said:
“O Prince, may I be granted a word with you? I have that to tell which
you would perhaps do well to hear, since news sometimes reaches the
ears of humble women that escapes those of the men, our masters.”
He bowed his head in assent, whereon, taking a hint which Mameena gave
me with her eyes, I muttered something about business and made myself
scarce. I may add that Mameena must have had a great deal to tell
Umbelazi. Fully an hour and a half had gone by before, by the light of
the moon, from a point of vantage on my wagon-box, whence, according to
my custom, I was keeping a lookout on things in general, I saw her slip
back to the kraal silently as a snake, followed at a little distance by
the towering form of Umbelazi.
Apparently Mameena continued to be the recipient of information which
she found it necessary to communicate in private to the prince. At any
rate, on sundry subsequent evenings the dullness of my vigil on the
wagon-box was relieved by the sight of her graceful figure gliding home
from the kloof that Umbelazi seemed to find a very suitable spot for
reflection after sunset. On one of the last of these occasions I
remember that Nandie chanced to be with me, having come to my wagon for
some medicine for her baby.
“What does it mean, Macumazahn?” she asked, when the pair had gone by,
as they thought unobserved, since we were standing where they could not
see us.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” I answered sharply.
“Neither do I, Macumazahn; but without doubt we shall learn in time. If
the crocodile is patient and silent the buck always drops into its jaws
at last.”
On the day after Nandie made this wise remark Saduko started on a
mission, as I understood, to win over several doubtful chiefs to the
cause of _Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti_ (the Elephant-with-the-tuft-of-hair),
as the Prince Umbelazi was called among the Zulus, though not to his
face. This mission lasted ten days, and before it was concluded an
important event happened at Umbezi’s kraal.
One evening Mameena came to me in a great rage, and said that she could
bear her present life no longer. Presuming on her rank and position as
head-wife, Nandie treated her like a servant—nay, like a little dog, to
be beaten with a stick. She wished that Nandie would die.
“It will be very unlucky for you if she does,” I answered, “for then,
perhaps, Zikali will be summoned to look into the matter, as he was
before.”
What was she to do, she went on, ignoring my remark.
“Eat the porridge that you have made in your own pot, or break the pot”
(i.e. go away), I suggested. “There was no need for you to marry
Saduko, any more than there was for you to marry Masapo.”
“How can you talk to me like that, Macumazahn,” she answered, stamping
her foot, “when you know well it is your fault if I married anyone?
_Piff!_ I hate them all, and, since my father would only beat me if I
took my troubles to him, I will run off, and live in the wilderness
alone and become a witch-doctoress.”
“I am afraid you will find it very dull, Mameena,” I began in a
bantering tone, for, to tell the truth, I did not think it wise to show
her too much sympathy while she was so excited.
Mameena never waited for the end of the sentence, but, sobbing out that
I was false and cruel, she turned and departed swiftly. Oh! little did
I foresee how and where we should meet again.
Next morning I was awakened shortly after sunrise by Scowl, whom I had
sent out with another man the night before to look for a lost ox.
“Well, have you found the ox?” I asked.
“Yes, Baas; but I did not waken you to tell you that. I have a message
for you, Baas, from Mameena, wife of Saduko, whom I met about four
hours ago upon the plain yonder.”
I bade him set it out.
“These were the words of Mameena, Baas: ‘Say to Macumazahn, your
master, that _Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti_, taking pity on my wrongs and
loving me with his heart, has offered to take me into his House and
that I have accepted his offer, since I think it better to become the
_Inkosazana_ of the Zulus, as I shall one day, than to remain a servant
in the house of Nandie. Say to Macumazahn that when Saduko returns he
is to tell him that this is all his fault, since if he had kept Nandie
in her place I would have died rather than leave him. Let him say to
Saduko also that, although from henceforth we can be no more than
friends, my heart is still tender towards him, and that by day and by
night I will strive to water his greatness, so that it may grow into a
tree that shall shade the land. Let Macumazahn bid him not to be angry
with me, since what I do I do for his good, as he would have found no
happiness while Nandie and I dwelt in one house. Above all, also let
him not be angry with the Prince, who loves him more than any man, and
does but travel whither the wind that I breathe blows him. Bid
Macumazahn think of me kindly, as I shall of him while my eyes are
open.’”
I listened to this amazing message in silence, then asked if Mameena
was alone.
“No, Baas; Umbelazi and some soldiers were with her, but they did not
hear her words, for she stepped aside to speak with me. Then she
returned to them, and they walked away swiftly, and were swallowed up
in the night.”
“Very good, Sikauli,” I said. “Make me some coffee, and make it
strong.”
I dressed and drank several cups of the coffee, all the while “thinking
with my head,” as the Zulus say. Then I walked up to the kraal to see
Umbezi, whom I found just coming out of his hut, yawning.
“Why do you look so black upon this beautiful morning, Macumazahn?”
asked the genial old scamp. “Have you lost your best cow, or what?”
“No, my friend,” I answered; “but you and another have lost _your_ best
cow.” And word for word I repeated to him Mameena’s message. When I had
finished really I thought that Umbezi was about to faint.
“Curses be on the head of this Mameena!” he exclaimed. “Surely some
evil spirit must have been her father, not I, and well was she called
Child of Storm.[1] What shall I do now, Macumazahn? Thanks be to my
Spirit,” he added, with an air of relief, “she is too far gone for me
to try to catch her; also, if I did, Umbelazi and his soldiers would
kill me.”
[1] That, if I have not said so already, was the meaning which the
Zulus gave to the word _Mameena_, although as I know the language I
cannot get any such interpretation out of the name, I believe that it
was given to her, however, because she was born just before a terrible
tempest, when the wind wailing round the hut made a sound like the
word _Ma-mee-na_. —A. Q.
“And what will Saduko do if you don’t?” I asked.
“Oh, of course he will be angry, for no doubt he is fond of her. But,
after all, I am used to that. You remember how he went mad when she
married Masapo. At least, he cannot say that I made her run away with
Umbelazi. After all, it is a matter which they must settle between
them.”
“I think it may mean great trouble,” I said, “at a time when trouble is
not needed.”
“Oh, why so, Macumazahn? My daughter did not get on with the Princess
Nandie—we could all see that—for they would scarcely speak to each
other. And if Saduko is fond of her—well, after all, there are other
beautiful women in Zululand. I know one or two of them myself whom I
will mention to Saduko—or rather to Nandie. Really, as things were, I
am not sure but that he is well rid of her.”
“But what do you think of the matter as her father?” I asked, for I
wanted to see to what length his accommodating morality would stretch.
“As her father—well, of course, Macumazahn, as her father I am sorry,
because it will mean talk, will it not, as the Masapo business did?
Still, there is this to be said for Mameena,” he added, with a
brightening face, “she always runs away up the tree, not down. When she
got rid of Masapo—I mean when Masapo was killed for his witchcraft—she
married Saduko, who was a bigger man—Saduko, whom she would not marry
when Masapo was the bigger man. And now, when she has got rid of
Saduko, she enters the hut of Umbelazi, who will one day be King of the
Zulus, the biggest man in all the world, which means that she will be
the biggest woman, for remember, Macumazahn, she will walk round and
round that great Umbelazi till whatever way he looks he will see her
and no one else. Oh, she will grow great, and carry up her poor old
father in the blanket on her back. Oh, the sun still shines behind the
cloud, Macumazahn, so let us make the best of the cloud, since we know
that it will break out presently.”
“Yes, Umbezi; but other things besides the sun break out from clouds
sometimes—lightning, for instance; lightning which kills.”
“You speak ill-omened words, Macumazahn; words that take away my
appetite, which is generally excellent at this hour. Well, if Mameena
is bad it is not my fault, for I brought her up to be good. After all,”
he added with an outburst of petulance, “why do you scold me when it is
your fault? If you had run away with the girl when you might have done
so, there would have been none of this trouble.”
“Perhaps not,” I answered; “only then I am sure I should have been dead
to-day, as I think that all who have to do with her will be ere long.
And now, Umbezi, I wish you a good breakfast.”
On the following morning, Saduko returned and was told the news by
Nandie, whom I had carefully avoided. On this occasion, however, I was
forced to be present, as the person to whom the sinful Mameena had sent
her farewell message. It was a very painful experience, of which I do
not remember all the details. For a while after he learned the truth
Saduko sat still as a stone, staring in front of him, with a face that
seemed to have become suddenly old. Then he turned upon Umbezi, and in
a few terrible words accused him of having arranged the matter in order
to advance his own fortunes at the price of his daughter’s dishonour.
Next, without listening to his ex-father-in-law’s voluble explanations,
he rose and said that he was going away to kill Umbelazi, the evil-doer
who had robbed him of the wife he loved, with the connivance of all
three of us, and by a sweep of his hand he indicated Umbezi, the
Princess Nandie and myself.
This was more than I could stand, so I, too, rose and asked him what he
meant, adding in the irritation of the moment that if I had wished to
rob him of his beautiful Mameena, I thought I could have done so long
ago—a remark that staggered him a little.
Then Nandie rose also, and spoke in her quiet voice.
“Saduko, my husband,” she said, “I, a Princess of the Zulu House,
married you who are not of royal blood because I loved you, and
although Panda the King and Umbelazi the Prince wished it, for no other
reason whatsoever. Well, I have been faithful to you through some
trials, even when you set the widow of a wizard—if, indeed, as I have
reason to suspect, she was not herself the wizard—before me, and
although that wizard had killed our son, lived in her hut rather than
in mine. Now this woman of whom you thought so much has deserted you
for your friend and my brother, the Prince Umbelazi—Umbelazi who is
called the Handsome, and who, if the fortune of war goes with him, as
it may or may not, will succeed to Panda, my father. This she has done
because she alleges that I, your _Inkosikazi_ and the King’s daughter,
treated her as a servant, which is a lie. I kept her in her place, no
more, who, if she could have had her will, would have ousted me from
mine, perhaps by death, for the wives of wizards learn their arts. On
this pretext she has left you; but that is not her real reason. She has
left you because the Prince, my brother, whom she has befooled with her
tricks and beauty, as she has befooled others, or tried to”—and she
glanced at me—“is a bigger man than you are. You, Saduko, may become
great, as my heart prays that you will, but my brother may become a
king. She does not love him any more than she loved you, but she does
love the place that may be his, and therefore hers—she who would be the
first doe of the herd. My husband, I think that you are well rid of
Mameena, for I think also that if she had stayed with us there would
have been more deaths in our House; perhaps mine, which would not
matter, and perhaps yours, which would matter much. All this I say to
you, not from jealousy of one who is fairer than I, but because it is
the truth. Therefore my counsel to you is to let this business pass
over and keep silent. Above all, seek not to avenge yourself upon
Umbelazi, since I am sure that he has taken vengeance to dwell with him
in his own hut. I have spoken.”
That this moderate and reasoned speech of Nandie’s produced a great
effect upon Saduko I could see, but at the time the only answer he made
to it was:
“Let the name of Mameena be spoken no more within hearing of my ears.
Mameena is dead.”
So her name was heard no more in the Houses of Saduko and of Umbezi,
and when it was necessary for any reason to refer to her, she was given
a new name, a composite Zulu word, _O-we-Zulu_, I think it was, which
is “Storm-child” shortly translated, for “Zulu” means a storm as well
as the sky.
I do not think that Saduko spoke of her to me again until towards the
climax of this history, and certainly I did not mention her to him. But
from that day forward I noted that he was a changed man. His pride and
open pleasure in his great success, which had caused the Zulus to name
him the “Self-eater,” were no longer marked. He became cold and silent,
like a man who is thinking deeply, but who shutters his thoughts lest
some should read them through the windows of his eyes. Moreover, he
paid a visit to Zikali the Little and Wise, as I found out by accident;
but what advice that cunning old dwarf gave to him I did not find
out—then.
The only other event which happened in connection with this elopement
was that a message came from Umbelazi to Saduko, brought by one of the
princes, a brother of Umbelazi, who was of his party. As I know, for I
heard it delivered, it was a very humble message when the relative
positions of the two men are considered—that of one who knew that he
had done wrong, and, if not repentant, was heartily ashamed of himself.
“Saduko,” it said, “I have stolen a cow of yours, and I hope you will
forgive me, since that cow did not love the pasture in your kraal, but
in mine she grows fat and is content. Moreover, in return I will give
you many other cows. Everything that I have to give, I will give to you
who are my friend and trusted councillor. Send me word, O Saduko, that
this wall which I have built between us is broken down, since ere long
you and I must stand together in war.”
To this message Saduko’s answer was:
“O Prince, you are troubled about a very little thing. That cow which
you have taken was of no worth to me, for who wishes to keep a beast
that is ever tearing and lowing at the gates of the kraal, disturbing
those who would sleep inside with her noise? Had you asked her of me, I
would have given her to you freely. I thank you for your offer, but I
need no more cows, especially if, like this one, they have no calves.
As for a wall between us, there is none, for how can two men who, if
the battle is to be won, must stand shoulder to shoulder, fight if
divided by a wall? O Son of the King, I am dreaming by day and night of
the battle and the victory, and I have forgotten all about the barren
cow that ran away after you, the great bull of the herd. Only do not be
surprised if one day you find that this cow has a sharp horn.”