MAMEENA CLAIMS THE KISS
When I reached Nodwengu I was taken ill and laid up in my wagon for
about a fortnight. What my exact sickness was I do not know, for I had
no doctor at hand to tell me, as even the missionaries had fled the
country. Fever resulting from fatigue, exposure and excitement, and
complicated with fearful headache—caused, I presume, by the blow which
I received in the battle—were its principal symptoms.
When I began to get better, Scowl and some Zulu friends who came to see
me informed me that the whole land was in a fearful state of disorder,
and that Umbelazi’s adherents, the _Isigqosa_, were still being hunted
out and killed. It seems that it was even suggested by some of the
_Usutu_ that I should share their fate, but on this point Panda was
firm. Indeed, he appears to have said publicly that whoever lifted a
spear against me, his friend and guest, lifted it against him, and
would be the cause of a new war. So the _Usutu_ left me alone, perhaps
because they were satisfied with fighting for a while, and thought it
wisest to be content with what they had won.
Indeed, they had won everything, for Cetewayo was now supreme—by right
of the assegai—and his father but a cipher. Although he remained the
“Head” of the nation, Cetewayo was publicly declared to be its “Feet,”
and strength was in these active “Feet,” not in the bowed and sleeping
“Head.” In fact, so little power was left to Panda that he could not
protect his own household. Thus one day I heard a great tumult and
shouting proceeding apparently from the _Isi-gohlo_, or royal
enclosure, and on inquiring what it was afterwards, was told that
Cetewayo had come from the Amangwe kraal and denounced Nomantshali, the
King’s wife, as _umtakati_, or a witch. More, in spite of his father’s
prayers and tears, he had caused her to be put to death before his
eyes—a dreadful and a savage deed. At this distance of time I cannot
remember whether Nomantshali was the mother of Umbelazi or of one of
the other fallen princes.[1]
[1] On re-reading this history it comes back to me that she was the
mother of M’tonga, who was much younger than Umbelazi. —A. Q.
A few days later, when I was up and about again, although I had not
ventured into the kraal, Panda sent a messenger to me with a present of
an ox. On his behalf this man congratulated me on my recovery, and told
me that, whatever might have happened to others, I was to have no fear
for my own safety. He added that Cetewayo had sworn to the King that
not a hair of my head should be harmed, in these words:
“Had I wished to kill Watcher-by-Night because he fought against me, I
could have done so down at Endondakusuka; but then I ought to kill you
also, my father, since you sent him thither against his will with your
own regiment. But I like him well, who is brave and who brought me good
tidings that the Prince, my enemy, was dead of a broken heart.
Moreover, I wish to have no quarrel with the White House [the English]
on account of Macumazahn, so tell him that he may sleep in peace.”
The messenger said further that Saduko, the husband of the King’s
daughter, Nandie, and Umbelazi’s chief _induna_, was to be put upon his
trial on the morrow before the King and his council, together with
Mameena, daughter of Umbezi, and that my presence was desired at this
trial.
I asked what was the charge against them. He replied that, so far as
Saduko was concerned, there were two: first, that he had stirred up
civil war in the land, and, secondly, that having pushed on Umbelazi
into a fight in which many thousands perished, he had played the
traitor, deserting him in the midst of the battle, with all his
following—a very heinous offence in the eyes of Zulus, to whatever
party they may belong.
Against Mameena there were three counts of indictment. First, that it
was she who had poisoned Saduko’s child and others, not Masapo, her
first husband, who had suffered for that crime. Secondly, that she had
deserted Saduko, her second husband, and gone to live with another man,
namely, the late Prince Umbelazi. Thirdly, that she was a witch, who
had enmeshed Umbelazi in the web of her sorceries and thereby caused
him to aspire to the succession to the throne, to which he had no
right, and made the _isililo_, or cry of mourning for the dead, to be
heard in every kraal in Zululand.
“With three such pitfalls in her narrow path, Mameena will have to walk
carefully if she would escape them all,” I said.
“Yes, _Inkoosi_, especially as the pitfalls are dug from side to side
of the path and have a pointed stake set at the bottom of each of them.
Oh, Mameena is already as good as dead, as she deserves to be, who
without doubt is the greatest _umtakati_ north of the Tugela.”
I sighed, for somehow I was sorry for Mameena, though why she should
escape when so many better people had perished because of her I did not
know; and the messenger went on:
“The Black One [that is, Panda] sent me to tell Saduko that he would be
allowed to see you, Macumazahn, before the trial, if he wished, for he
knew that you had been a friend of his, and thought that you might be
able to give evidence in his favour.”
“And what did Saduko say to that?” I asked.
“He said that he thanked the King, but that it was not needful for him
to talk with Macumazahn, whose heart was white like his skin, and whose
lips, if they spoke at all, would tell neither more nor less than the
truth. The Princess Nandie, who is with him—for she will not leave him
in his trouble, as all others have done—on hearing these words of
Saduko’s, said that they were true, and that for this reason, although
you were her friend, she did not hold it necessary to see you either.”
Upon this intimation I made no comment, but “my head thought,” as the
natives say, that Saduko’s real reason for not wishing to see me was
that he felt ashamed to do so, and Nandie’s that she feared to learn
more about her husband’s perfidies than she knew already.
“With Mameena it is otherwise,” went on the messenger, “for as soon as
she was brought here with Zikali the Little and Wise, with whom, it
seems, she has been sheltering, and learned that you, Macumazahn, were
at the kraal, she asked leave to see you—”
“And is it granted?” I broke in hurriedly, for I did not at all wish
for a private interview with Mameena.
“Nay, have no fear, _Inkoosi_,” replied the messenger with a smile; “it
is refused, because the King said that if once she saw you she would
bewitch you and bring trouble on you, as she does on all men. It is for
this reason that she is guarded by women only, no man being allowed to
go near to her, for on women her witcheries will not bite. Still, they
say that she is merry, and laughs and sings a great deal, declaring
that her life has been dull up at old Zikali’s, and that now she is
going to a place as gay as the veld in spring, after the first warm
rain, where there will be plenty of men to quarrel for her and make her
great and happy. That is what she says, the witch who knows perhaps
what the Place of Spirits is like.”
Then, as I made no remarks or suggestions, the messenger departed,
saying that he would return on the morrow to lead me to the place of
trial.
Next morning, after the cows had been milked and the cattle loosed from
their kraals, he came accordingly, with a guard of about thirty men,
all of them soldiers who had survived the great fight of the Amawombe.
These warriors, some of whom had wounds that were scarcely healed,
saluted me with loud cries of “_Inkoosi!_” and “_Baba_” as I stepped
out of the wagon, where I had spent a wretched night of unpleasant
anticipation, showing me that there were at least some Zulus with whom
I remained popular. Indeed, their delight at seeing me, whom they
looked upon as a comrade and one of the few survivors of the great
adventure, was quite touching. As we went, which we did slowly, their
captain told me of their fears that I had been killed with the others,
and how rejoiced they were when they learned that I was safe. He told
me also that, after the third regiment had attacked them and broken up
their ring, a small body of them, from eighty to a hundred only,
managed to cut a way through and escape, running, not towards the
Tugela, where so many thousands had perished, but up to Nodwengu, where
they reported themselves to Panda as the only survivors of the
Amawombe.
“And are you safe now?” I asked of the captain.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “You see, we were the King’s men, not
Umbelazi’s, so Cetewayo bears us no grudge. Indeed, he is obliged to
us, because we gave the _Usutu_ their stomachs full of good fighting,
which is more than did those cows of Umbelazi’s. It is towards Saduko
that he bears a grudge, for you know, my father, one should never pull
a drowning man out of the stream—which is what Saduko did, for had it
not been for his treachery, Cetewayo would have sunk beneath the water
of Death—especially if it is only to spite a woman who hates him.
Still, perhaps Saduko will escape with his life, because he is Nandie’s
husband, and Cetewayo fears Nandie, his sister, if he does not love
her. But here we are, and those who have to watch the sky all day will
be able to tell of the evening weather” (in other words, those who live
will learn).
As he spoke we passed into the private enclosure of the _isi-gohlo_,
outside of which a great many people were gathered, shouting, talking
and quarrelling, for in those days all the usual discipline of the
Great Place was relaxed. Within the fence, however, that was strongly
guarded on its exterior side, were only about a score of councillors,
the King, the Prince Cetewayo, who sat upon his right, the Princess
Nandie, Saduko’s wife, a few attendants, two great, silent fellows
armed with clubs, whom I guessed to be executioners, and, seated in the
shade in a corner, that ancient dwarf, Zikali, though how he came to be
there I did not know.
Obviously the trial was to be quite a private affair, which accounted
for the unusual presence of the two “slayers.” Even my Amawombe guard
was left outside the gate, although I was significantly informed that
if I chose to call upon them they would hear me, which was another way
of saying that in such a small gathering I was absolutely safe.
Walking forward boldly towards Panda, who, though he was as fat as
ever, looked very worn and much older than when I had last seen him, I
made my bow, whereon he took my hand and asked after my health. Then I
shook Cetewayo’s hand also, as I saw that it was stretched out to me.
He seized the opportunity to remark that he was told that I had
suffered a knock on the head in some scrimmage down by the Tugela, and
he hoped that I felt no ill effects. I answered: No, though I feared
that there were a few others who had not been so fortunate, especially
those who had stumbled against the Amawombe regiment, with whom I
chanced to be travelling upon a peaceful mission of inquiry.
It was a bold speech to make, but I was determined to give him a _quid
pro quo_, and, as a matter of fact, he took it in very good part,
laughing heartily at the joke.
After this I saluted such of the councillors present as I knew, which
was not many, for most of my old friends were dead, and sat down upon
the stool that was placed for me not very far from the dwarf Zikali,
who stared at me in a stony fashion, as though he had never seen me
before.
There followed a pause. Then, at some sign from Panda, a side gate in
the fence was opened, and through it appeared Saduko, who walked
proudly to the space in front of the King, to whom he gave the salute
of “_Bayéte_,” and, at a sign, sat himself down upon the ground. Next,
through the same gate, to which she was conducted by some women, came
Mameena, quite unchanged and, I think, more beautiful than she had ever
been. So lovely did she look, indeed, in her cloak of grey fur, her
necklet of blue beads, and the gleaming rings of copper which she wore
upon her wrists and ankles, that every eye was fixed upon her as she
glided gracefully forward to make her obeisance to Panda.
This done, she turned and saw Nandie, to whom she also bowed, as she
did so inquiring after the health of her child. Without waiting for an
answer, which she knew would not be vouchsafed, she advanced to me and
grasped my hand, which she pressed warmly, saying how glad she was to
see me safe after going through so many dangers, though she thought I
looked even thinner than I used to be.
Only of Saduko, who was watching her with his intent and melancholy
eyes, she took no heed whatsoever. Indeed, for a while I thought that
she could not have seen him. Nor did she appear to recognise Cetewayo,
although he stared at her hard enough. But, as her glance fell upon the
two executioners, I thought I saw her shudder like a shaken reed. Then
she sat down in the place appointed to her, and the trial began.
The case of Saduko was taken first. An officer learned in Zulu
law—which I can assure the reader is a very intricate and
well-established law—I suppose that he might be called a kind of
attorney-general, rose and stated the case against the prisoner. He
told how Saduko, from a nobody, had been lifted to a great place by the
King and given his daughter, the Princess Nandie, in marriage. Then he
alleged that, as would be proved in evidence, the said Saduko had urged
on Umbelazi the Prince, to whose party he had attached himself, to make
war upon Cetewayo. This war having begun, at the great battle of
Endondakusuka, he had treacherously deserted Umbelazi, together with
three regiments under his command, and gone over to Cetewayo, thereby
bringing Umbelazi to defeat and death.
This brief statement of the case for the prosecution being finished,
Panda asked Saduko whether he pleaded guilty or not guilty.
“Guilty, O King,” he answered, and was silent.
Then Panda asked him if he had anything to say in excuse of his
conduct.
“Nothing, O King, except that I was Umbelazi’s man, and when you, O
King, had given the word that he and the Prince yonder might fight, I,
like many others, some of whom are dead and some alive, worked for him
with all my ten fingers that he might have the victory.”
“Then why did you desert my son the Prince in the battle?” asked Panda.
“Because I saw that the Prince Cetewayo was the stronger bull and
wished to be on the winning side, as all men do—for no other reason,”
answered Saduko calmly.
Now, everyone present stared, not excepting Cetewayo. Panda, who, like
the rest of us, had heard a very different tale, looked extremely
puzzled, while Zikali, in his corner, set up one of his great laughs.
After a long pause, at length the King, as supreme judge, began to pass
sentence. At least, I suppose that was his intention, but before three
words had left his lips Nandie rose and said:
“My Father, ere you speak that which cannot be unspoken, hear me. It is
well known that Saduko, my husband, was my brother Umbelazi’s general
and councillor, and if he is to be killed for clinging to the Prince,
then I should be killed also, and countless others in Zululand who
still remain alive because they were not in or escaped the battle. It
is well known also, my Father, that during that battle Saduko went over
to my brother Cetewayo, though whether this brought about the defeat of
Umbelazi I cannot say. Why did he go over? He tells you because he
wished to be on the winning side. It is not true. He went over in order
to be revenged upon Umbelazi, who had taken from him yonder witch”—and
she pointed with her finger at Mameena—“yonder witch, whom he loved and
still loves, and whom even now he would shield, even though to do so he
must make his own name shameful. Saduko sinned; I do not deny it, my
Father, but there sits the real traitress, red with the blood of
Umbelazi and with that of thousands of others who have ‘_tshonile_’d’
[gone down to keep him company among the ghosts]. Therefore, O King, I
beseech you, spare the life of Saduko, my husband, or, if he must die,
learn that I, your daughter, will die with him. I have spoken, O King.”
And very proudly and quietly she sat herself down again, waiting for
the fateful words.
But those words were not spoken, since Panda only said: “Let us try the
case of this woman, Mameena.”
Thereon the law officer rose again and set out the charges against
Mameena, namely, that it was she who had poisoned Saduko’s child, and
not Masapo; that, after marrying Saduko, she had deserted him and gone
to live with the Prince Umbelazi; and that finally she had bewitched
the said Umbelazi and caused him to make civil war in the land.
“The second charge, if proved, namely, that this woman deserted her
husband for another man, is a crime of death,” broke in Panda abruptly
as the officer finished speaking; “therefore, what need is there to
hear the first and the third until that is examined. What do you plead
to that charge, woman?”
Now, understanding that the King did not wish to stir up these other
matters of murder and witchcraft for some reason of his own, we all
turned to hear Mameena’s answer.
“O King,” she said in her low, silvery voice, “I cannot deny that I
left Saduko for Umbelazi the Handsome, any more than Saduko can deny
that he left Umbelazi the beaten for Cetewayo the conqueror.”
“Why did you leave Saduko?” asked Panda.
“O King, perhaps because I loved Umbelazi; for was he not called the
Handsome? Also _you_ know that the Prince, your son, was one to be
loved.” Here she paused, looking at poor Panda, who winced. “Or,
perhaps, because I wished to be great; for was he not of the Blood
Royal, and, had it not been for Saduko, would he not one day have been
a king? Or, perhaps, because I could no longer bear the treatment that
the Princess Nandie dealt out to me; she who was cruel to me and
threatened to beat me, because Saduko loved my hut better than her own.
Ask Saduko; he knows more of these matters than I do,” and she gazed at
him steadily. Then she went on: “How can a woman tell her reasons, O
King, when she never knows them herself?”—a question at which some of
her hearers smiled.
Now Saduko rose and said slowly:
“Hear me, O King, and I will give the reason that Mameena hides. She
left me for Umbelazi because I bade her to do so, for I knew that
Umbelazi desired her, and I wished to tie the cord tighter which bound
me to one who at that time I thought would inherit the Throne. Also, I
was weary of Mameena, who quarrelled night and day with the Princess
Nandie, my _Inkosikazi_.”
Now Nandie gasped in astonishment (and so did I), but Mameena laughed
and said:
“Yes, O King, those were the two real reasons that I had forgotten. I
left Saduko because he bade me, as he wished to make a present to the
Prince. Also, he _was_ tired of me; for many days at a time he would
scarcely speak to me, because, however kind she might be, I could not
help quarrelling with the Princess Nandie. Moreover, there was another
reason which I have forgotten: I had no child, and not having any child
I did not think it mattered whether I went or stayed. If Saduko
searches, he will remember that I told him so, and that he agreed with
me.”
Again she looked at Saduko, who said hurriedly:
“Yes, yes, I told her so; I told her that I wished for no barren cows
in my kraal.”
Now some of the audience laughed outright, but Panda frowned.
“It seems,” he said, “that my ears are being stuffed with lies, though
which of these two tells them I cannot say. Well, if the woman left the
man by his own wish, and that his ends might be furthered, as he says,
he had put her away, and therefore the fault, if any, is his, not hers.
So that charge is ended. Now, woman, what have you to tell us of the
witchcraft which it is said you practised upon the Prince who is gone,
thereby causing him to make war in the land?”
“Little that you would wish to hear, O King, or that it would be seemly
for me to speak,” she answered, drooping her head modestly. “The only
witchcraft that ever I practised upon Umbelazi lies here”—and she
touched her beautiful eyes—“and here”—and she touched her curving
lips—“and in this poor shape of mine which some have thought so fair.
As for the war, what had I to do with war, who never spoke to Umbelazi,
who was so dear to me”—and she looked up with tears running down her
face—“save of love? O King, is there a man among you all who would fear
the witcheries of such a one as I; and because the Heavens made me
beautiful with the beauty that men must follow, am I also to be killed
as a sorceress?”
Now, to this argument neither Panda nor anyone else seemed to find an
answer, especially as it was well known that Umbelazi had cherished his
ambition to the succession long before he met Mameena. So that charge
was dropped, and the first and greatest of the three proceeded with;
namely, that it was she, Mameena, and not her husband, Masapo, who had
murdered Nandie’s child.
When this accusation was made against her, for the first time I saw a
little shade of trouble flit across Mameena’s soft eyes.
“Surely, O King,” she said, “that matter was settled long ago, when the
Ndwande, Zikali, the great Nyanga, smelt out Masapo the wizard, he who
was my husband, and brought him to his death for this crime. Must I
then be tried for it again?”
“Not so, woman,” answered Panda. “All that Zikali smelt out was the
poison that wrought the crime, and as some of that poison was found
upon Masapo, he was killed as a wizard. Yet it may be that it was not
he who used the poison.”
“Then surely the King should have thought of that before he died,”
murmured Mameena. “But I forget: It is known that Masapo was always
hostile to the House of Senzangakona.”
To this remark Panda made no answer, perhaps because it was
unanswerable, even in a land where it was customary to kill the
supposed wizard first and inquire as to his actual guilt afterwards, or
not at all. Or perhaps he thought it politic to ignore the suggestion
that he had been inspired by personal enmity. Only, he looked at his
daughter, Nandie, who rose and said:
“Have I leave to call a witness on this matter of the poison, my
Father?”
Panda nodded, whereon Nandie said to one of the councillors:
“Be pleased to summon my woman, Nahana, who waits without.”
The man went, and presently returned with an elderly female who, it
appeared, had been Nandie’s nurse, and, never having married, owing to
some physical defect, had always remained in her service, a person well
known and much respected in her humble walk of life.
“Nahana,” said Nandie, “you are brought here that you may repeat to the
King and his council a tale which you told to me as to the coming of a
certain woman into my hut before the death of my first-born son, and
what she did there. Say first, is this woman present here?”
“Aye, _Inkosazana_,” answered Nahana, “yonder she sits. Who could
mistake her?” and she pointed to Mameena, who was listening to every
word intently, as a dog listens at the mouth of an ant-bear hole when
the beast is stirring beneath.
“Then what of the woman and her deeds?” asked Panda.
“Only this, O King. Two nights before the child that is dead was taken
ill, I saw Mameena creep into the hut of the lady Nandie, I who was
asleep alone in a corner of the big hut out of reach of the light of
the fire. At the time the lady Nandie was away from the hut with her
son. Knowing the woman for Mameena, the wife of Masapo, who was on
friendly terms with the _Inkosazana_, whom I supposed she had come to
visit, I did not declare myself; nor did I take any particular note
when I saw her sprinkle a little mat upon which the babe, Saduko’s son,
was wont to be laid, with some medicine, because I had heard her
promise to the _Inkosazana_ a powder which she said would drive away
insects. Only, when I saw her throw some of this powder into the vessel
of warm water that stood by the fire, to be used for the washing of the
child, and place something, muttering certain words that I could not
catch, in the straw of the doorway, I thought it strange, and was about
to question her when she left the hut. As it happened, O King, but a
little while afterwards, before one could count ten tens indeed, a
messenger came to the hut to tell me that my old mother lay dying at
her kraal four days’ journey from Nodwengu, and prayed to see me before
she died. Then I forgot all about Mameena and the powder, and, running
out to seek the Princess Nandie, I craved her leave to go with the
messenger to my mother’s kraal, which she granted to me, saying that I
need not return until my mother was buried.
“So I went. But, oh! my mother took long to die. Whole moons passed
before I shut her eyes, and all this while she would not let me go;
nor, indeed, did I wish to leave her whom I loved. At length it was
over, and then came the days of mourning, and after those some more
days of rest, and after them again the days of the division of the
cattle, so that in the end six moons or more had gone by before I
returned to the service of the Princess Nandie, and found that Mameena
was now the second wife of the lord Saduko. Also I found that the child
of the lady Nandie was dead, and that Masapo, the first husband of
Mameena, had been smelt out and killed as the murderer of the child.
But as all these things were over and done with, and as Mameena was
very kind to me, giving me gifts and sparing me tasks, and as I saw
that Saduko my lord loved her much, it never came into my head to say
anything of the matter of the powder that I saw her sprinkle on the
mat.
“After she had run away with the Prince who is dead, however, I did
tell the lady Nandie. Moreover, the lady Nandie, in my presence,
searched in the straw of the doorway of the hut and found there,
wrapped in soft hide, certain medicines such as the Nyangas sell,
wherewith those who consult them can bewitch their enemies, or cause
those whom they desire to love them or to hate their wives or husbands.
That is all I know of the story, O King.”
“Do my ears hear a true tale, Nandie?” asked Panda. “Or is this woman a
liar like others?”
“I think not, my Father; see, here is the _muti_ [medicine] which
Nahana and I found hid in the doorway of the hut that I have kept
unopened till this day.”
And she laid on the ground a little leather bag, very neatly sewn with
sinews, and fastened round its neck with a fibre string.
Panda directed one of the councillors to open the bag, which the man
did unwillingly enough, since evidently he feared its evil influence,
pouring out its contents on to the back of a hide shield, which was
then carried round so that we might all look at them. These, so far as
I could see, consisted of some withered roots, a small piece of human
thigh bone, such as might have come from the skeleton of an infant,
that had a little stopper of wood in its orifice, and what I took to be
the fang of a snake.
Panda looked at them and shrank away, saying:
“Come hither, Zikali the Old, you who are skilled in magic, and tell us
what is this medicine.”
Then Zikali rose from the corner where he had been sitting so silently,
and waddled heavily across the open space to where the shield lay in
front of the King. As he passed Mameena, she bent down over the dwarf
and began to whisper to him swiftly; but he placed his hands upon his
big head, covering up his ears, as I suppose, that he might not hear
her words.
“What have I to do with this matter, O King?” he asked.
“Much, it seems, O Opener-of-Roads,” said Panda sternly, “seeing that
you were the doctor who smelt out Masapo, and that it was in your kraal
that yonder woman hid herself while her lover, the Prince, my son, who
is dead, went down to the battle, and that she was brought thence with
you. Tell us, now, the nature of this _muti_, and, being wise, as you
are, be careful to tell us truly, lest it should be said, O Zikali,
that you are not a _Nyanga_ only, but an _umtakati_ as well. For then,”
he added with meaning, and choosing his words carefully, “perchance, O
Zikali, I might be tempted to make trial of whether or no it is true
that you cannot be killed like other men, especially as I have heard of
late that your heart is evil towards me and my House.”
For a moment Zikali hesitated—I think to give his quick brain time to
work, for he saw his great danger. Then he laughed in his dreadful
fashion and said:
“Oho! the King thinks that the otter is in the trap,” and he glanced at
the fence of the _isi-gohlo_ and at the fierce executioners, who stood
watching him sternly. “Well, many times before has this otter seemed to
be in a trap, yes, ere your father saw light, O Son of Senzangakona,
and after it also. Yet here he stands living. Make no trial, O King, of
whether or no I be mortal, lest if Death should come to such a one as
I, he should take many others with him also. Have you not heard the
saying that when the Opener-of-Roads comes to the end of his road there
will be no more a King of the Zulus, as when he began his road there
was no King of the Zulus, since the days of his manhood are the days of
_all_ the Zulu kings?”
Thus he spoke, glaring at Panda and at Cetewayo, who shrank before his
gaze.
“Remember,” he went on, “that the Black One who is ‘gone down’ long
ago, the Wild Beast who fathered the Zulu herd, threatened him whom he
named the ‘Thing-that-should-not-have-been-born,’ aye, and slew those
whom he loved, and afterwards was slain by others, who also are ‘gone
down,’ and that you alone, O Panda, did _not_ threaten him, and that
you alone, O Panda, have _not_ been slain. Now, if you would make trial
of whether I die as other men die, bid your dogs fall on, for Zikali is
ready,” and he folded his arms and waited.
Indeed, all of us waited breathlessly, for we understood that the
terrible dwarf was matching himself against Panda and Cetewayo and
defying them both. Presently it became obvious that he had won the
game, since Panda only said:
“Why should I slay one whom I have befriended in the past, and why do
you speak such heavy words of death in my ears, O, Zikali the Wise,
which of late have heard so much of death?” He sighed, adding: “Be
pleased now, to tell us of this medicine, or, if you will not, go, and
I will send for other _Nyangas_.”
“Why should I not tell you, when you ask me softly and without threats,
O King? See”—and Zikali took up some of the twisted roots—“these are
the roots of a certain poisonous herb that blooms at night on the tops
of mountains, and woe be to the ox that eats thereof. They have been
boiled in gall and blood, and ill will befall the hut in which they are
hidden by one who can speak the words of power. This is the bone of a
babe that has never lived to cut its teeth—I think of a babe that was
left to die alone in the bush because it was hated, or because none
would father it. Such a bone has strength to work ill against other
babes; moreover, it is filled with a charmed medicine. Look!” and,
pulling out the plug of wood, he scattered some grey powder from the
bone, then stopped it up again. “This,” he added, picking up the fang,
“is the tooth of a deadly serpent, that, after it has been doctored, is
used by women to change the heart of a man from another to herself. I
have spoken.”
And he turned to go.
“Stay!” said the King. “Who set these foul charms in the doorway of
Saduko’s hut?”
“How can I tell, O King, unless I make preparation and cast the bones
and smell out the evil-doer? You have heard the story of the woman
Nahana. Accept it or reject it as your heart tells you.”
“If that story be true, O Zikali, how comes it that you yourself smelt
out, not Mameena, the wife of Masapo, but Masapo, her husband, himself,
and caused him to be slain because of the poisoning of the child of
Nandie?”
“You err, O King. I, Zikali, smelt out the House of Masapo. Then I
smelt out the poison, searching for it first in the hair of Mameena,
and finding it in the kaross of Masapo. I never smelt out that it was
Masapo who gave the poison. That was the judgment of you and of your
Council, O King. Nay, I knew well that there was more in the matter,
and had you paid me another fee and bade me to continue to use my
wisdom, without doubt I should have found this magic stuff hidden in
the hut, and mayhap have learned the name of the hider. But I was
weary, who am very old; and what was it to me if you chose to kill
Masapo or chose to let him go? Masapo, who, being your secret enemy,
was a man who deserved to die—if not for this matter, then for others.”
Now, all this while I had been watching Mameena, who sat, in the Zulu
fashion, listening to this deadly evidence, a slight smile upon her
face, and without attempting any interruption or comment. Only I saw
that while Zikali was examining the medicine, her eyes were seeking the
eyes of Saduko, who remained in his place, also silent, and, to all
appearance, the least interested of anyone present. He tried to avoid
her glance, turning his head uneasily; but at length her eyes caught
his and held them. Then his heart began to beat quickly, his breast
heaved, and on his face there grew a look of dreamy content, even of
happiness. From that moment forward, till the end of the scene, Saduko
never took his eyes off this strange woman, though I think that, with
the exception of the dwarf, Zikali, who saw everything, and of myself,
who am trained to observation, none noted this curious by-play of the
drama.
The King began to speak. “Mameena,” he said, “you have heard. Have you
aught to say? For if not it would seem that you are a witch and a
murderess, and one who must die.”
“Yea, a little word, O King,” she answered quietly. “Nahana speaks
truth. It is true that I entered the hut of Nandie and set the medicine
there. I say it because by nature I am not one who hides the truth or
would attempt to throw discredit even upon a humble serving-woman,” and
she glanced at Nahana.
“Then from between your own teeth it is finished,” said Panda.
“Not altogether, O King. I have said that I set the medicine in the
hut. I have not said, and I will not say, how and why I set it there.
That tale I call upon Saduko yonder to tell to you, he who was my
husband, that I left for Umbelazi, and who, being a man, must therefore
hate me. By the words he says I will abide. If he declares that I am
guilty, then I am guilty, and prepared to pay the price of guilt. But
if he declares that I am innocent, then, O King and O Prince Cetewayo,
without fear I trust myself to your justness. Now speak, O Saduko;
speak the whole truth, whatever it may be, if that is the King’s will.”
“It is my will,” said Panda.
“And mine also,” added Cetewayo, who, I could see, like everyone else,
was much interested in this matter.
Saduko rose to his feet, the same Saduko that I had always known, and
yet so changed. All the life and fire had gone from him; his pride in
himself was no more; none could have known him for that ambitious,
confident man who, in his day of power, the Zulus named the
“Self-Eater.” He was a mere mask of the old Saduko, informed by some
new, some alien, spirit. With dull, lack-lustre eyes fixed always upon
the lovely eyes of Mameena, in slow and hesitating tones he began his
tale.
“It is true, O Lion,” he said, “that Mameena spread the poison upon my
child’s mat. It is true that she set the deadly charms in the doorway
of Nandie’s hut. These things she did, not knowing what she did, and it
was I who instructed her to do them. This is the case. From the
beginning I have always loved Mameena as I have loved no other woman
and as no other woman was ever loved. But while I was away with
Macumazahn, who sits yonder, to destroy Bangu, chief of the Amakoba, he
who had killed my father, Umbezi, the father of Mameena, he whom the
Prince Cetewayo gave to the vultures the other day because he had lied
as to the death of Umbelazi, he, I say, forced Mameena, against her
will, to marry Masapo the Boar, who afterwards was executed for
wizardry. Now, here at your feast, when you reviewed the people of the
Zulus, O King, after you had given me the lady Nandie as wife, Mameena
and I met again and loved each other more than we had ever done before.
But, being an upright woman, Mameena thrust me away from her, saying:
“‘I have a husband, who, if he is not dear to me, still is my husband,
and while he lives to him I will be true.’ Then, O King, I took counsel
with the evil in my heart, and made a plot in myself to be rid of the
Boar, Masapo, so that when he was dead I might marry Mameena. This was
the plot that I made—that my son and Princess Nandie’s should be
poisoned, and that Masapo should seem to poison him, so that he might
be killed as a wizard and I marry Mameena.”
Now, at this astounding statement, which was something beyond the
experience of the most cunning and cruel savage present there, a gasp
of astonishment went up from the audience; even old Zikali lifted his
head and stared. Nandie, too, shaken out of her usual calm, rose as
though to speak; then, looking first at Saduko and next at Mameena, sat
herself down again and waited. But Saduko went on again in the same
cold, measured voice:
“I gave Mameena a powder which I had bought for two heifers from a
great doctor who lived beyond the Tugela, but who is now dead, which
powder I told her was desired by Nandie, my _Inkosikazi_, to destroy
the little beetles that ran about the hut, and directed her where she
was to spread it. Also, I gave her the bag of medicine, telling her to
thrust it into the doorway of the hut, that it might bring a blessing
upon my House. These things she did ignorantly to please me, not
knowing that the powder was poison, not knowing that the medicine was
bewitched. So my child died, as I wished it to die, and, indeed, I
myself fell sick because by accident I touched the powder.
“Afterwards Masapo was smelt out as a wizard by old Zikali, I having
caused a bag of the poison to be sewn in his kaross in order to deceive
Zikali, and killed by your order, O King, and Mameena was given to me
as a wife, also by your order, O King, which was what I desired. Later
on, as I have told you, I wearied of her, and wishing to please the
Prince who has wandered away, I commanded her to yield herself to him,
which Mameena did out of her love for me and to advance my fortunes,
she who is blameless in all things.”
Saduko finished speaking and sat down again, as an automaton might do
when a wire is pulled, his lack-lustre eyes still fixed upon Mameena’s
face.
“You have heard, O King,” said Mameena. “Now pass judgment, knowing
that, if it be your will, I am ready to die for Saduko’s sake.”
But Panda sprang up in a rage.
“_Take him away!_” he said, pointing to Saduko. “Take away that dog who
is not fit to live, a dog who eats his own child that thereby he may
cause another to be slain unjustly and steal his wife.”
The executioners leapt forward, and, having something to say, for I
could bear this business no longer, I began to rise to my feet. Before
I gained them, however, Zikali was speaking.
“O King,” he said, “it seems that you have killed one man unjustly on
this matter, namely, Masapo. Would you do the same by another?” and he
pointed to Saduko.
“What do you mean?” asked Panda angrily. “Have you not heard this low
fellow, whom I made great, giving him the rule over tribes and my
daughter in marriage, confess with his own lips that he murdered his
child, the child of my blood, in order that he might eat a fruit which
grew by the roadside for all men to nibble at?” and he glared at
Mameena.
“Aye, Child of Senzangakona,” answered Zikali, “I heard Saduko say this
with his own lips, but the voice that spoke from the lips was not the
voice of Saduko, as, were you a skilled Nyanga like me, you would have
known as well as I do, and as well as does the white man,
Watcher-by-Night, who is a reader of hearts.
“Hearken now, O King, and you great ones around the King, and I will
tell you a story. Matiwane, the father of Saduko, was my friend, as he
was yours, O King, and when Bangu slew him and his people, by leave of
the Wild Beast [Chaka], I saved the child, his son, aye, and brought
him up in my own House, having learned to love him. Then, when he
became a man, I, the Opener-of-Roads, showed him two roads, down either
of which he might choose to walk—the Road of Wisdom and the Road of War
and Women: the white road that runs through peace to knowledge, and the
red road that runs through blood to death.
“But already there stood one upon this red road who beckoned him, she
who sits yonder, and he followed after her, as I knew he would. From
the beginning she was false to him, taking a richer man for her
husband. Then, when Saduko grew great, she grew sorry, and came to ask
my counsel as to how she might be rid of Masapo, whom she swore she
hated. I told her that she could leave him for another man, or wait
till her Spirit moved him from her path; but I never put evil into her
heart, seeing that it was there already.
“Then she and no other, having first made Saduko love her more than
ever, murdered the child of Nandie, his _Inkosikazi;_ and so brought
about the death of Masapo and crept into Saduko’s arms. Here she slept
a while, till a new shadow fell upon her, that of the
‘Elephant-with-the-tuft-of-hair,’ who will walk the woods no more. Him
she beguiled that she might grow great the quicker, and left the house
of Saduko, taking his heart with her, she who was destined to be the
doom of men.
“Now, into Saduko’s breast, where his heart had been, entered an evil
spirit of jealousy and of revenge, and in the battle of Endondakusuka
that spirit rode him as a white man rides a horse. As he had arranged
to do with the Prince Cetewayo yonder—nay, deny it not, O Prince, for I
know all; did you not make a bargain together, on the third night
before the battle, among the bushes, and start apart when the buck
leapt out between you?” (Here Cetewayo, who had been about to speak,
threw the corner of his kaross over his face.) “As he had arranged to
do, I say, he went over with his regiments from the _Isigqosa_ to the
_Usutu_, and so brought about the fall of Umbelazi and the death of
many thousands. Yes, and this he did for one reason only—because yonder
woman had left him for the Prince, and he cared more for her than for
all the world could give him, for her who had filled him with madness
as a bowl is filled with milk. And now, O King, you have heard this man
tell you a story, you have heard him shout out that he is viler than
any man in all the land; that he murdered his own child, the child he
loved so well, to win this witch; that afterwards he gave her to his
friend and lord to buy more of his favour, and that lastly he deserted
that lord because he thought that there was another lord from whom he
could buy more favour. Is it not so, O King?”
“It is so,” answered Panda, “and therefore must Saduko be thrown out to
the jackals.”
“Wait a while, O King. I say that Saduko has spoken not with his own
voice, but with the voice of Mameena. I say that she is the greatest
witch in all the land, and that she has drugged him with the medicine
of her eyes, so that he knows not what he says, even as she drugged the
Prince who is dead.”
“Then prove it, or he dies!” exclaimed the King.
Now the dwarf went to Panda and whispered in his ear, whereon Panda
whispered in turn into the ears of two of his councillors. These men,
who were unarmed, rose and made as though to leave the _isi-gohlo_. But
as they passed Mameena one of them suddenly threw his arms about her,
pinioning her arms, the other tearing off the kaross he wore—for the
weather was cold—flung it over her head and knotted it behind her so
that she was hidden except for her ankles and feet. Then, although she
did not move or struggle, they caught hold of her and stood still.
Now Zikali hobbled to Saduko and bade him rise, which he did. Then he
looked at him for a long while and made certain movements with his
hands before his face, after which Saduko uttered a great sigh and
stared about him.
“Saduko,” said Zikali, “I pray you tell me, your foster-father, whether
it is true, as men say, that you sold your wife, Mameena, to the Prince
Umbelazi in order that his favour might fall on you like heavy rain?”
“_Wow!_ Zikali,” said Saduko, with a start of rage, “were you as others
are I would kill you, you toad, who dare to spit slander on my name.
She ran away with the Prince, having beguiled him with the magic of her
beauty.”
“Strike me not, Saduko,” went on Zikali, “or at least wait to strike
until you have answered one more question. Is it true, as men say, that
in the battle of Endondakusuka you went over to the _Usutu_ with your
regiments because you thought that _Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti_ would be
beaten, and wished to be on the side of him who won?”
“What, Toad! More slander?” cried Saduko. “I went over for one reason
only—to be revenged upon the Prince because he had taken from me her
who was more to me than life or honour. Aye, and when I went over
Umbelazi was winning; it was because I went that he lost and died, as I
meant that he should die, though now,” he added sadly, “I would that I
had not brought him to ruin and the dust, who think that, like myself,
he was but wet clay in a woman’s fingers.
“O King,” he added, turning to Panda, “kill me, I pray you, who am not
worthy to live, since to him whose hand is red with the blood of his
friend, death alone is left, who, while he breathes, must share his
sleep with ghosts that watch him with their angry eyes.”
Then Nandie sprang up and said:
“Nay, Father, listen not to him who is mad, and therefore holy.[2] What
he has done, he has done, who, as he has said, was but a tool in
another’s hand. As for our babe, I know well that he would have died
sooner than harm it, for he loved it much, and when it was taken away,
for three whole days and nights he wept and would touch no food. Give
this poor man to me, my Father—to me, his wife, who loves him—and let
us go hence to some other land, where perchance we may forget.”
[2] The Zulus suppose that insane people are inspired. —A.Q.
“Be silent, daughter,” said the King; “and you, O Zikali, the _Nyanga_,
be silent also.”
They obeyed, and, after thinking awhile, Panda made a motion with his
hand, whereon the two councillors lifted the kaross from off Mameena,
who looked about her calmly and asked if she were taking part in some
child’s game.
“Aye, woman,” answered Panda, “you are taking part in a great game, but
not, I think, such as is played by children—a game of life and death.
Now, have you heard the tale of Zikali the Little and Wise, and the
words of Saduko, who was once your husband, or must they be repeated to
you?”
“There is no need, O King; my ears are too quick to be muffled by a fur
bag, and I would not waste your time.”
“Then what have you to say, woman?”
“Not much,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders, “except that I
have lost in this game. You will not believe me, but if you had left me
alone I should have told you so, who did not wish to see that poor
fool, Saduko, killed for deeds he had never done. Still, the tale he
told you was not told because I had bewitched him; it was told for love
of me, whom he desired to save. It was Zikali yonder; Zikali, the enemy
of your House, who in the end will destroy your House, O Son of
Senzangakona, that bewitched him, as he has bewitched you all, and
forced the truth out of his unwilling heart.
“Now, what more is there to say? Very little, as I think. I did the
things that are laid to my charge, and worse things which have not been
stated. Oh, I played for great stakes, I, who meant to be the
_Inkosazana_ of the Zulus, and, as it chances, by the weight of a hair
I have lost. I thought that I had counted everything, but the hair’s
weight which turned the balance against me was the mad jealousy of this
fool, Saduko, upon which I had not reckoned. I see now that when I left
Saduko I should have left him dead. Thrice I had thought of it. Once I
mixed the poison in his drink, and then he came in, weary with his
plottings, and kissed me ere he drank; and my woman’s heart grew soft
and I overset the bowl that was at his lips. Do you not remember,
Saduko?
“So, so! For that folly alone I deserve to die, for she who would
reign”—and her beautiful eyes flashed royally—“must have a tiger’s
heart, not that of a woman. Well, because I was too kind I must die;
and, after all is said, it is well to die, who go hence awaited by
thousands upon thousands that I have sent before me, and who shall be
greeted presently by your son, Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti, and his warriors,
greeted as the _Inkosazana_ of Death, with red, lifted spears and with
the royal salute!
“Now, I have spoken. Walk your little road, O King and Prince and
Councillors, till you reach the gulf into which I sink, that yawns for
all of you. O King, when you meet me again at the bottom of that gulf,
what a tale you will have to tell me, you who are but the shadow of a
king, you whose heart henceforth must be eaten out by a worm that is
called _Love-of-the-Lost_. O Prince and Conqueror Cetewayo, what a tale
you will have to tell me when I greet you at the bottom of that gulf,
you who will bring your nation to a wreck and at last die as I must
die—only the servant of others and by the will of others. Nay, ask me
not how. Ask old Zikali, my master, who saw the beginning of your House
and will see its end. Oh, yes, as you say, I am a witch, and I know, I
know! Come, I am spent. You men weary me, as men have always done,
being but fools whom it is so easy to make drunk, and who when drunk
are so unpleasing. _Piff!_ I am tired of you sober and cunning, and I
am tired of you drunken and brutal, you who, after all, are but beasts
of the field to whom _Mvelingangi_, the Creator, has given heads which
can think, but which always think wrong.
“Now, King, before you unchain your dogs upon me, I ask one moment. I
said that I hated all men, yet, as you know, no woman can tell the
truth—quite. There is a man whom I do not hate, whom I never hated,
whom I think I love because he would not love me. He sits there,” and
to my utter dismay, and the intense interest of that company, she
pointed at me, Allan Quatermain!
“Well, once by my ‘magic,’ of which you have heard so much, I got the
better of this man against his will and judgment, and, because of that
soft heart of mine, I let him go; yes, I let the rare fish go when he
was on my hook. It is well that I should have let him go, since, had I
kept him, a fine story would have been spoiled and I should have become
nothing but a white hunter’s servant, to be thrust away behind the door
when the white _Inkosikazi_ came to eat his meat—I, Mameena, who never
loved to stand out of sight behind a door. Well, when he was at my feet
and I spared him, he made me a promise, a very small promise, which yet
I think he will keep now when we part for a little while. Macumazahn,
did you not promise to kiss me once more upon the lips whenever and
wherever I should ask you?”
“I did,” I answered in a hollow voice, for in truth her eyes held me as
they had held Saduko.
“Then come now, Macumazahn, and give me that farewell kiss. The King
will permit it, and since I have now no husband, who take Death to
husband, there is none to say you nay.”
I rose. It seemed to me that I could not help myself. I went to her,
this woman surrounded by implacable enemies, this woman who had played
for great stakes and lost them, and who knew so well how to lose. I
stood before her, ashamed and yet not ashamed, for something of her
greatness, evil though it might be, drove out my shame, and I knew that
my foolishness was lost in a vast tragedy.
Slowly she lifted her languid arm and threw it about my neck; slowly
she bent her red lips to mine and kissed me, once upon the mouth and
once upon the forehead. But between those two kisses she did a thing so
swiftly that my eyes could scarcely follow what she did. It seemed to
me that she brushed her left hand across her lips, and that I saw her
throat rise as though she swallowed something. Then she thrust me from
her, saying:
“Farewell, O Macumazana, you will never forget this kiss of mine; and
when we meet again we shall have much to talk of, for between now and
then your story will be long. Farewell, Zikali. I pray that all your
plannings may succeed, since those you hate are those I hate, and I
bear you no grudge because you told the truth at last. Farewell, Prince
Cetewayo. You will never be the man your brother would have been, and
your lot is very evil, you who are doomed to pull down a House built by
One who was great. Farewell, Saduko the fool, who threw away your
fortune for a woman’s eyes, as though the world were not full of women.
Nandie the Sweet and the Forgiving will nurse you well until your
haunted end. Oh! why does Umbelazi lean over your shoulder, Saduko, and
look at me so strangely? Farewell, Panda the Shadow. Now let loose your
slayers. Oh! let them loose swiftly, lest they should be balked of my
blood!”
Panda lifted his hand and the executioners leapt forward, but ere ever
they reached her, Mameena shivered, threw wide her arms and fell
back—dead. The poisonous drug she had taken worked well and swiftly.
Such was the end of Mameena, Child of Storm.
A deep silence followed, a silence of awe and wonderment, till suddenly
it was broken by a sound of dreadful laughter. It came from the lips of
Zikali the Ancient, Zikali, the
“Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born.”