The White Shield. Mitford Bertram
retreat.
At length I, who was leading, halted and held up a hand. It was not a sound that I had heard in front through the black gloom, but there had floated to my nostrils on the clear air of the night an odour. It was the smell of a horse. Now of horses among us there were but few – all belonging to the King – and at Ncwelo’s kraal were none. The Great Great One perceived it too, for just then a shaft of moonlight between the tree-tops revealed his face, and upon it was the eager, smiling, terrible expression I had seen there more than once, but usually when leading us into the very thickest of the battle. Yet neither of us spake, and we resumed our way, though tenfold more cautiously than before.
Again I held up my hand. We were now where the ground ended. Before were several jagged pinnacles of rock; in front of these – air. We had made our way by a circuit to the high ground overlooking the back of Ncwelo’s pool.
There it lay, the pool – its surface glistening in the moonlight, reflecting the stars – lying beneath us at a depth, it might be, of eight or ten times the length of a man; and the murmur of voices rose to our ears, together with the occasional stamp of a horse and the sound as of the shaking of a saddle. The grasp of the King’s hand tightened on my shoulder, as we drew ourselves yet nearer to the brink of the rocks and peered cautiously forth.
“Listen, Untúswa,” he breathed into my ear. “Mark well the voices, lest the darkness prevent us from seeing the speakers. Ha!” he added, “that, at any rate, is a voice thou shouldst know.”
And there in truth, Nkose, Umzilikazi spoke no lie; for the voice was that of Ntelani, my father.
It was raised in reproof. Someone at that moment was striking a light – with the stone fire-makers the white men used at that time – and there arose to our nostrils the odour of tobacco being smoked in a pipe. But while this light still flamed we made out with the greatest plainness the faces of six men.
Yes, in that flash we saw them all, for they were immediately below us. Two were white men, with rough faces covered with thick shaggy beards. They wore large hats and clothing made of dressed leather, and were armed with knives and long guns. They were tall, big men, but slow and heavy of speech and aspect. We knew them in a moment for Amabuna (Boers).
The other four were our own people: Tyuyumane, an influential induna and a relation of the King; Notalwa, the head of our witch doctors; Senkonya, another induna, and my father Ntelani. The latter was speaking:
“I fear lest the odour of gwai thus burned spread far into the stillness of the night, for none of us Amazulu use our gwai in such wise. Wherefore it will be known that white men are about.”
But that Ibuna answered roughly that he cared nothing if it reached the nostrils of Umzilikazi himself, save that he uttered the King’s name “Selekas,” so badly did that people speak with our tongue.
The other, however, reproved him, which was well, for our people, traitors though they were, liked not to listen to that sort of talk.
“And now, Ntelani,” went on this man, speaking softly and pleasantly, “if we help you in the matter, how do you propose to carry out the change?”
“Thus,” replied my father, having paused awhile to take snuff and think. “Umzilikazi is great – he is a lion – a buffalo bull – an elephant. The young men are with him. The young men are all his dogs, for he gives them plenty of fighting and abundance of spoil. Moreover, he allows them to tunga3 while yet children, and exalts them to be izinduna over the heads of their fathers. Their fathers are to be their dogs. He loves not old men as izinduna. He creates izinduna out of children like himself.”
Now the King pushed me as we lay and listened, for both of us understood this speech, which was not even dark. Then my father went on: —
“Here is my plan, leader of the Amabuna. We must have a King, but when the Elephant who now trumpets is henceforth trumpeting in black night the warriors will demand a leader, and no man is there who holds their hearts like one, a lion-cub which I have bred, for he is fearless in war, and him they will have to reign over them. This wish they must have granted, if only to accustom them to the change. He shall be King – King for a day – ah! ah!”
And my father chuckled with malice as he took more snuff.
“But what if he will not? What if he remains faithful to Umzilikazi?” said the leader of the Amabuna; for that people talks plain, and understands not our way of dark speaking.
“Au! Will he not?” sneered my father. “I tell thee, Ibuna, that he would slay the King with his own hand but to sit in his seat, if only for a day.”
Now, Nkose, my fury well-nigh got the mastery over me. Such dangerous and fatal words uttered by my father in the hearing of the Great Great One struck dismay into my heart, for the minds of Kings are ever suspicious, and had not I been brought there half under suspicion myself? Besides, they were not true; for even were the chance to offer, I would not sit in the seat of Umzilikazi in his lifetime. For he had made me great, and, in reality, second only to himself. No thought of treason was in my heart, nor had there ever been since the time when, as a hot-headed and foolish boy, I had all but thrown away my life for the sake of a girl; but since then —au! had the whole nation turned against the King, I, even if the only one, would have kept faithful to him, would have given my life for his. Further, my father’s intended treachery towards myself – towards the King and the nation – made my blood flow hot; for no promises of advantage on the part of these lying Amabuna would ever have deceived me, even could I see of what advantage they could be to us. I began to “see red.” It was all I could do not to plunge down the rocks and slay Ntelani where he sat, even though he were my own father. And something of this must have shown itself – I know not how – for again that grasp of iron was upon my shoulder, pressing me down, and the King’s voice breathed into my ear —
“Gahle, gahle, Untúswa. Hast thou not even yet learned sound judgment, thou who art no more a boy, but a kehla, and the leader of warriors in battle? Give ear now while these creeping scorpions advance even further and further into the black jaws of death.”
So we lay and listened, and presently we knew all there was to know, and, in truth, the news was great, for many things had been hatching within the womb of Time. We learned that Tshaka, the Mighty One, the Lion of Zulu, was no more, and that Dingane, a brother of that Elephant, had reddened his spear in the Great One’s blood, and now sat as King in Zululand. We learned that the Amabuna were coming up out of the west – advancing in great numbers, with guns and horses, desiring the land which lay between the Tugela and the sea – and to obtain this, their leaders sought the aid of our nation, promising to set up as King in Zululand he who should aid them the most in their war against Dingane. But before this should happen, Umzilikazi must be sent to join his father, for great as he might have reason to dread the power of Dingane, these plotters knew that he hated that of the Amabuna still more, and that by no inducement whatever could he be brought to listen to their promises, still less to trust in them.
All this we drank in as we lay there among the rocks, listening to that dark midnight plot – all this and more: how the old men were dissatisfied, because of the favour shown to the younger ones – yet this was necessary, Nkose, for ours was a young nation, which had to carve out its own place with the arms and assegais of its warriors, most of whom were young. So we lay in the black midnight stillness, listening to these abatagati squatted around by the rock-hung pool, and the dismal howling of beasts far and near seemed to re-echo their foul and evil plotting. But at the last we learned something more. Should I, the son of Ntelani, refuse to be made King – for a day – ah! yes, only for a day – the induna Tyuyumane was to reign. And with this understanding the Amabuna rose to depart. As they swung themselves into their saddles the one who had spoken more pleasantly said:
“The day after the new moon then, Ntelani, an Elephant will fall into the staked pit from which there is no escape. Our people, with guns and horses, will be at hand. Is that so?”
“That is so, leader of the Amabuna,” grunted my father. “Au! from the spear of a pitfall there
Tunga means “Sew” – the head-ring – i.e. marry.