Indaba, My Children: African Tribal History, Legends, Customs And Religious Beliefs. Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa
that of a slave. To him, as to all others born in slavery, the word freedom meant absolutely nothing and he lived only to be commanded and to obey. He was nothing but a puppet, dancing and capering at the commands of cruel masters.
By this time, the Black race between the Zambezi and Limpopoma rivers had been all but totally annihilated and the only free people there were the dead ones. At the time when the mighty hero Lumakanda was a youth of sixteen the empire of the Strange Ones was suddenly split violently into two as the result of a war between the White Emperors whose names have come down to us as Kadesi and Karesu. (These are not their true names; the Tribal Chroniclers have corrupted them in the course of time.)
When the story (which custom commands us to tell in Lumakanda’s own words) commences, this war between the quarrelling foreign rulers had just ended in defeat and flight for Kadesi, and victory for the unnatural Karesu who had a male and not a female consort.
And so, my children, now begins the strangest story of all – the second sequel of our great Zima-Mbje Story, the grand epic that is still sung and chanted by many tribes even today, the undying story of the undying man who loved a goddess and who changed the destiny of an empire.
THE STORY OF LUMUKANDA
THE WHISPERING NIGHT
Night had fallen, but the feasting in the house of the man who owned me went on without pause. The great hall was one blaze of light from the many torches burning steadily inside. The sounds of merriment were loud in my ears as I stood guard at the gate with my friend Lubo.
Many were the masters who came into the gate, but few were those who went out – and they left only because they were so full of good food and so drunk they could eat and drink no more.
Some left our owner’s house on gilded stretchers carried by slaves because they had passed into the dark valleys of unconsciousness as a result of the vast quantities of beer and wine they had consumed. One of them came out in the most un-masterly fashion, being dragged out by the hair by no less a person than our owner’s son, and flung head over heels down the clay steps of the great house into the dust. We learnt later that this worthy had been treated in such a fashion because he had heatedly told the owner of the house that rather than see the mad and unnatural Karesu ruling the Empire, he would have Kadesi on the throne. That was treasonable talk and Lubo and I agreed that the offending master had got off very lightly indeed.
The moon rose and its eerie light gave the white-painted houses of the great city a delicate, ghostly quality that had to be seen to be believed. Beyond the brooding stockades that guarded the city like a crocodile’s jaws, the huge expanse of water that was Makarikari became one fantastic sheet of living silver. A few stars sparkled faintly in the heavens, fighting a losing battle against the grey soft light of the sacred orb of the night and the song of thousands of crickets was loud.
There were no thoughts of what the future held for me; I had no speculations over what was in store for me. I, and the rest of my shackled race, led our lives like the beasts of burden we were; it was of no use for us to speculate or to dream, because daydreams make a slave’s life more intolerable than the chains around his ankles and neck.
A rasping voice rang out from the top of the steps behind us: ‘Lumukanda, the second slave, the master calls for you.’
It was the old man, Obu, the first slave, who was in charge of all of us younger slaves in the master’s house and grainfields. I turned and ran up the short flight of steps and then stood with bowed head just inside the door of the great hall. The masters and their females lay, or reclined, on gilded wooden couches along the three walls of the great high-roofed hall. Along the fourth wall, on either side of the door, stood cup-bearer slaves. Female slaves were carrying big baskets loaded with fruit, meat and corncakes, all ready to replenish the cup or the plate of any of the masters who might so wish.
There were small ivory-legged tables near each couch. On one stood the shining beer-cups while on the other stood the cake trays and meat plates. I could not help noticing that most of the masters now paid more attention to the beer cups than to the meat trays. The masters wore nothing save golden necklaces and bracelets, and white cloaks which they had only thrown around their waists because of the humidity. The females wore only light skirts and many golden bracelets and necklaces. A few even had broad golden bands around their heads. Their hair, ranging in colour from red to brown and to jet black, cascaded about their smooth shoulders like living smoke. Through the ringing of loud laughter and buzz of talking came my owner’s voice from the far corner of the hall:
‘You there, at the door, come to the middle of the hall.’
‘As you command, Master,’ I called out, drawing myself erect and stepping into the open space in the centre of the great hall.
‘Look at him,’ roared my owner to the rest of the masters. ‘Look at that tall black brute – only sixteen and yet as tall as an adult and just as heavily muscled. I am willing to wager two big elephant tusks full of gold dust that none of your slaves can beat him in a sword fight.’
‘Taken,’ shrieked one of the others – a White woman. ‘I have a female slave who can tear that brute of yours to pieces!’
‘What do you wager?’ demanded a chorus of excited voices.
‘Four cups of gold and two golden plates,’ snapped the black-haired female.
‘Taken!’ cried my owner. ‘Go and fetch your bitch and let us have a good fight tonight.’
The woman snapped a command to one of her slave boys and he flew out of the hall into the night. Then my owner ordered a bronze helmet and a sword brought and given to me to arm myself with. The helmet was shaped like a human head and had a nose and two holes shaped like eyes; it covered my face completely. The sword was of iron with a bronze hilt and was both sharp and very heavy, with a needle-sharp point. It was the same sword I had used in six previous fights – fights between me and fellow slaves in which I always had the doubtful honour of being the winner.
‘Fight well and win, second slave,’ roared my owner. ‘Fight well and win or, by the demons of hell, I shall cut your dirty black throat and fling your smelly carcass to the dogs!’
I drew myself up with pride and raised my sword high in salute. ‘I shall fight and win, Oh Master, I shall win as I have always won before.’
‘Insolent pig,’ hissed the White female whose slave I was due to fight. ‘We shall see about that.’
Putting women fighters against men was one of the new ways of entertainment the Strange Ones had invented. But I had never had to fight a woman before and also, as I stood there waiting, a strange feeling of uneasiness began to grow within me – so much so that at one time I almost felt like dropping my sword and running out of the hall.
A few moments later, my tall female opponent came striding through the door wearing, like myself, a helmet and carrying a long sharp sword. Like me, too, she was naked save for a green loincloth around her broad womanly hips. She went to where her mistress lay on the couch like a glittering snake and prostrated herself in salute. Then she saluted everybody else in the hall by raising her sword.
‘Fight,’ snapped her mistress. ‘Kill him, quick!’
Like a striking mamba, the fighting woman whirled upon me, her sword thrusting viciously at my stomach. But I sidestepped and the flashing sword only gave me a slight, though painful, cut in the side. Then I closed with her and our blades flashed and whirled in the torchlight, both of us fighting like the trained killers we were. Twice she wounded me with the darting point of her blade and twice I returned the compliment. For a while neither of us gained any advantage, then at last I forced her to give way by wounding her deeply in the thigh and above the left breast.
By this time the hall was in uproar, and none of the masters and their females was sitting any more; all were on their feet like so many bloodthirsty children and shouting encouragement to first one and then the other of us. Wagers flew back and forth and the owner of the female