Part 21 (2/2)

”What would you have of me, Son of Senzangakona?” he asked. ”Many years have pa.s.sed since last we met. Why do you drag me from my hut, I who have visited the kraal of the King of the Zulus but twice since the 'Black One' [Chaka] sat upon the throne--once when the Boers were killed by him who went before you, and once when I was brought forth to see all who were left of my race, shoots of the royal Dwandwe stock, slain before my eyes. Do you bear me hither that I may follow them into the darkness, O Child of Senzangakona? If so I am ready; only then I have words to say that it may not please you to hear.”

His deep, rumbling voice echoed into silence, while the great audience waited for the King's answer. I could see that they were all afraid of this man, yes, even Panda was afraid, for he s.h.i.+fted uneasily upon his stool. At length he spoke, saying:

”Not so, O Zikali. Who would wish to do hurt to the wisest and most ancient man in all the land, to him who touches the far past with one hand and the present with the other, to him who was old before our grandfathers began to be? Nay, you are safe, you on whom not even the 'Black One' dared to lay a finger, although you were his enemy and he hated you. As for the reason why you have been brought here, tell it to us, O Zikali. Who are we that we should instruct you in the ways of wisdom?”

When the dwarf heard this he broke into one of his great laughs.

”So at last the House of Senzangakona acknowledges that I have wisdom.

Then before all is done they will think me wise indeed.”

He laughed again in his ill-omened fas.h.i.+on and went on hurriedly, as though he feared that he should be called upon to explain his words:

”Where is the fee? Where is the fee? Is the King so poor that he expects an old Dwandwe doctor to divine for nothing, just as though he were working for a private friend?”

Panda made a motion with his hand, and ten fine heifers were driven into the circle from some place where they had been kept in waiting.

”Sorry beasts!” said Zikali contemptuously, ”compared to those we used to breed before the time of Senzangakona”--a remark which caused a loud ”Wow!” of astonishment to be uttered by the mult.i.tude that heard it.

”Still, such as they are, let them be taken to my kraal, with a bull, for I have none.”

The cattle were driven away, and the ancient dwarf squatted himself down and stared at the ground, looking like a great black toad. For a long while--quite ten minutes, I should think--he stared thus, till I, for one, watching him intently, began to feel as though I were mesmerised.

At length he looked up, tossing back his grey locks, and said:

”I see many things in the dust. Oh, yes, it is alive, it is alive, and tells me many things. Show that you are alive, O Dust. Look!”

As he spoke, throwing his hands upwards, there arose at his very feet one of those tiny and incomprehensible whirlwinds with which all who know South Africa will be familiar. It drove the dust together; it lifted it in a tall, spiral column that rose and rose to a height of fifty feet or more. Then it died away as suddenly as it had come, so that the dust fell down again over Zikali, over the King, and over three of his sons who sat behind him. Those three sons, I remember, were named Tshonkweni, Dabulesinye, and Mantantas.h.i.+ya. As it chanced, by a strange coincidence all of these were killed at the great battle of the Tugela of which I have to tell.

Now again an exclamation of fear and wonder rose from the audience, who set down this lifting of the dust at Zikali's very feet not to natural causes, but to the power of his magic. Moreover, those on whom it had fallen, including the King, rose hurriedly and shook and brushed it from their persons with a zeal that was not, I think, inspired by a mere desire for cleanliness. But Zikali only laughed again in his terrible fas.h.i.+on and let it lie on his fresh-oiled body, which it turned to the dull, dead hue of a grey adder.

He rose and, stepping here and there, examined the new-fallen dust. Then he put his hand into a pouch he wore and produced from it a dried human finger, whereof the nail was so pink that I think it must have been coloured--a sight at which the circle shuddered.

”Be clever,” he said, ”O Finger of her I loved best; be clever and write in the dust as yonder Mac.u.mazana can write, and as some of the Dwandwe used to write before we became slaves and bowed ourselves down before the Great Heavens.” (By this he meant the Zulus, whose name means the Heavens.) ”Be clever, dear Finger which caressed me once, me, the 'Thing-that-should-not-have-been-born,' as more will think before I die, and write those matters that it pleases the House of Senzangakona to know this day.”

Then he bent down, and with the dead finger at three separate spots made certain markings in the fallen dust, which to me seemed to consist of circles and dots; and a strange and horrid sight it was to see him do it.

”I thank you, dear Finger. Now sleep, sleep, your work is done,” and slowly he wrapped the relic up in some soft material and restored it to his pouch.

Then he studied the first of the markings and asked: ”What am I here for? What am I here for? Does he who sits upon the Throne desire to know how long he has to reign?”

Now, those of the inner circle of the spectators, who at these ”smellings-out” act as a kind of chorus, looked at the King, and, seeing that he shook his head vigorously, stretched out their right hands, holding the thumb downwards, and said simultaneously in a cold, low voice:

”Izwa!” (That is, ”We hear you.”)

Zikali stamped upon this set of markings.

”It is well,” he said. ”He who sits upon the Throne does not desire to know how long he has to reign, and therefore the dust has forgotten and shows it not to me.”

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