Part 27 (1/2)
That is the civilized fas.h.i.+on; and is superfluous among savages.
Kingozi's witnesses would have been called solely for the purpose of furnis.h.i.+ng information to himself. He needed only one piece of information here, and that only one witness could furnish him--the man before him.
”Why did you kill Mavrouki?” he demanded.
”I did not kill Mavrouki, _bwana_.”
”That is a lie,” rejoined Kingozi calmly.
Chake became voluble.
”All night I sat by my fire cooking _potio_ and meat,” he protested.
”This the _askaris_ will tell you. And my spear lay in the tent with the _askaris_,” he went on at great length, repeating these two points, babbling, protesting, pleading. Kingozi listened to him in dead silence until he had quite run down.
”Listen,” said he impressively, ”all these words are lies. This is what happened: from one of the _shenzis_ you traded a spear, or a spear was given you. Your own spear you left in the tent. All day you sat in the gra.s.s and sharpened the _shenzi_ spear.” This was a wild guess, based on probabilities, but by the uneasy stir in the throng Kingozi knew he had scored. ”Then at night you waited, and you speared Mavrouki with the _shenzi_ spear, and you left it in his back, for you said to yourself, 'men will think a _shenzi_ has done this thing.' Then you went quietly to your fire, and cooked _potio_, and your own spear was all the time where the _askaris_ were lying.”
Kingozi paused. He knew without Cazi Moto's whispered a.s.surance that every shot had told. It was a simple bit of deduction, but to these simpler minds it seemed miraculous.
”Why did you wish to kill me?” he demanded.
The Nubian, taken completely by surprise, began to chatter with fright.
”I did not wish to kill you, _bwana_. I wished to kill Mavrouki.”
”That is a lie,” said Kingozi equably. ”Why should you wait for Mavrouki near my tent? Was Mavrouki my gun bearer, or even my cook, that he should come to my tent? Mavrouki was a porter, and if you wished to kill Mavrouki you would wait by the porters' camp.”
He said these words slowly, without emphasis, in almost a detached manner. By the murmur he knew that this amazing reasoning had, as usual, struck the men with deep astonishment. The African native is a simple creature. He waited a full minute.
”Mavrouki wore a khaki coat. He and I were the only people of all the safari who had khaki coats. That is why in the darkness you mistook Mavrouki for me. That is why you killed Mavrouki.”
He said this in a firm voice, as though making an indisputable statement. The buzz of low-voiced comment increased. This time he did not pause.
”Why did you wish to kill me?” he repeated.
But again he sensed the fact that Chake had taken refuge in the dull stupidity that is an acknowledgment of defeat. He knew that he would get no more replies. After waiting a few moments he went on. His voice had become weighty with authority and measured with doom.
”You will not tell. Let it be so. And now listen; and you other safari men listen also. Because you have wished to kill me, you shall have two hundred lashes with the _kiboko_; and then you shall be hanged.”
A moment of horror was followed by a low murmur of comment. Not a man there but realized that the unfortunate Nubian would never live to be hanged. A punishment of twenty-five is as much as the most stoical can stand in silence; fifty as much as can be absorbed without permanent injury; seventy-five an extreme resorted to on a very few desperately rare occasions. Beyond that no experience taught the result. Kingozi's sentence was equivalent to death by torture.
He leaned forward in his chair, listening intently. He heard his victim's gasp, the mutter of the crowd. They pa.s.sed him by. Then he sank back, a half smile on his lips. He had caught the rustle of silks, the indignant breathing of a woman. He knew that Bibi-ya-chui stood before him.
”But this is atrocious!” she cried. ”This cannot go on!”
”It shall go on,” he replied steadily. ”Why not?”
”He is my man. I forbid it!”
”He is my man to punish when he attempts my life.”