Читать книгу The White Shield - Mitford Bertram - Страница 5

On the morrow, ere yet the sun was up, heralds went running throughout Ekupumuleni, crying aloud that none might venture away from the kraal on pain of death. Others, again ran swiftly to the cattle outposts and outlying kraals, ordering all men to assemble immediately at the royal place. But before this I had already despatched several armed parties, picked warriors of my own regiment, who should form a belt round the kraals at a great distance, so that, being distributed in pickets, none might pass.

Now a great fear fell upon all the people when these ominous preparations became known; and this deepened, as presently it got noised abroad that the King’s dreams had been bad, for it was certain that a great witch-finding impended – greater, indeed, than had been known since Ekupumuleni was erected. An uneasy feeling of restlessness and suspicion had been astir for some little time, and now men whispered to each other with their blankets over their heads, fearing lest their words should fall upon the wrong ears.

Throughout the morning people continued to stream in from the outlying places, men and women, for children were not cited, the former carrying no weapons but sticks only. But all the warriors of my own regiment, to the number of several hundreds, were fully armed. Kalipe, also, the other war-captain, had as many of his own men under arms. The bulk of the people, however, were, as I said, unarmed.

“Au!” cried Nangeza, as I went into my hut to put on some of my war-adornments, “I think, Untúswa, this reminds me not a little of the morning following upon the death of the sleeping sentinel, Sekweni. They say, too, that this morning a man was found outside, not far from the gates, with his heart cleft in twain by the stroke of a broad umkonto– a broad umkonto, Untúswa. Ah! ah!” she jeered, letting her eyes rest with meaning upon my royal weapon, which was seldom out of my grasp. “Art thou not afraid, Untúswa? for the glance of Notalwa seeth far, and his tongue is long.”

“I know yet another tongue which is long, Nangeza,” I answered. “Tell me, thou fool, hast thou ever seen me afraid?”

“Once only, when I told thee thou mightest yet be King. Ah! ah!” she mocked.

I turned as I was departing and looked her full in the face.

“A warning, Nangeza!” I said. “There is a greater than Notalwa, and a long tongue is a worse thing than dangerous. It is wearisome. The King is not fond of those who wag their tongues overmuch, claiming to be in the counsels of his izinduna. Have a care, Nangeza!” And with these words I left her; yet not without seeing that she was alarmed.

Now, by the time the sun was at his highest in the heavens, the great kraal, Ekupumuleni, was packed full of people, and all were in a brooding and breathless state of dread; for the rumours which filled the air were as the early rumblings of a mighty storm brooding over the face of the world. It was known that the witch-doctors were making múti. It was whispered that the King’s sleeping visions had so shaped that vast and unmentionable wizardry had been at work. It was known further that a man of the House of Ncwelo had died in blood, wandering abroad in the night. Things looked dark for the House of Ncwelo. None doubted but that, before the sun went down, some, if not many, should walk in the darkness of the Great Unknown.

All the morning, from every direction, people came flocking. Ncwelo’s kraal to the number of nearly a hundred, Janisa’s clan, who were in charge of some of the cattle outposts, and the followings of many petty chiefs. All these took up positions in the circles within circles ranged around the inside of the great open space. But belting round the whole, hemming in all in a ring of iron – a fence of spear blades – were two half-moons of warriors fully armed, those of my own particular following, and those of Kalipe. And at the high end of the kraal were two companies of slayers, or executioners, bearing thongs and heavy knob-sticks.

Seated among the izinduna awaiting the arrival of the Great Great One was my father Ntelani, the same morose and dissatisfied expression upon his face. But upon that of Tyuyumane, the King’s relation, I thought I could detect a lively expression of fear – also upon that of Senkonya – and I laughed behind my shield, for I was in full dress as a war-captain.

“Ah! ah!” I said to myself. “The Great Great One was right. These abatagati are about to weep blood. No swift and merciful death in the darkness is to be theirs.”

Now the King came forth attended by his shield-bearer, and all the nation assembled there bowed low and thundered out the Bayéte. But the countenance of the Great Great One was gloomy and stern, as his gaze travelled over the enormous bending crowd. He advanced to his usual place, at the head of the open space, and seated himself. And then the izanusi, bedecked in all their hideousness of skulls and entrails and streaming blood and rattling bones, came dancing and howling before the King, and clamouring to be let loose upon the wizards who had bewitched his dreams.

Notalwa was at their head. He was arrayed in a cloak of quagga-skin vividly striped, and was crowned with the lower jaw of a sea-cow cunningly joined with the upper part of a lion’s skull, the whole painted red and surmounted by cranes’ feathers. For my own part, I laughed to myself at the sight of this cowardly boaster, who had never shed blood, save that of some wretched umtagati whom he had smelt out, trying to render his appearance terrific. So, too, did several among us war-captains. But the bulk of the people saw terror in him, and groaned loudly.

This hideous band began to dance before the King, sweeping the ground and air with wands tipped with giraffe tails, as they circled round, and howling —

“Great Great One! Black Buffalo Bull! Elephant who bears the world! give the word, that we may name the abatagati! Thou whose glance is brighter than the sun! give the word that we may consume them with lightning! Hou! Hou! Hou!”

With these and such-like bellowings did the izanusi rave for long; but the King sat and took snuff in silence, as though they were not there at all. At last he said —

“Away from me, ye jackals! ye who are impostors, and no izanusi at all! Still your howlings; for there is a greater than you, who shall find out quickly what ye never shall.”

I had my eyes upon Notalwa’s face, and saw that he feared. The others fell back in awed silence, for there was that in the King’s eyes, in the King’s glance which meant death, and nothing less. And then old Masuka advanced to take their place.

His little bowed, shrivelled figure was undecked by gauds of any kind, but his eyes were keen and bright, and searching as ever. He was attended by three others – young men of our own people, whom the King had appointed to him to be instructed in his magic; for Umzilikazi was too clear-sighted to arouse disaffection among our own people by leaving the chief magic entirely in the hands of strangers. Besides, he wanted to set up a rival band to that of Notalwa.

“Hearken!” said the King. “This morning a man was found who had died in blood in the night – had died in blood under the very shadow of where I sit. Who is he that arrogates to himself the right to slay where that right is of one alone? Who dares take life without my decree? Here has been tagati of the most deadly kind!”

These words were taken up by a trumpet voiced imbonga4, and rolled forth aloud, that all the nation might hear. And the people heard, and the shivering that went through those crouched circles was as the shaking of the forest leaves just before a gale.

“Find him!” said the King, with a sweep of the hand.

The three who were learners of Masuka’s sorcery sprang to their feet, and began to intone the witch-finding chant. Then they ran softly hither and thither, striking the ground with their tail-tipped wands. But the old Mosutu himself remained rigid and motionless where he had first been standing.

The three witch-finders, running lightly, entered among the people, for lanes had been left between the densely-serried ranks. As they advanced down these a dread silence lay upon all. Tens of thousands of eyeballs rolled white in chill apprehension. There alone, gloomy, and with lowering brow, sat the King, terrible in his fell and destroying wrath. Even I, who was in the counsels of the Great Great One, felt a shiver of awe; remembering, too, the words my father had let fall in the conclave of the midnight conspirators.

Down the ranks went the witch-finders, chanting, and twirling their rods. And behind them came a grim and fearsome company – the whole body of the slayers, namely – the fierce light of expectancy upon their dread faces, as each held his thong ready, grasping in a cruel grip the heavy knobstick.

Ha! The witch-finders have halted, and their singing rises shrill and loud. A man is touched with the fatal wand. In a moment a thong is about his neck, and two of the slayers are leading him forth to the great gate – are leading him forth to the place of slaughter – to die! Two more now are touched! They also are led forth in like manner immediately behind the first. A great gasp, like a sob, sways the multitude; and in dead silence a way is opened out for these ill-fated ones, passing through to their death. Then, as the people take up once more the chorus of the wizard song, an imbonga, standing at the King’s side, names aloud those who have thus looked their last upon the sun. But the progress of the izanusi continues, and by the time they have gone half through the ranks some thirty men have been named: and now we can see these stringing up the slope outside the kraal, in the direction of the place of slaughter – they and their slayers – and, in the dead and awesome silence which now and again falls upon the immense crowd, can hear the dull crashing of broken skulls, and the distant and hollow groans, as the great knobsticks of the executioners are already beginning their fell work. And still the line of doomed men is ascending to the hill of death; and far above, like a gathering cloud in the heavens, the white pinions of vultures are wheeling and soaring, impatient to begin, for such a feast as this great destruction of evil-doers has never yet been theirs since they began to follow our migrating nation for their food.

By the time the witch-finders had made the complete round of those gathered together, upwards of fourscore men had been smelt out, and the remaining body of slayers, with disappointment upon their fierce countenances, stole envious looks out towards the place of death, where the crash of knobsticks and the hollow groans of the doomed had almost ceased. Not a cry, however, floated from thence, for no women had been among those named. All were warriors; and the warriors of our race faced death in those days without a cry, albeit the groan which often followed the crash of the knobstick was the voice of the parting itongo, or spirit, not of the body which had contained it. And of those who had been named a number were of Ncwelo’s kraal; others were of the houses of other chiefs, including that of Senkonya; some few, indeed, were of my own particular fighters. These last, on being touched, were immediately disarmed by their brethren, and turned over to the slayers.

Now, when the three witch-finders had completed their task, and returned once more into the presence of the King, an immense sigh of gladness went up from all the people – a very heave of the bosom of a whole nation relieved; and with one voice all broke forth into a fierce song of thanksgiving that so many abatagati had been removed from their midst. But I, if nobody else, knew that they were crying aloud their thanks too soon. For among those thus named was no man of any great distinction, albeit a petty chief or two. I knew, however, that the greater number of them were of the families of chiefs, some of great note. There was to be yet another stage in this grim game, whose stakes were the lives of men. “Ye have done well, sons of the stranger’s magic,” said the King, as the three young izanusi returned to his presence, their eyeballs rolling, and their mouths still drooping foam after the frenzied excitement attendant upon the discharge of their dread office. “Well have ye done; and the wizard spells of those ye have named soar aloft to the heavens beneath the wings of yonder vultures?” – with a glance in the direction of the hill of slaughter, upon which already multitudes of the great white pinions were beating down. “Still the blood which has been shed is not dry. Who am I, that others claim the right to slay – here, at my very gates? Hau! I am no King!” – and now the tone was fierce and bitter, and those who listened trembled once more. “I am a servant – a slave – lower than the lowest of the Amaholi – until those who shed this blood at my gates are made known. Wherefore, now, Masuka, hasten to rid us of them, so that we may sleep in peace once more. There are yet those who have not been within touch of the wand.”

A dead silence of eagerness and awe fell upon all the people at these words. For the only ones who had not been within touch of the witch-finder’s wand were the izinduna grouped at the side of the King, and the izanusi themselves. Could it be that from these more victims were to be chosen? A flash of anxiety was to be seen on the faces of more than one of the councillors; and I, from where I stood, a little way down the circle of armed men, saw just such a shade of fear flit across that of Tyuyumane. My father’s lined features, however, only puckered into a contemptuous grin. But before Masuka had time to obey the King’s behest, Notalwa rushed forward howling that now was the time for him and his “dogs” – that the stranger’s múti had been tried, and that now it was his own turn.

Kalipe was standing near the Great Great One, and as the head izanusi thus bounded forward he advanced a pace, and I could see that he held his broad umkonto gripped, and in readiness. So, too, did the picked warriors ranged at his back; and I, who knew what underlay all this, was likewise prepared to spring up, and deal forth death. But Umzilikazi changed not a muscle, as he sat playing with his broad-bladed spear, similar to the one which he had bestowed upon me. Yet in his eyes burned a soft and cruel light, as he met the glowering glances of Notalwa and the izanusi.

“Patience!” he said, softly and pleasantly, waving these back. “Proceed, Masuka.”

The old Mosutu muttered a few words to one of his young assistants, who started off in the direction of the magician’s hut, and presently reappeared, bearing upon his head a large bowl of burnt clay. This was lowered to the earth, and now I knew that something terrible would be manifested; for I had already looked into that bowl myself, and terrible things had been shown me, which, indeed, came to pass, as you know, Nkose.

The bowl was half-filled with some black yet shining, liquid; and over this old Masuka crouched, spreading forth his skinny and clawlike hands; now chanting high, shrill snatches of a strange song, now muttering incantations in an unknown tongue. Then he looked up.

“Draw near, Black Elephant, thou ruler of the world,” he said. “Look in the face of this múti, and say what thou seest.”

Umzilikazi rose, and, advancing with majestic step, stood, and with head slightly bent, gazed downward into the bowl. All the people held their breath for awe.

“I see a face,” he said. “Yes; it is the face of a man having a ring on. Hither, Mcumbete! Look with me. Whose is the face?”

The old induna, his brow clouded with anxiety, advanced to the side of the King.

“Hau!” he cried, with a start of amazement. “It is indeed a face, Great Great One. It is the face of Ncwelo.”

A deep murmur of awe went up from all who heard. Ncwelo, though a chief of some influence, was not an induna. His place at the head of his people was near me. Glancing at him, I could see that his look was that of a man who knows himself to be already dead.

“Look again, Mcumbete,” said the King. “I see another face. Whose is it?”

“Ha!” cried the old induna, trembling with awe. “It is the face of Senkonya.”

A cruel smile played upon the King’s lips as he bade him look again.

“It is the face of Ntelani, Great Great One,” almost yelled the old induna.

“Look again, Mcumbete, look again,” laughed the King.

“I see now Tyuyumane,” faltered the old man. “Ha,” he went on, with a gasp. “Now I see a head, and it is wreathed in snakes – a head, a face. It is the face of Notalwa, the chief of the izanusi.”

The terror-stricken countenance, the shaking limbs, of the old induna were too true, too real, for any suspicion of make-believe. There was a silence of indescribable awe upon all who heard, all who beheld. It was broken by Notalwa.

Uttering hideous yells, the head isanusi leaped in the air, dancing and roaring, bellowing forth all his incantations and wizardry. Stripping off his zebra robe, he gashed himself until his body streamed with blood, mouthing out wild predictions as to the fate that would speedily befall our race for supplanting its own sorcerers in favour of the magic of a stranger. But the King, with a frown, bade him cease his bellowing, for he might early need all his magic for himself. The others named sat still as stones, but their demeanour was various. Upon the face of my father Ntelani, was the set drawnness of despair, but it was the courage of a dogged despair; fierce, fearless to the last. Senkonya, too, looked as one who had already tasted death, but Tyuyumane, ah! his look was that of one who had tasted death a hundred times over. He was a tall, strong man, with a sullen and evil face, very near in blood to the King – indeed, it had been whispered, though cautiously – that he was an elder son of Matyobane. Now he showed signs of strong and restless fear. His glance rolled to right and to left, as though seeking means of escape. But behind each of those thus named had stealthily closed up a group of armed warriors.

And now the attention of all was diverted to old Masuka, who had fallen into one of his trances, and was mouthing wildly. Then he began to speak. He told of a pool, overhung by rocks, and whose waters reflected the stars and the waning moon. He told of the assembling of men by stealth, and of the tramp of horses, of the talking together of men who wore head-rings, and of men who wore large hats. Then he described so exactly the indaba which we had witnessed – the Great Great One and I – that it seemed he must have been present concealed on the spot where we had lain and listened to it. But all this he told in a very low, and scarcely audible, voice, only to be heard by such few as were immediately bending over him, among whom was myself; for the King had beckoned me to his side. Then, when he had finished, he lay as still as though dead, and the faces had faded out of the múti bowl, whose contents were as smooth and shining as before.

“I think we have heard enough,” said Umzilikazi. Then turning to the izimbonga, he bade them cry aloud to the people to depart, but that, until the third day after the new moon, none should venture beyond the chain of the furthest tattle-posts. And the people leaped gladly to their feet, shouting the Bayéte, for their hearts were light again. Death had passed through their ranks, yet there were still many left.

As for those izinduna who were named last, few at that time knew what their fate was, or what became of them, nor yet of Notalwa, the head of the izanusi, who lay at first pretending to be dead. But I knew; likewise did I know that every one of those who had gone forth that day to the hill of slaughter was concerned in the treasonable plot which had for its object the death of the King. Yet, because of its mystery, and the witch-finding on such a large scale, and the slaughter of so many warriors as abatagati, a great fear rested upon all the people for many days. And the marvellous power of Masuka as a magician was in the minds of all; for, of course, none knew that the Great Great One and I had witnessed that dark and treasonable midnight gathering; nor, indeed, that any had.