With the slaughter of the witch doctors Dingane had retired, and the vast assemblage of the people, breaking up, was streaming away in different directions. Mahlula had disappeared.

Then, having gained my huts, I gave orders that I was to be left alone, and sat down to take snuff and to think. For here was a wonderful thing. She whom I had thought dead was alive again – had reappeared at the very moment when death would otherwise have overtaken me. There was something of fear in my mind as I thought of it all. Was it really Lalusini whom I had seen, or was it another sorceress who bore to her a most marvellous likeness – a sister, perhaps? But even the House of Senzangakona could not produce two such, I reflected; and then the very method she had adopted of averting from me the doom was the method of Lalusini. And now I longed for her again, for, as I told you, Nkose, I loved her as you white men love your women; but if, for some reason, she had been forced to hide herself under another name, how could I, the wanderer, the stranger, the man who had come hither to deliver his own nation to destruction, reveal the real relationship between us by laying claim to her?

How was it I had never heard men speak of her? No talk, no word of a marvellous witch doctress, of a sorceress like no other ever seen, had reached my ear. Tola I knew, and those who worked magic with him, but of this one never a word. Was it because I was a stranger and not yet fully trusted? But old Gegesa’s tale was untrue anyhow, for here was Lalusini alive and well, and beautiful as ever. Then I thought how to get speech with her.

To this end I went out. First I sought the hut of Silwane. But when after bringing round the talk to the events of the morning I would have drawn out of him what he knew as to the sorceress Mahlula, I found that he knew but little, as did those who sat in his hut. Her appearance in their midst was mystery, her movements were mystery, her very dwelling was mystery; and hearing this I thought how greatly I could have amazed Silwane by revealing how it was through the magic of this sorceress that our arms had won success over the great impi he had helped to command at the Place of the Three Rifts. But from them I could obtain no tidings, nor from any with whom I talked on the subject; and as day after day went by, I began to wish I had not beheld Lalusini again, for now it seemed as though I were losing her once more.

Then my mind went back – back over my life since I had first beheld Lalusini and at great peril had managed to keep her for myself; back over our first meetings in the rock chamber of the Mountain of Death, what time we had eaten up the Bakoni, the nation who owned the Blue Cattle, and I remembered her words: “There is a people into whose midst I will one day return, and there I shall be great indeed, and you through me.” Ha! Was this part of a scheme – of a carefully-matured plan? It seemed like it. So I resolved to wait and let things shape their course.

Now the very day on which I had formed this resolve I chanced to be outside of Nkunkundhlovu alone. Two girls strode by me with bundles on their heads, and as they did so, one whispered, “This night – induna of the Great One who site in the north. This night, by the two large reed-beds at the turn of the river. Mahlula waits.”

The speaker passed on, but I, Nkose– my blood leaped at the words. At last I would have speech with Lalusini. At last we would meet face to face. Yet, even in the midst of my joy came a misgiving. Was it a snare – was it a trap Tambusa had set for my undoing? for the man who wanders at night on mysterious business —au! he is soon an object of suspicion, and to be an object of suspicion at that time meant death.

This, however, I was ready to risk, but for all that I resolved to proceed warily, and he who should attempt treachery upon me might well wish he never had. So with my great assegai, together with a heavy knob-stick and a small shield, I wandered up the river shortly before sundown, and did not return to Nkunkundhlovu for the night.

It had fallen quite dark, though the stars glittered forth in countless eyes from the blackness above. There was just the faintest murmur of the wind in the reed-beds, like the sigh of one who waits, and expecting, is disappointed for the time. The water flowed, evenly and smooth, lapping a low rock slab on the opposite bank, and now and again a soft splash and ripple as some crocodile rose or sank. In the air was a feeling of wizardry and awe; but I had passed through too many strange things to hold such in fear. Yet it seemed over long that I sat by that dark water and whispering reeds, waiting, while I listened to the many voices of the night, near and far.

“Greeting, Untúswa!”

The words seemed to come out of nowhere. Quickly I looked up, but the voice was not that of Lalusini! Then I made out a dark shape – a very shadow.

“Follow now, holder of the White Shield,” it said, and immediately began to move away.

The voice was that of a woman – soft and pleasing. Keeping the shadow in view, yet warily, I moved forward. Beneath the heavy gloom of trees overhanging the river bank we moved, and I had quite lost to view my guide, but at such times her voice would lead me; and at last I found she had halted at the entrance to a great rift like unto that wherein I had hid what time Jambúla was surprised by the impi in search of me.

My guide signed me to follow, and lo! we were threading our way in darkness between two great walls of earth. Then a light shone dully forth, and there, in a cave formed by the closing of the earth walls overhead, I beheld a fire.

“Advance now, induna of another King,” said the voice of my guide, “for my errand is done.”

Even as I looked round for her she had disappeared. But raising my eyes to the lighted space in front I beheld that which made me forget all else, for before me stood Lalusini.

In the circle of firelight there she stood, a smile of welcome wreathing her lips, her splendid form erect and tall as when I last saw it standing to watch me out of sight what time I had started for the Valley of the Red Death. There she stood, her hands extended towards me.

“Welcome, Untúswa,” she said. “Thus do we meet once more.”

No words did I utter, Nkose. I sprang to her side and we embraced long and warmly. Then we sat down to talk, for we had much to say.

“Welcome, Untúswa,” she repeated, still holding my hands. “Welcome, thou great brave one who would have slain a King who knew not how to keep faith.”

“Ha! But how didst thou know?” I cried in amazement.

“What do I not know? Tell me that,” she said, smiling at me. “Listen; I saw the midnight struggle in the ‘great hut’ of the isigodhlo. I saw the dark way along the cliffs of the Inkume. Was not my múti in the buck with its fawn that saved thee from the pursuing impi by showing no alarm, even as the múti upon thy neck saved thee when Umzilikazi lay prone and stupified?”

“E-hé! but that is indeed so. And it was thy múti which saved me from the hatred of Tambusa and Tola but a few days since,” I answered. “But, tell me now, Lalusini, was not that tale true which was told me by old Gegesa?”

“It was true so far as she knew. Ha! when Umzilikazi’s slaying dogs came to hale me forth in the black night, I laughed to myself, for I knew I had that by which the alligators should not harm me. I leaped into the dreadful pool where so many have died – and – came out quietly on the other side what time those dogs returned to report to Umzilikazi that the sorceress he hated would trouble him no more; but perhaps in that they lied – ah, ah, Untúswa, perhaps they lied! Not for nothing did that Great One from whom I sprung cause me to be taught the deepest mysteries of the magic of the wise. And thyself, Untúswa, through many wanderings earnest thou here?”

“Whau! Not to thee need I tell of my wanderings, Lalusini, thou to whom all things are known.” I said.

“And I think among such things are all thy wanderings,” she laughed. “Thou camest here to deliver the Amandebeli into the hand of Dingane.”

“That is so, Lalusini; and for thy death the whole House of Matyobane should have died a thousand deaths. And now?”

“And now? We will see what the future may unfold.”

Thus we sat and talked on far into the night, and many a question did I put to Talumni concerning her own wanderings, and how she had first appeared at Nkunkundhlovu. I found she had been there before my own arrival; but when I asked why she had taken another name, and whether Dingane really believed the account she had given of herself, she said:

“I know not how clear of suspicion is the King’s mind, but that it is not entirely clear let this tell: Never once has the Great Great One desired that I should become an inmate of the isigodhlo. Now Dingane’s love for handsome women is known to the whole nation, and I – well I am not quite the least comely of my sex, Untúswa.” This she said with a playful smile. “Therefore it may be that he suspects something.”

Then I told her about Tambusa, and how his enmity placed me in daily peril. Her face clouded somewhat.

“We must suffer him for the present, Untúswa,” she said. “He may be necessary to me in my plans, and to compass his death would be to jeopardise those plans. He and Umhlela are all powerful in the nation, yet they must remain so for a little longer. Still, be wary and cautious, for even the shield of my múti may not always be broad enough to shelter thee.”

The night had fled as we sat thus together – yes, indeed, it had fled – and now Lalusini bade me leave her and return, so that I might have time to travel while it was yet dark, and mix with those who were about outside of Nkunkundhlovu in the morning. This would be the easier, as the morning would be a misty one, for which reason, indeed, she had chosen this night for our meeting.

Thus we parted, and it was arranged that I should not seek her out again until she sent me word, as before. She wanted for nothing – there were those who supplied her wants, and her dwelling-place was safe and secure. None dared invade it.

As once more I threaded my way along the river-bank in the darkness, I sang softly to myself, not in fear, as many of our people do, to keep away evil ghosts, but in joy. My beautiful sorceress wife! Au! Was there ever another such? – and she seemed to have returned to me from the dark deeps of the dead. But with my joy there mingled another thought. The desire for vengeance seemed to have passed – the longing to deliver my former nation over to the spears of Dingane seemed wondrously to have diminished. I remembered old comradeship – and friends, many and brave, who had charged with me in close and serried line, shoulder to shoulder, in the lightning rush of our might as we hurled ourselves on the foe; who had sprung forward with redoubled courage to the rallying wave of my white shield; and now it seemed that I desired no longer the destruction of these. With the recovery of Lalusini, my rancour against Umzilikazi even seemed to melt away. But only to accomplish such destruction had I been allowed to konza to Dingane, wherefore now I was as one who is jammed against a tree between the long horns of a fierce and savage cow – he cannot remain thus for ever, and does he but move, why one horn or the other must pierce him. Well, at present, with the Amabuna threatening us, we had enough to take care of for some time to come. Umzilikazi could not be attended to until afterwards.

While comforting myself with this thought, something happened. There was a rustling in the grass, and a quick patter of feet. It was the darkest hour of the night, namely, that which precedes the dawn; but my eyes, well accustomed to the gloom, could distinguish the swift glide of fleeing shapes – indeed, a frightened, snarling yelp arose, as one of the shapes nearly came against me as I stood to listen. But they fled – those wild creatures of the night – after the manner of beasts who disperse when suddenly startled from their prey.

Then there came to my ears a low wail, as the moaning of a woman in fear, or in pain, perhaps both.

Chapter Eighteen.
The Refugees of the Ngome

At first I liked it not, for strange tagati beings are about in the darkness – half-man, half-beast – who rend those that wander alone at night. But even of such I felt no fear then, wherefore I went straight to the spot whence the sound came; and, ready to use my spear if need be, called out to know who it was that spoke.

The answer came almost beneath my feet, and in the darkness I could make out a form lying there. I bent down and touched it. It was the form of a woman.

“Remain by me till dawn,” gasped a voice hoarse with pain and fear. “Those horrible beasts. They will rend me again. Oh, kill me, for I suffer agonies!”

“Who art thou?” I said, not liking this encounter.

“Nomshasa, the wife of Untúswa,” came the feeble answer.

Whau, Nkose! Then, indeed, did I well-nigh leap for amazement. For the name was that of one of my Swazi wives – that one who had mysteriously disappeared, and whom I had never expected to behold again. Bending over her, I strove, to raise her head; but as I moved her, though ever so gently, she shrieked.

“Ah – touch me not! I am torn in pieces. Those horrible beasts! Put me out of my pain. One blow at the back of the head will do it.”

Now the first streak of dawn had begun to lighten the earth, and by it I could see that what she said was so indeed. The hyenas which I had disturbed had indeed begun to devour her, and her body was hideously torn. But how had she come into that helpless plight? Then, by the fast increasing light, she knew me, and called me by name.

And I, Nkose, gazing at her, I was filled with horror. The whole of her scalp was one mass of blood, and it seemed as though her skull had been battered in. Her elbow joints were smashed and swollen; so too, were her wrists, and there were marks of frightful burns upon her body. The marvel was she was alive at all. I was full of pity for her, for she had been a handsome and pleasing girl, and during the short time since the King had given her to me to wife she had always done well by me.

Now, making a great effort, she told me her tale. During my absence against, the Amabuna she had been seized by order of Umhlela, and questioned as to my doings, but could tell nothing that would go against me in an accusation of witchcraft. She was kept a close prisoner in a hut until the return of Tambusa, when she had been put to the torture to force her to confess. They had burned her with fire, had broken her joints with heavy knob-sticks, and that not on one day, but on many; but she would say nothing, till at last, losing patience, Tambusa had ordered her to be thrown outside and knobkerried. But the slayers had done their work in bungling fashion, and so she had waited until night and dragged herself away in the darkness to die alone. Then, when faint and too weak to move, the hyenas had fallen upon her.

No, the King could not have known, for it was in order to condemn me before him that they had tortured her, she said. But when I asked why they should have selected her rather than the other two, then, Nkose, came in the old, old tale, the mischief that can be wrought by a woman’s tongue. That vision which Nomshasa had beheld while asleep at my side she could not keep to herself. She had chattered about it, and this coming to the ears of the two principal indunas who, in their jealous hatred, were watching my every movement, had put it into their minds to use her as a means of substantiating a charge of witchcraft against me, such a charge as Dingane himself would hardly venture to shield me from the penalty of. But the poor girl had been heavily punished indeed for giving way to the weakness of women – the wagging of too long a tongue; though in her constancy under the torments they heaped upon her she had shown no weakness at all, but rather the strength and bravery of the most valiant of warriors; and this I told her.

She was greatly pleased, and a drawn smile came over her face in the midst of her pain.

“I loved thee, Untúswa,” she said, “and I rejoiced when the King gave me, a captive girl who might have been made a slave, to wife to such a noted warrior as thou. And I think thou didst prefer me a little to the other two, but thou wert ever kind to me, and the torturers might have torn me into small pieces before I would have let fall one word to harm thee. And now I think I were better dead, for there might in time be others whom thou might prefer to me; yet for a little while I have been first.”

All this was said, not as I have told it to you, Nkose, but slowly and in gasps, and I, well, thinking of Lalusini, it seemed that her words were those of wisdom, for I had known experience of the jealousy of women. Yet I said:

“Thou wouldst ever have lived in great honour, Nomshasa, and have been counted great among my wives.”

“But not greatest – ” she said, attempting to smile. “Yet hearken, Untúswa, and be warned. Return not to Nkunkundhlovu, for death awaits thee there. There is another great bull of the House of Senzangakona who would fain roar in this kraal. Mpande would welcome such a fighter as thee.”

The dawn had now spread, and soon the sun would come forth from behind the rim of the world. And now, in the full daylight, the terrible injuries that poor Nomshasa had received, both from the torturers and the teeth and claws of the beasts, looked so awful that every living moment must be to her a moment of intense agony. She could not live. She must have seen into my thoughts, for she said:

“It is time to give me rest, Untúswa. Yet return not to Dingane. They who were appointed to slay me jeered me beneath their blows, saying that before another sun or two set thy shade should join mine. Wherefore, flee. And now – Strike!”

I looked at her, and my heart was heavy with pity and wrath. Then I said:

“I will strike indeed, Nomshasa, for thy pain is too great. Yet let this lighten it. When the day of my power comes, be assured that the pangs of Tambusa and all who bore part in this matter shall be greater than thine. Now – art thou ready?”

“I am. No death could I have preferred to death at thy hand, Untúswa. Yet, hold my hand in thine unarmed one as the blow falls.”

I turned her gently over upon her side, but she groaned with the agony of it. Then with my left hand I held hers. For a moment I looked at her. Her eyes were closed, and something like a smile was upon her face. I raised my right arm aloft, then with one quick crashing blow brought the heavy knob-stick down. It fell, fair – just where the base of the skull joins the back of the neck. Her agony was over. No shudder even ran through her, so completely, so suddenly had death overtaken her.

Notwithstanding the warning of Nomshasa, I still took my way in the direction of Nkunkundhlovu, for I thought I might perhaps gather from those I should meet whether the danger threatening was very near or not; whereas by taking a contrary direction it might overtake me suddenly and unawares, as peril springs out upon one who is blind. Yet I proceeded with great caution, so that presently, seeing several men approach, armed with spears and shields, I dropped out of sight to let them pass.

But soon after them came another – a tall man and ringed. Him I surveyed a moment, and recognised Silwane. But, to my surprise, when I would have accosted him he turned away, as though not aware of my presence. This looked strange, but while I was pondering as to what it could mean, I heard Silwane begin to sing softly to himself. I listened as the words grew louder and louder, yet not so as they could have been heard from afar. And the words were strange, for he sang of a buffalo-bull for whom hunters lay in wait, whom their circle had well-nigh closed around; that the Ngome mountains were wild and broken, full of great forests and impenetrable hiding-places; and that there, and there only, had the hunted buffalo fled, that there, and there only, might he be safe. So he kept on singing. To any who heard, he might have been muttering an ordinary hunting-song, but to me, listening, ah! I saw his meaning. He had not really failed to observe me, but the last thing he desired was to do so in fact; and now he raised that song in urgent warning. Ah! he was a man, indeed, Nkose, was that same Silwane; a valiant fighter when we met in battle in opposite ranks; a true and faithful brother of the spear now that we had fought side by side.

So I saw through his warning and the advice it conveyed, yet before acting upon it I would take counsel with Lalusini. To this end I turned back, and travelling with great caution, at length I gained the strange earth cave where she dwelt.

She was surprised when she saw me, and somewhat disturbed. I told her all that had occurred – the death of poor Nomshasa and her warning; the meeting and warning of Silwane. But when I came to Nomshasa’s idea that I should join in the plots of Mpande she shook her head.

“That will not do, Untúswa. That will not further my plans at all. Au! It seems that our places are reversed,” she went on, with a laugh; “but it will not be always so. I know this people better than thou dost, and am in a better position to watch and wait, and, if need be, act. Now the only way by which Mpande can sit in the seat of Dingane is with the aid of the Amabuna, and we have no need of these white invaders. Here is my counsel, Untúswa. Flee hence to the Ngome forests beyond the Black Umfolosi, and lie hidden awhile. There dwell a number of men who have sought refuge, and who will welcome thee among them.”

“A wanderer again! Well, if it must be. But how is it that these people, if refugees, are allowed to dwell in the heart of the land unsought for?”

“Because the King does not really desire their death. They are made up of men who have been smelt out by the izanusi, and have managed to escape; others whom the King has doomed, not really meaning that they should be slain, or the izinduna have plotted to destroy, and who having been warned in time, fled; also the relatives of these men, dreading lest the doom should fall upon them also. Now these men are so numerous as almost to constitute a tribe in themselves; they are wild and fierce, but will welcome such another fighter. That is the only plan, Untúswa; thou must flee to the Bapongqolo. Did not even the warning of Silwane convey that? Was it not about a hunted buffalo who found safety in the Ngome forests?”

“That is so, Lalusini,” I answered. “Yet it seems that I have found thee after all this time of sorrow, only that we must lose sight of each other immediately.” And I looked at her sadly.

“Patience, Untúswa,” she said. “I am planning to make thee great, that thou and I together may rule the world. Say, are we not of the sort who are born to that end?” And, coming over to me, she placed both hands upon my shoulders, looking up into my face; nor had she to look up very much, for, tall as I was, she, for a woman, was of splendid stature.

“I think, indeed, we are well fitted to rule it,” I answered, with pride.

“Then go now, a wanderer once more, Untúswa, but only for a short while. Besides, it may be that I will find thee but, even among the fierce Bapongqolo, from time to time,” she added.

“Why, then, go I forth with joy,” I answered. “Farewell, Lalusini. Delay not to find me out.”

She gave me a few things which I might need, food, and a casting-spear or two, and a large new war-shield – I having come forth with but a small dancing shield – and thus once more fared I forth a wanderer, a fugitive from the parent nation, even as from its offshoot. Verily it seemed as though I were to find no rest.

Now the undertaking before me was, to a man of my experience and familiarity with peril, no very great one, for by using ordinary caution I could always travel unobserved. I avoided the kraals of men, moving mostly at night. Twice I saw in the distance bodies of armed warriors who might or might not have been in search of me; but these I easily eluded, though delayed thereby; and the third evening after parting with Lalusini I was well in among the wildest solitudes of the Ngome forest.

And they were solitudes, Nkose. The great slopes and spurs of the mountains were covered with dense forest surging up in seas of foliage against the immense rock walls of the Lebombo mountains. Below, chasms and deep ravines through which the mountain streams whimpered, half hidden beneath the decaying vegetation and rotting tree-trunks of ages. And of animal life, of bird life, of insect life —whau! the air was never still. By day the black chasms boomed with the hoarse bark of the dog-snouted baboons, and at night thundered from cliff to cliff the roar of the lion. Birds chattered and piped, and the buzz of insects hung ever upon the air, but of man and his habitations never a sign.

“Now,” thought I, “where are these people of whom Lalusini spoke? for these solitudes are not altogether to my mind. I like better not to dwell alone,” But still I wandered through unpeopled forests, seeing no sign of man, I grew uneasy. There was abundance of game, easily slain, too. Still I desired converse.

This, however, came my way at last, and in right startling manner did it come. I had turned the corner of a great rock, where the track I had been following opened into a grassy glade. Suddenly there sprang up right at my feet several men fully armed, who, with a loud shout, called on me to halt.