Forging the Blades Part 16

To the natives the place was very much _tagati_. It exuded witchcraft and uncanniness. Even in the daytime they did not care to penetrate very far into its mysterious depths, and then only in twos or more. At night they were unanimous in leaving it severely alone.

Yet, here are two of them, threading its most untrodden recesses, under a broad, full moon, and they are walking as men with a set purpose. One is a man of tall, splendid physique, the other shorter and older, and both are flagrantly transgressing the laws of the administration under which they live, for each is armed with a rifle as well as two or three a.s.segais.

They hold on their way, with that light, elastic, yet firm Zulu step. A white man would be tripping and stumbling and floundering here in these misty shades, but not these. A sort of instinct enables them to grip the ground, to duck where a great overbranching limb bars the path. And the air is hot and heavy and feverish, and even their nearly naked bodies glisten with perspiration.

"_Au_! The way is long. I, who am old, am tired, my father."

The speaker was nearly old enough to be the other's father, but the t.i.tle was given in respect to rank.

"I, who am young, am tired, Undhlawafa. Tired of being the white man's dog," was the sneering reply.

"Yet Opondo is a white man," answered the induna.

"Name him not here; he is great. No, he is not a white man. He was once."

"He is but little older than me, son of Umlali. Do I not remember him when we were a nation? He was our friend then, the friend of that Great One who has gone into night."

"He is our friend now, Undhlawafa," said Sapazani. "That is why we are answering his 'word' to-night."

Another hour of travelling--time is nothing to savages, nor distance either--and the sudden, deep-toned baying of dogs smote upon both men's ears. They continued their snake-like course through the dense foliage and the gloom unhesitatingly. Then the sky lightened. They had emerged from the forest, and in the moonlight a few domed roofs stood forth staring and pale. Within the thorn stockade surrounding these the dogs mouthed and roared. Some one came forth and quieted them, and the two entered, the gate being immediately closed behind them.

The man who admitted them saluted with respect. Then he dived into a hut, presently returning with an intimation that they should enter.

Prior to doing so both deposited their weapons upon the ground outside.

This kraal was deep away in the heart of the forest. It was overhung by a crescent formation of craggy rocks, but over this the growth was so thick that nothing short of hewing a way for days could have brought anyone within overlooking range on that side. In front nearly the same held good, and but that the two who now came to it were past masters in the art of finding their way through apparently impenetrable undergrowth they would have missed it again and again. Besides, they had been here before.

The chief occupant of the hut was a white man.

He was old. His face was hard and worn, and tanned nearly to the duskiness of the Zulus around him, especially that of Sapazani, who was light-coloured. He wore a long silvered beard, and his blue-grey eyes were bright and glittering. There was a light of magnetic command in them, and indeed in the whole countenance. A strange personality and rather a terrific one. Him the new arrivals saluted with deference.

"Welcome, son of Umlali. Also Undhlawafa."

The voice was deep-toned and strong. The utterer seemed not as old as he looked.

"We are here, my father," said Sapazani. "And the news?"

"Give it," turning to a man who sat at his left. Sapazani had been awarded the place of honour on the right.

He addressed, who was no other than the subsequently famous Babatyana, did so. His own tribe, the Amahluzi, were armed, so, too, the Amaqwabe, and several other powerful tribes in Natal were also ready. It was only a question of acting in concert. And the great parent stock--that of Zululand--was it ready?

"_He_ has not yet spoken," said Sapazani, referring to the head of the royal House.

"He is dumb," said Babatyana, "so far."

Sapazani did not immediately reply. He was pondering. This was the first time he had seen Babatyana, and he was not impressed by him.

There was an irresponsible frothiness about his manner which did not appeal. Moreover, as a Zulu of the old stock--and a very conservative one at that--Sapazani could not for the life of him quite throw off the traditional contempt for a "Kafula," i.e. a Natal native. And the latter wore European clothes.

"So far it is like a broken chain," he said; "like the white man's chain. If one link is broken, of what use is the chain?"

"And that link?" asked Babatyana.

"Sigananda and Mehlo-ka-zulu," returned Sapazani.

"Those links can be forged," said the white man. "There are others, too, which will render the chain a double one."

The plotting went on, till a whole scheme for a simultaneous rising was most carefully elaborated. It was curious with what solicitude this white man threw himself into the plan for the slaughter of his own countrymen. The cruel face grew more hard and cruel as he arranged or disposed of each detail. Its cold ruthlessness struck even the Zulus, as he went on elucidating the scheme; would have struck them with astonishment, but that they knew his history. And yet the presence of this man in the country at all was barely suspected by those who administered the said country.

By linking up all the tribes from central Natal right to the north of Zululand, a sweep downward could be made. The wavering ones would join, and then--no more officialdom or pa.s.s-laws or taxes. They would be free again, not as the white arch-plotter was careful to explain, by their force of arms alone, but because those who ruled them from across the sea were divided among themselves. It was difficult to understand, but Opondo, [The Horns] for that was his native name, knew everything. He had been known among them formerly by another name, but that for good reasons was _hlonipa_, i.e. hidden, now, and the present subst.i.tute was, darkly, near enough to it.

For upwards of an hour they sat listening, hanging on his words, showing their a.s.sent by emphatic exclamations when he made a special point. And no one was more emphatic than a man who had said very little during the _indaba_. He was not a chief, but a follower of Babatyana, and his name was Pandulu; and he had not said much--had only listened.

Now _tywala_ was brought in and distributed. The white man lighted a pipe, so, too, did Babatyana, a proceeding which brought an ill-concealed sneer to Sapazani's face, for that conservative chief and his induna confined themselves to the good old custom of taking snuff.

Pipe smoking and clothes wearing went together, they decided, contemptuously. With a white man, of course, it was different. Such things were his custom. But it affected them even further. What about joining forces with such a decadent as this? A _Kafula_! who wore clothes--dirty clothes at that--and smoked a pipe!

The _indaba_ had dropped; but now Pandulu, who had spoken but little before, seemed anxious to revive it. He, too, came under the mistrust of Sapazani. He, too, smoked a pipe and wore clothes. Then food was brought in--the usual beef and roast mealies, and all took a hearty hand at the trencher. By this time the night was wearing on.

Sapazani and his induna got up to leave. They did not wish it to be known they had been in converse with Opondo, wherefore it was just as well to be out of the forest before dawn.

Outside in the clear moonlight the dogs began to raise a great clamour, in the midst of which the white man put an injunction upon Babatyana, who was sleeping at the kraal, to the effect that he should send his follower, Pandulu, with Sapazani. He gave no reason--his word was sufficient.

The trio started.

The owner of the kraal stood alone, gazing forth into the night, and the hard and cruel expression deepened upon his strong face. His was a lifelong feud--a feud deadly and vengeful--with his own race. He lived for that, and for nothing else. His was a terrible and mysterious personality. He could sway tribes and nations, and yet not appear himself. Even among the natives themselves there were comparatively few who had actually seen him, yet every disturbance or rumour of disturbance he was at the back of.

"Just such a night as this," he murmured to himself, gazing at the full moon, then at the great sweep of forest with its weird, nocturnal noises. "Just such a night."

The face softened somewhat at the recollection, then hardened again more than ever. More blood was to flow, more blood to be poured out upon the altar of a never-dying vengeance.

The three wended through the labyrinthine shades, finding their way with almost the instinct of wild animals. Pandulu talked volubly about the coming rising, but the other two, beyond putting a question or so here and there, said not much.

"_Whau_!" he exclaimed, looking up. "The moon is sinking. Shall we not rest and make a fire? This is a place for evil things to happen in the black darkness."

"For evil things to happen," repeated Sapazani. "For evil things to happen. _Eh-he_, Pandulu."

There was that in the tone which the man addressed did not like. Or could it be that a whispered word or two between the chief and Opondo had not escaped his notice, though he could not hear its burden?

As he had said, the moon was dropping, and more than an hour of black darkness lay between this and daylight. And darkness under these shades could be very black indeed. Anyway, he did not like the chief's tone-- no, not a bit. Perhaps he had some secret reason of his own for not liking it, anyway he suddenly realised that he was in deadly peril.

"Here will we rest," said Sapazani, coming to a sudden halt. They had gained an open s.p.a.ce, which was lighter beneath the dying moon. The stranger agreed with alacrity.

"I will go and gather sticks for a fire," he said, making a move towards the thickest part of the bush.

"Move not," said the chief sternly, covering him with his rifle.

This was unanswerable. Yet quick as thought, in sheer desperation, Pandulu turned and fled. But no bullet stopped his course or whizzed past him. Dropping his rifle, Sapazani sprang in pursuit.

It was something of a chase. The hunted man fleeing for life itself, as now he knew, twisted and doubled like a hare, and in running had just as good a chance as his pursuer. The latter, for his part, realising what enormous odds were at stake upon this man escaping, put forward every effort. Even then it is doubtful whether he would have been successful; but a forest game path is an awkward place for a sprinting match, and the fugitive's foot catching in some tangle of undergrowth he fell headlong. In a moment his pursuer was upon him.