Now the heart of Unandi grew gentle, and she was moved to tears.
"How may this be done, Mopo?" she said. "The king must see the dead infant, and if he suspect, and even reeds have ears, you know the heart of Chaka and where we shall lie to-morrow."
"Are there then no other new-born babes in Zululand?" said Baleka, sitting up and speaking in a whisper like the hiss of a snake. "Listen, Mopo! Is not your wife also in labour? Now hear me, Mother of the Heavens, and, my brother, hear me also. Do not think to play with me in this matter. I will save my child or you twain will perish with it. For I will tell the king that you came to me, the two of you, and whispered plots into my ear--plots to save the child and kill the king. Now choose, and swiftly!"
She sank bank, there was silence, and we looked one upon another. Then Unandi spoke.
"Give me your hand, Mopo, and swear that you will be faithful to me in this secret, as I swear to you. A day may come when this child who has not seen the light rules as king in Zululand, and then in reward you shall be the greatest of the people, the king's voice, whisperer in the king's ear. But if you break your oath, then beware, for I shall not die alone!"
"I swear, Mother of the Heavens," I answered.
"It is well, son of Makedama."
"It is well, my brother," said Baleka. "Now go and do that which must be done swiftly, for my sorrow is upon me. Go, knowing that if you fail I will be pitiless, for I will bring you to your death, yes, even if my own death is the price!"
So I went. "Whither to you go?" asked the guard at the gate.
"I go to bring my medicines, men of the king," I answered.
So I said; but, oh! my heart was heavy, and this was my plan--to fly far from Zululand. I could not, and I dared not do this thing. What? should I kill my own child that its life might be given for the life of the babe of Baleka? And should I lift up my will against the will of the king, saving the child to look upon the sun which he had doomed to darkness? Nay, I would fly, leaving all, and seek out some far tribe where I might begin to live again. Here I could not live; here in the shadow of Chaka was nothing but death.
I reached my own huts, there to find that my wife Macropha was delivered of twins. I sent away all in the hut except my other wife, Anadi, she who eight days gone had born me a son. The second of the twins was born; it was a boy, born dead. The first was a girl, she who lived to be Nada the Beautiful, Nada the Lily. Then a thought came into my heart. Here was a path to run on.
"Give me the boy," I said to Anadi. "He is not dead. Give him to me that I may take him outside the kraal and wake him to life by my medicine."
"It is of no use--the child is dead," said Anadi.
"Give him to me, woman!" I said fiercely. And she gave me the body.
Then I took him and wrapped him up in my bundle of medicines, and outside of all I rolled a mat of plaited grass.
"Suffer none to enter the hut till I return," I said; "and speak no word of the child that seems to be dead. If you allow any to enter, or if you speak a word, then my medicine will not work and the babe will be dead indeed."
So I went, leaving the women wondering, for it is not our custom to save both when twins are born; but I ran swiftly to the gates of the Emposeni.
"I bring the medicines, men of the king!" I said to the guards.
"Pass in," they answered.
I passed through the gates and into the hut of Baleka. Unandi was alone in the hut with my sister.
"The child is born," said the mother of the king. "Look at him, Mopo, son of Makedama!"
I looked. He was a great child with large black eyes like the eyes of Chaka the king; and Unandi, too, looked at me. "Where is it?" she whispered.
I loosed the mat and drew the dead child from the medicines, glancing round fearfully as I did so.
"Give me the living babe," I whispered back.
They gave it to me and I took of a drug that I knew and rubbed it on the tongue of the child. Now this drug has the power to make the tongue it touches dumb for awhile. Then I wrapped up the child in my medicines and again bound the mat about the bundle. But round the throat of the still-born babe I tied a string of fibre as though I had strangled it, and wrapped it loosely in a piece of matting.
Now for the first time I spoke to Baleka: "Woman," I said, "and thou also, Mother of the Heavens, I have done your wish, but know that before all is finished this deed shall bring about the death of many. Be secret as the grave, for the grave yawns for you both."
I went again, bearing the mat containing the dead child in my right hand. But the bundle of medicines that held the living one I fastened across my shoulders. I passed out of the Emposeni, and, as I went, I held up the bundle in my right hand to the guards, showing them that which was in it, but saying nothing.
"It is good," they said, nodding.
But now ill-fortune found me, for just outside the Emposeni I met three of the king's messengers.
"Greeting, son of Makedama!" they said. "The king summons you to the Intunkulu"--that is the royal house, my father.
"Good!" I answered. "I will come now; but first I would run to my own place to see how it goes with Macropha, my wife. Here is that which the king seeks," and I showed them the dead child. "Take it to him if you will."
"That is not the king's command, Mopo," they answered. "His word is that you should stand before him at once."
Now my heart turned to water in my breast. Kings have many ears. Could he have heard? And how dared I go before the Lion bearing his living child hidden on my back? Yet to waver was to be lost, to show fear was to be lost, to disobey was to be lost.
"Good! I come," I answered. And we walked to the gate of the Intunkulu.
It was sundown. Chaka was sitting in the little courtyard in front of his hut. I went down on my knees before him and gave the royal salute, Bayete, and so I stayed.
"Rise, son of Makedama!" he said.
"I cannot rise, Lion of the Zulu," I answered, "I cannot rise, having royal blood on my hands, till the king has pardoned me."
"Where is it?" he asked.
I pointed to the mat in my hand.
"Let me look at it."
Then I undid the mat, and he looked on the child, and laughed aloud.
"He might have been a king," he said, as he bade a councillor take it away. "Mopo, thou hast slain one who might have been a king. Art thou not afraid?"
"No, Black One," I answered, "the child is killed by order of one who is a king."
"Sit down, and let us talk," said Chaka, for his mood was idle. "To- morrow thou shalt have five oxen for this deed; thou shalt choose them from the royal herd."
"The king is good; he sees that my belt is drawn tight; he satisfies my hunger. Will the king suffer that I go? My wife is in labour and I would visit her."
"Nay, stay awhile; say how it is with Baleka, my sister and thine?"
"It is well."
"Did she weep when you took the babe from her?"
"Nay, she wept not. She said, 'My lord's will is my will.'"
"Good! Had she wept she had been slain also. Who was with her?"
"The Mother of the Heavens."
The brow of Chaka darkened. "Unandi, my mother, what did she there? My myself I swear, though she is my mother--if I thought"--and he ceased.
Thee was a silence, then he spoke again. "Say, what is in that mat?" and he pointed with his little assegai at the bundle on my shoulders.
"Medicine, king."
"Thou dost carry enough to doctor an impi. Undo the mat and let me look at it."
Now, my father, I tell you that the marrow melted in my bones with terror, for if I undid the mat I feared he must see the child and then--"
"It is tagati, it is bewitched, O king. It is not wise to look on medicine."
"Open!" he answered angrily. "What? may I not look at that which I am forced to swallow--I, who am the first of doctors?"
"Death is the king's medicine," I answered, lifting the bundle, and laying it as f
ar from him in the shadow of the fence as I dared. Then I bent over it, slowly undoing the rimpis with which it was tied, while the sweat of terror ran down by face blinding me like tears. What would I do if he saw the child? What if the child awoke and cried? I would snatch the assegai from his hand and stab him! Yes, I would kill the king and then kill myself! Now the mat was unrolled. Inside were the brown leaves and roots of medicine; beneath them was the senseless bade wrapped in dead moss.
"Ugly stuff," said the king, taking snuff. "Now see, Mopo, what a good aim I have! This for thy medicine!" And he lifted his assegai to throw it through the bundle. But as he threw, my snake put it into the king's heart to sneeze, and thus it came to pass that the assegai only pierced the outer leaves of the medicine, and did not touch the child.
"May the heavens bless the king!" I said, according to custom.
"Thanks to thee, Mopo, it is a good omen," he answered. "And now, begone! Take my advice: kill thy children, as I kill mine, lest they live to worry thee. The whelps of lions are best drowned."
I did up the bundle fast--fast, though my hands trembled. Oh! what if the child should wake and cry. It was done; I rose and saluted the king. Then I doubled myself up and passed from before him. Scarcely was I outside the gates of the Intunkulu when the infant began to squeak in the bundle. If it had been one minute before!
"What," said a soldier, as I passed, "have you got a puppy hidden under your moocha,[1] Mopo?"
[1] Girdle composed of skin and tails of oxen.-ED.
I made no answer, but hurried on till I came to my huts. I entered; there were my two wives alone.
"I have recovered the child, women," I said, as I undid the bundle.
Anadi took him and looked at him.
"The boy seems bigger than he was," she said.
"The breath of life has come into him and puffed him out," I answered.
"His eyes are not as his eyes were," she said again. "Now they are big and black, like the eyes of the king."
"My spirit looked upon his eyes and made them beautiful," I answered.
"This child has a birth-mark on his thigh," she said a third time. "That which I gave you had no mark."
"I laid my medicine there," I answered.
"It is not the same child," she said sullenly. "It is a changeling who will lay ill-luck at our doors."
Then I rose up in my rage and cursed her heavily, for I saw that if she was not stopped this woman's tongue would bring us all to ruin.
"Peace, witch!" I cried. "How dare you to speak thus from a lying heart? Do you wish to draw down a curse upon our roof? Would you make us all food for the king's spear? Say such words again, and you shall sit within the circle--the Ingomboco shall know you for a witch!"
So I stormed on, threatening to bring her to death, till at length she grew fearful, and fell at my feet praying for mercy and forgiveness. But I was much afraid because of this woman's tongue, and not without reason.
Chapter VII
UMSLOPOGAAS ANSWERS THE KING
Now the years went on, and this matter slept. Nothing more was heard of it, but still it only slept; and, my father, I feared greatly for the hour when it should awake. For the secret was known by two women-- Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, and Baleka, my sister, wife of the king; and by two more--Macropha and Anadi, my wives--it was guessed at. How, then, should it remain a secret forever? Moreover, it came about that Unandi and Baleka could not restrain their fondness for this child who was called my son and named Umslopogaas, but who was the son of Chaka, the king, and of the Baleka, and the grandson of Unandi. So it happened that very often one or the other of them would come into my hut, making pretence to visit my wives, and take the boy upon her lap and fondle it. In vain did I pray them to forbear. Love pulled at their heart-strings more heavily than my words, and still they came. This was the end of it--that Chaka saw the child sitting on the knee of Unandi, his mother.
"What does my mother with that brat of thine, Mopo?" he asked of me. "Cannot she kiss me, if she will find a child to kiss?" And he laughed like a wolf.
I said that I did not know, and the matter passed over for awhile. But after that Chaka caused his mother to be watched. Now the boy Umslopogaas grew great and strong; there was no such lad of his years for a day's journey round. But from a babe he was somewhat surly, of few words, and like his father, Chaka, afraid of nothing. In all the world there were but two people whom he loved--these were I, Mopo, who was called his father, and Nada, she who was said to be his twin sister.
Now it must be told of Nada that as the boy Umslopogaas was the strongest and bravest of children, so the girl Nada was the gentlest and most fair. Of a truth, my father, I believe that her blood was not all Zulu, though this I cannot say for certain. At the least, her eyes were softer and larger than those of our people, her hair longer and less tightly curled, and her skin was lighter--more of the colour of pure copper. These things she had from her mother, Macropha; though she was fairer than Macropha--fairer, indeed, than any woman of my people whom I have seen. Her mother, Macropha, my wife, was of Swazi blood, and was brought to the king's kraal with other captives after a raid, and given to me as a wife by the king. It was said that she was the daughter of a Swazi headman of the tribe of the Halakazi, and that she was born of his wife is true, but whether he was her father I do not know; for I have heard from the lips of Macropha herself, that before she was born there was a white man staying at her father's kraal. He was a Portuguese from the coast, a handsome man, and skilled in the working of iron. This white man loved the mother of my wife, Macropha, and some held that Macropha was his daughter, and not that of the Swazi headman. At least I know this, that before my wife's birth the Swazi killed the white man. But none can tell the truth of these matters, and I only speak of them because the beauty of Nada was rather as is the beauty of the white people than of ours, and this might well happen if her grandfather chanced to be a white man.
Now Umslopogaas and Nada were always together. Together they ate, together they slept and wandered; they thought one thought and spoke with one tongue. Ou! it was pretty to see them! Twice while they were still children did Umslopogaas save the life of Nada.
The first time it came about thus. The two children had wandered far from the kraal, seeking certain berries that little ones love. On they wandered and on, singing as they went, till at length they found the berries, and ate heartily. Then it was near sundown, and when they had eaten they fell asleep. In the night they woke to find a great wind blowing and a cold rain falling on them, for it was the beginning of winter, when fruits are ripe.
"Up, Nada!" said Umslopogaas, "we must seek the kraal or the cold will kill us."
So Nada rose, frightened, and hand in hand they stumbled through the darkness. But in the wind and the night they lost their path, and when at length the dawn came they were in a forest that was strange to them. They rested awhile, and finding berries ate them, then walked again. All that day they wandered, till at last the night came down, and they plucked branches of trees and piled the branches over them for warmth, and they were so weary that they fell asleep in each other's arms. At dawn they rose, but now they were very tired and berries were few, sot hat by midday they were spent. Then they lay down on the side of a steep hill, and Nada laid her head upon the breast of Umslopogaas.
"Here let us die, my brother," she said.
But even then the boy had a great spirit, and he answered, "Time to die, sister, when Death chooses us. See, now! Do you rest here, and I will climb the hill and look across the forest."
So he left her and climbed the hill, and on its side he found many berries and a root that is good for food, and filled himself with them. At length he came to the crest of the hill and looked out across the sea of green. Lo! there, far away to the east, he saw a line of white that lay like smoke against the black surface of a cliff, and knew it for the waterfall beyond the royal town. Then he came down the hill, shouting for joy and bearing roots and berries in his hand. Bu
t when he reached the spot where Nada was, he found that her senses had left her through hunger, cold, and weariness. She lay upon the ground like one asleep, and over her stood a jackal that fled as he drew nigh. Now it would seem that there but two shoots to the stick of Umslopogaas. One was to save himself, and the other to lie down and die by Nada. Yet he found a third, for, undoing the strips of his moocha, he made ropes of them, and with the ropes he bound Nada on his back and started for the king's kraal. He could never have reached it, for the way was long, yet at evening some messengers running through the forest came upon a naked lad with a girl bound to his back and a staff in his hand, who staggered along slowly with starting eyes and foam upon his lips. He could not speak, he was so weary, and the ropes had cut through the skin of his shoulders; yet one of the messengers knew him for Umslopogaas, the son of Mopo, and they bore him to the kraal. They would have left the girl Nada, thinking her dead, but he pointed to her breast, and, feeling it, they found that her heart still beat, so they brought her also; and the end of it was that both recovered and loved each other more than ever before.
H Rider Haggard - Nada the Lily Page 6
