Books: Nada the Lily

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

At length the night came down, the sun sank red that day, all the sky
was like blood, and blood was all the earth beneath. Then the killing
ceased, because none had now the strength to kill, and the people lay
panting in heaps upon the ground, the living and the dead together. I
looked at them, and saw that if they were not allowed to eat and
drink, before day dawned again the most of them would be dead, and I
spoke to the king, for I cared little in that hour if I lived or died;
even my hope of vengeance was forgotten in the sickness of my heart.

"A mourning indeed, O King," I said, "a merry mourning for true-
hearted men, but for wizards a mourning such as they do not love. I
think that thy sorrows are avenged, O King, thy sorrows and mine
also."

"Not so, Mopo," answered the king, "this is but the beginning; our
mourning was merry to-day, it shall be merrier to-morrow."

"To-morrow, O King, few will be left to mourn; for the land will be
swept of men."

"Why, Mopo, son of Makedama? But a few have perished of all the
thousands who are gathered together. Number the people and they will
not be missed."

"But a few have died beneath the assegai and the kerrie, O King. Yet
hunger and thirst shall finish the spear's work. The people have
neither eaten nor drunk for a day and a night, and for a day and a
night they have wailed and moaned. Look without, Black One, there they
lie in heaps with the dead. By to-morrow's light they also will be
dead or dying."

Now, Chaka thought awhile, and he saw that the work would go too far,
leaving him but a small people over whom to rule.

"It is hard, Mopo," he said, "that thou and I must mourn alone over
our woes while these dogs feast and make merry. Yet, because of the
gentleness of my heart, I will deal gently with them. Go out, son of
Makedama, and bid my children eat and drink if they have the heart,
for this mourning is ended. Scarcely will Unandi, my mother, sleep
well, seeing that so little blood has been shed on her grave--surely
her spirit will haunt my dreams. Yet, because of the gentleness of my
heart, I declare this mourning ended. Let my children eat and drink,
if, indeed, they have the heart."

"Happy are the people over whom such a king is set," I said in answer.
Then I went out and told the words of Chaka to the chiefs and
captains, and those of them who had the voice left to them praised the
goodness of the king. But the most gave over sucking the dew from
their sticks, and rushed to the water like cattle that have wandered
five days in the desert, and drank their fill. Some of them were
trampled to death in the water.

Afterwards I slept as I might best; it was not well, my father, for I
knew that Chaka was not yet gutted with slaughter.

On the morrow many of the people went back to their homes, having
sought leave from the king, others drew away the dead to the place of
bones, and yet others were sent out in impis to kill such as had not
come to the mourning of the king. When midday was past, Chaka said
that he would walk, and ordered me and other of his indunas and
servants to walk with him. We went on in silence, the king leaning on
my shoulder as on a stick. "What of thy people, Mopo," he said at
length, "what of the Langeni tribe? Were they at my mourning? I did
not see them."

Then I answered that I did not know, they had been summoned, but the
way was long and the time short for so many to march so far.

"Dogs should run swiftly when their master calls, Mopo, my servant,"
said Chaka, and the dreadful light came into his eyes that never shone
in the eyes of any other man. Then I grew sick at heart, my father--
ay, though I loved my people little, and they had driven me away, I
grew sick at heart. Now we had come to a spot where there is a great
rift of black rock, and the name of that rift is U'Donga-lu-ka-
Tatiyana. On either side of this donga the ground slopes steeply down
towards its yawning lips, and from its end a man may see the open
country. Here Chaka sat down at the end of the rift, pondering.
Presently he looked up and saw a vast multitude of men, women, and
children, who wound like a snake across the plain beneath towards the
kraal Gibamaxegu.

"I think, Mopo," said the king, "that by the colour of their shields,
yonder should be the Langeni tribe--thine own people, Mopo."

"It is my people, O King," I answered.

Then Chaka sent messengers, running swiftly, and bade them summon the
Langeni people to him where he sat. Other messengers he sent also to
the kraal, whispering in their ears, but what he said I did not know
then.

Now, for a while, Chaka watched the long black snake of men winding
towards him across the plain till the messengers met them and the
snake began to climb the slope of the hill.

"How many are these people of thine, Mopo?" asked the king.

"I know not, O Elephant," I answered, "who have not seen them for many
years. Perhaps they number three full regiments."

"Nay, more," said the king; "what thinkest thou, Mopo, would this
people of thine fill the rift behind us?" and he nodded at the gulf of
stone.

Now, my father, I trembled in all my flesh, seeing the purpose of
Chaka; but I could find no words to say, for my tongue clave to the
roof of my mouth.

"The people are many," said Chaka, "yet, Mopo, I bet thee fifty head
of cattle that they will not fill the donga."

"The king is pleased to jest," I said.

"Yea, Mopo, I jest; yet as a jest take thou the bet."

"As the king wills," I murmured--who could not refuse. Now the people
of my tribe drew near: at their head was an old man, with white hair
and beard, and, looking at him, I knew him for my father, Makedama.
When he came within earshot of the king, he gave him the royal salute
of Bayete, and fell upon his hands and knees, crawling towards him,
and konzaed to the king, praising him as he came. All the thousands of
the people also fell on their hands and knees, and praised the king
aloud, and the sound of their praising was like the sound of a great
thunder.

At length Makedama, my father, writhing on his breast like a snake,
lay before the majesty of the king. Chaka bade him rise, and greeted
him kindly; but all the thousands of the people yet lay upon their
breasts beating the dust with their heads.

"Rise, Makedama, my child, father of the people of the Langeni," said
Chaka, "and tell me why art thou late in coming to my mourning?"

"The way was far, O King," answered Makedama, my father, who did not
know me. "The way was far and the time short. Moreover, the women and
the children grew weary and footsore, and they are weary in this
hour."

"Speak not of it, Makedama, my child," said the king. "Surely thy
heart mourned and that of thy people, and soon they shall rest from
their weariness. Say, are they here every one?"

"Every one, O Elephant!--none are wanting. My kraals are desolate, the
cattle wander untended on the hills, birds pick at the unguarded
crops."

"It is well, Makedama, thou faithful servant! Yet thou wouldst mourn
with me an hour--is it not so? Now, hearken! Bid thy people pass to
the right and to the left of me, and stand in all their numbers upon
the slopes of the grass that run down to the lips of the rift."

So Makedama, my father, bade the people do the bidding of the king,
for neither he nor the indunas saw his purpose, but I, who knew his
wicked heart, I saw it. Then the people filed past to the right and to
the left by hundreds and by thousands, and presently the grass of the
slopes could be seen no more, because of their number. When all had
passed, Chaka spoke again to Makedama, my father, bidding him climb
down to the bottom of the donga, and thence lift up his voice in
mourning. The old man obeyed the king. Slowly, and with much pain, he
clambered to the bottom of the rift and stood there. It was so deep
and narrow that the light scarcely seemed to reach to where he stood,
for I could only see the white of his hair gleaming far down in the
shadows.

Then, standing far beneath, he lifted up his voice, and it reached the
thousands of those who clustered upon the slopes. It seemed still and
small, yet it came to them faintly like the voice of one speaking from
a mountain-top in a time of snow:--

"Mourn, children of Makedama!"

And all the thousands of the people--men, women, and children--echoed
his words in a thunder of sound, crying:--

"Mourn, children of Makedama!"

Again he cried:--

"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"

And the thousands answered:--

"Mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with the whole world!"

A third time came his voice:--

"Mourn, children of Makedama, mourn, people of the Langeni, mourn with
the whole world!

"Howl, ye warriors; weep, ye women; beat your breasts, ye maidens;
sob, ye little children!

"Drink of the water of tears, cover yourselves with the dust of
affliction.

"Mourn, O tribe of the Langeni, because the Mother of the Heavens is
no more.

"Mourn, children of Makedama, because the Spirit of Fruitfulness is no
more.

"Mourn, O ye people, because the Lion of the Zulu is left so desolate.

"Let your tears fall as the rain falls, let your cries be as the cries
of women who bring forth.

"For sorrow is fallen like the rain, the world has conceived and
brought forth death.

"Great darkness is upon us, darkness and the shadow of death.

"The Lion of the Zulu wanders and wanders in desolation, because the
Mother of the Heavens is no more.

"Who shall bring him comfort? There is comfort in the crying of his
children.

"Mourn, people of the Langeni; let the voice of your mourning beat
against the skies and rend them.

"Ou-ai! Ou-ai! Ou-ai!"

Thus sang the old man, my father Makedama, far down in the deeps of
the cleft. He sang it in a still, small voice, but, line after line,
his song was caught up by the thousands who stood on the slopes above,
and thundered to the heavens till the mountains shook with its sound.
Moreover, the noise of their crying opened the bosom of a heavy rain-
cloud that had gathered as they mourned, and the rain fell in great
slow drops, as though the sky also wept, and with the rain came
lightning and the roll of thunder.

Chaka listened, and large tears coursed down his cheeks, whose heart
was easily stirred by the sound of song. Now the rain hissed fiercely,
making as it were a curtain about the thousands of the people; but
still their cry went up through the rain, and the roll of the thunder
was lost in it. Presently there came a hush, and I looked to the
right. There, above the heads of the people, coming over the brow of
the hill, were the plumes of warriors, and in their hands gleamed a
hedge of spears. I looked to the left; there also I saw the plumes of
warriors dimly through the falling rain, and in their hands a hedge of
spears. I looked before me, towards the end of the cleft; there also
loomed the plumes of warriors, and in their hands was a hedge of
spears.

Then, from all the people there arose another cry, a cry of terror and
of agony.

"Ah! now they mourn indeed, Mopo," said Chaka in my ear; "now thy
people mourn from the heart and not with the lips alone."

As he spoke the multitude of the people on either side of the rift
surged forward like a wave, surged back again, once more surged
forward, then, with a dreadful crying, driven on by the merciless
spears of the soldiers, they began to fall in a torrent of men, women,
and children, far into the black depths below.

* * * * *

My father, forgive me the tears that fall from these blind eyes of
mine; I am very aged, I am but as a little child, and as a little
child I weep. I cannot tell it. At last it was done, and all grew
still.

* * * * *

Thus was Makedama buried beneath the bodies of his people; thus was
ended the tribe of the Langeni; as my mother had dreamed, so it came
about; and thus did Chaka take vengeance for that cup of milk which
was refused to him many a year before.

"Thou hast not won thy bet, Mopo," said the king presently. "See there
is a little space where one more may find room to sleep. Full to the
brim is this corn-chamber with the ears of death, in which no living
grain is left. Yet there is one little space, and is there not one to
fill it? Are all the tribe of the Langeni dead indeed?"

"There is one, O King!" I answered. "I am of the tribe of the Langeni,
let my carcase fill the place."

"Nay, Mopo, nay! Who then should take the bet? Moreover, I slay thee
not, for it is against my oath. Also, do we not mourn together, thou
and I?"

"There is no other left living of the tribe of the Langeni, O King!
The bet is lost; it shall be paid."

"I think that there is another," said Chaka. "There is a sister to
thee and me, Mopo. Ah, see, she comes!"

I looked up, my father, and I saw this: I saw Baleka, my sister,
walking towards us, and on her shoulders was a kaross of wild-cat
skins, and behind her were two soldiers. She walked proudly, holding
her head high, and her step was like the step of a queen. Now she saw
the sight of death, for the dead lay before her like black water in a
sunless pool. A moment she stood shivering, having guessed all, then
walked on and stood before Chaka.

"What is thy will with me, O King?" she said.

"Thou art come in a good hour, sister," said Chaka, turning his eyes
from hers. "It is thus: Mopo, my servant and thy brother, made a bet
with me, a bet of cattle. It was a little matter that we wagered on--
as to whether the people of the Langeni tribe--thine own tribe,
Baleka, my sister--would fill yonder place, U'Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana.
When they heard of the bet, my sister, the people of the Langeni
hurled themselves into the rift by thousands, being eager to put the
matter to the proof. And now it seems that thy brother has lost the
bet, for there is yet place for one yonder ere the donga is full.
Then, my sister, thy brother Mopo brought it to my mind that there was
still one of the Langeni tribe left upon the earth, who, should she
sleep in that place, would turn the bet in his favour, and prayed me
to send for her. So, my sister, as I would not take that which I have
not won, I have done so, and now do thou go apart and talk with Mopo,
thy brother, alone upon this matter, as once before thou didst talk
when a child was born to thee, my sister!"

Now Baleka took no heed of the words of Chaka which he spoke of me,
for she knew his meaning well. Only she looked him in the eyes and
said:--

"Ill shalt thou sleep from this night forth, Chaka, till thou comest
to a land where no sleep is. I have spoken."

Chaka saw and heard, and of a sudden he quailed, growing afraid in his
heart, and turned his head away.

"Mopo, my brother," said Baleka, "let us speak together for the last
time; it is the king's word."

So I drew apart with Baleka, my sister, and a spear was in my hand. We
stood together alone by the people of the dead and Baleka threw the
corner of the kaross about her brows and spoke to me swiftly from
beneath its shadow.

"What did I say to you a while ago, Mopo? It has come to pass. Swear
to me that you will live on and that this same hand of yours shall
taken vengeance for me."

"I swear it, my sister."

"Swear to me that when the vengeance is done you will seek out my son
Umslopogaas if he still lives, and bless him in my name."

"I swear it, my sister."

"Fare you well, Mopo! We have always loved each other much, and now
all fades, and it seems to me that once more we are little children
playing about the kraals of the Langeni. So may we play again in
another land! Now, Mopo"--and she looked at me steadily, and with
great eyes--"I am weary. I would join the spirits of my people. I hear
them calling in my ears. It is finished."

* * * * *

For the rest, I will not tell it to you, my father.

CHAPTER XIX

MASILO COMES TO THE KRAAL DUGUZA

That night the curse of Baleka fell upon Chaka, and he slept ill. So
ill did he sleep that he summoned me to him, bidding me walk abroad
with him. I went, and we walked alone and in silence, Chaka leading
the way and I following after him. Now I saw that his feet led him
towards the U'Donga-lu-ka-Tatiyana, that place where all my people lay
dead, and with them Baleka, my sister. We climbed the slope of the
hill slowly, and came to the mouth of the cleft, to that same spot
where Chaka had stood when the people fell over the lips of the rock
like water. Then there had been noise and crying, now there was
silence, for the night was very still. The moon was full also, and
lighted up the dead who lay near to us, so that I could see them all;
yes, I could see even the face of Baleka, my sister--they had thrown
her into the midst of the dead. Never had it looked so beautiful as in
this hour, and yet as I gazed I grew afraid. Only the far end of the
donga was hid in shadow.

"Thou wouldst not have won thy bet now, Mopo, my servant," said Chaka.
"See, they have sunk together! The donga is not full by the length of
a stabbing-spear."

I did not answer, but at the sound of the king's voice jackals stirred
and slunk away.

Presently he spoke again, laughing loudly as he spoke: "Thou shouldst
sleep well this night, my mother, for I have sent many to hush thee to
rest. Ah, people of the Langeni tribe, you forgot, but I remembered!
You forgot how a woman and a boy came to you seeking food and shelter,
and you would give them none--no, not a gourd of milk. What did I
promise you on that day, people of the Langeni tribe? Did I not
promise you that for every drop the gourd I craved would hold I would
take the life of a man? And have I not kept my promise? Do not men lie
here more in number than the drops of water in a gourd, and with them
woman and children countless as the leaves? O people of the Langeni
tribe, who refused me milk when I was little, having grown great, I am
avenged upon you! Having grown great! Ah! who is there so great as I?
The earth shakes beneath my feet; when I speak the people tremble,
when I frown they die--they die in thousands. I have grown great, and
great I shall remain! The land is mine, far as the feet of man can
travel the land is mine, and mine are those who dwell in it. And I
shall grow greater yet--greater, ever greater. Is it thy face, Baleka,
that stares upon me from among the faces of the thousands whom I have
slain? Thou didst promise me that I should sleep ill henceforth.
Baleka, I fear thee not--at the least, thou sleepest sound. Tell me,
Baleka--rise from thy sleep and tell me whom there is that I should
fear!"--and suddenly he ceased the ravings of his pride.

Now, my father, while Chaka the king spoke thus, it came into my mind
to make an end of things and kill him, for my heart was made with rage
and the thirst of vengeance. Already I stood behind him, already the
stick in my hand was lifted to strike out his brains, when I stopped
also, for I saw something. There, in the midst of the dead, I saw an
arm stir. It stirred, it lifted itself, it beckoned towards the shadow
which hid the head of the cleft and the piled-up corpses that lay
there, and it seemed to me that the arm was the arm of Baleka.
Perchance it was not her arm, perchance it was but the arm of one who
yet lived among the thousands of the dead, say you, my father! At the
least, the arm rose at her side, and was ringed with such bracelets as
Baleka wore, and it beckoned from her side, though her cold face
changed not at all. Thrice the arm rose, thrice it stood awhile in
air, thrice it beckoned with crooked finger, as though it summoned
something from the depths of the shadow, and from the multitudes of
the dead. Then it fell down, and in the utter silence I heard its fall
and a clank of brazen bracelets. And as it fell there rose from the
shadow a sound of singing, of singing wild and sweet, such as I had
never heard. The words of that song came to me then, my father; but
afterwards they passed from me, and I remember them no more. Only I
know this, that the song was of the making of Things, and of the
beginning and the end of Peoples. It told of how the black folk grew,
and of how the white folk should eat them up, and wherefore they were
and wherefore they should cease to be. It told of Evil and of Good, of
Woman and of Man, and of how these war against each other, and why it
is that they war, and what are the ends of the struggle. It told also
of the people of the Zulu, and it spoke of a place of a Little Hand
where they should conquer, and of a place where a White Hand should
prevail against them, and how they shall melt away beneath the shadow
of the White Hand and be forgotten, passing to a land where things do
not die, but live on forever, the Good with the Good, the Evil with
the Evil. It told of Life and of Death, of Joy and of Sorrow, of Time
and of that sea in which Time is but a floating leaf, and of why all
these things are. Many names also came into the song, and I knew but a
few of them, yet my own was there, and the name of Baleka and the name
of Umslopogaas, and the name of Chaka the Lion. But a little while did
the voice sing, yet all this was in the song--ay, and much more; but
the meaning of the song is gone from me, though I knew it once, and
shall know it again when all is done. The voice in the shadow sang on
till the whole place was full of the sound of its singing, and even
the dead seemed to listen. Chaka heard it and shook with fear, but his
ears were deaf to its burden, though mine were open.

The voice came nearer, and now in the shadow there was a faint glow of
light, like the glow that gathers on the six-days' dead. Slowly it
drew nearer, through the shadow, and as it came I saw that the shape
of the light was the shape of a woman. Now I could see it well, and I
knew the face of glory. My father, it was the face of the Inkosazana-
y-Zulu, the Queen of Heaven! She came towards us very slowly, gliding
down the gulf that was full of dead, and the path she trod was paved
with the dead; and as she came it seemed to me that shadows rose from
the dead, following her, the Queen of the Dead--thousands upon
thousands of them. And, ah! her glory, my father--the glory of her
hair of molten gold--of her eyes, that were as the noonday sky--the
flash of her arms and breast, that were like the driven snow, when it
glows in the sunset. Her beauty was awful to look on, but I am glad to
have lived to see it as it shone and changed in the shifting robe of
light which was her garment.

Now she drew near to us, and Chaka sank upon the earth, huddled up in
fear, hiding his face in his hands; but I was not afraid, my father--
only the wicked need fear to look on the Queen of Heaven. Nay, I was
not afraid: I stood upright and gazed upon her glory face to face. In
her hand she held a little spear hafted with the royal wood: it was
the shadow of the spear that Chaka held in his hand, the same with
which he had slain his mother and wherewith he should himself be
slain. Now she ceased her singing, and stood before the crouching king
and before me, who was behind the king, so that the light of her glory
shone upon us. She lifted the little spear, and with it touched Chaka,
son of Senzangacona, on the brow, giving him to doom. Then she spoke;
but, though Chaka felt the touch, he did not hear the words, that were
for my ears alone.

"Mopo, son of Makedama," said the low voice, "stay thy hand, the cup
of Chaka is not full. When, for the third time, thou seest me riding
down the storm, then SMITE, Mopo, my child."

Thus she spoke, and a cloud swept over the face of the moon. When it
passed she was gone, and once more I was alone with Chaka, with the
night and the dead.

Chaka looked up, and his face was grey with the sweat of fear.

"Who was this, Mopo?" he said in a hollow voice.

"This was the Inkosazana of the Heavens, she who watches ever over the
people of our race, O King, and who from time to time is seen of men
ere great things shall befall."

"I have heard speak of this queen," said Chaka. "Wherefore came she
now, what was the song she sang, and why did she touch me with a
spear?"

"She came, O King, because the dead hand of Baleka summoned her, as
thou sawest. The song she sang was of things too high for me; and why
she touched thee on the forehead with the spear I do not know, O King!
Perchance it was to crown thee chief of a yet greater realm."

"Yea, perchance to crown me chief of a realm of death."

"That thou art already, Black One," I answered, glancing at the silent
multitude before us and the cold shape of Baleka.

Again Chaka shuddered. "Come, let us be going, Mopo," he said; "now I
have learnt what it is to be afraid."

"Early or late, Fear is a guest that all must feast, even kings, O
Earth-Shaker!" I answered; and we turned and went homewards in
silence.

Now after this night Chaka gave it out that the kraal of Gibamaxegu
was bewitched, and bewitched was the land of the Zulus, because he
might sleep no more in peace, but woke ever crying out with fear, and
muttering the name of Baleka. Therefore, in the end he moved his kraal
far away, and built the great town of Duguza here in Natal.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24