Books: Nada the Lily

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"What, is there honour among pigs?" said Chaka. "Then I will settle
it. See this assegai? I throw it into the air; if the blade falls
uppermost the tall man shall go free; if the shaft falls uppermost,
then life is to the short one, so!" And he sent the little spear
whirling round and round in the air. Every eye watched it as it
wheeled and fell. The haft struck the ground first.

"Come hither, thou," said Chaka to the tall brother. "Hasten back to
the kraal of Makedama, and say to him, Thus says Chaka, the Lion of
the Zulu-ka-Malandela, 'Years ago thy tribe refused me milk. To-day
the dog of thy son Mopo howls upon the roof of thy hut.' Begone!"[1]

[1] Among the Zulus it is a very bad omen for a dog to climb the roof
of a hut. The saying conveyed a threat to be appreciated by every
Zulu.--ED.

The man turned, shook his brother by the hand, and went, bearing the
words of evil omen.

Then Chaka called to the Zulu and the last of those who had followed
us to kill us, bidding them fight. So, when they had praised the
prince they fought fiercely, and the end of it was that the man of my
people conquered the Zulu. But as soon as he had found his breath
again he was set to run for his life, and after him ran five chosen
men.

Still, it came about that he outran them, doubling like a hare, and
got away safely. Nor was Chaka angry at this; for I think that he bade
the men who hunted him to make speed slowly. There was only one good
thing in the cruel heart of Chaka, that he would always save the life
of a brave man if he could do so without making his word nothing. And
for my part, I was glad to think that the man of my people had
conquered him who murdered the children of the dying woman that we
found at the kraal beyond the river.

CHAPTER V

MOPO BECOMES THE KING'S DOCTOR

These, then, my father, were the events that ended in the coming of
me, Mopo, and of my sister Baleka to the kraal of Chaka, the Lion of
the Zulu. Now you may ask why have I kept you so long with this tale,
which is as are other tales of our people. But that shall be seen, for
from these matters, as a tree from a seed, grew the birth of
Umslopogaas Bulalio, Umslopogaas the Slaughterer, and Nada the
Beautiful, of whose love my story has to tell. For Nada was my
daughter, and Umslopogaas, though few knew it, was none other than the
son of Chaka, born of my sister Baleka.

Now when Baleka recovered from the weariness of our flight, and had
her beauty again, Chaka took her to wife, numbering her among his
women, whom he named his "sisters." And me Chaka took to be one of his
doctors, of his izinyanga of medicine, and he was so well pleased with
my medicine that in the end I became his head doctor. Now this was a
great post, in which, during the course of years, I grew fat in cattle
and in wives; but also it was one of much danger. For when I rose
strong and well in the morning, I could never know but that at night I
should sleep stiff and red. Many were the doctors whom Chaka slew;
doctored they never so well, they were killed at last. For a day would
surely come when the king felt ill in his body or heavy in his mind,
and then to the assegai or the torment with the wizard who had
doctored him! Yet I escaped, because of the power of my medicine, and
also because of that oath which Chaka had sworn to me as a child. So
it came about that where the king went there I went with him. I slept
near his hut, I sat behind him at council, in the battle I was ever at
his side.

Ah! the battle! the battle! In those days we knew how to fight, my
father! In those days the vultures would follow our impis by
thousands, the hyenas would steal along our path in packs, and none
went empty away. Never may I forget the first fight I stood in at the
side of Chaka. It was just after the king had built his great kraal on
the south bank of the Umhlatuze. Then it was that the chief Zwide
attacked his rival Chaka for the third time and Chaka moved out to
meet him with ten full regiments,[1] now for the first time armed with
the short stabbing-spear.

[1] About 30,000 men.--ED.

The ground lay this: On a long, low hill in front of our impi were
massed the regiments of Zwide; there were seventeen of them; the earth
was black with their number; their plumes filled the air like snow.
We, too, were on a hill, and between us lay a valley down which there
ran a little stream. All night our fires shone out across the valley;
all night the songs of soldiers echoed down the hills. Then the grey
dawning came, the oxen lowed to the light, the regiments arose from
their bed of spears; they sprang up and shook the dew from hair and
shield--yes! they arose! the glad to die! The impi assumed its array
regiment by regiment. There was the breast of spears, there were the
horns of spears, they were numberless as the stars, and like the stars
they shone. The morning breeze came up and fanned them, their plumes
bent in the breeze; like a plain of seeding grass they bent, the
plumes of the soldiers ripe for the assegai. Up over the shoulder of
the hill came the sun of Slaughter; it glowed red upon the red
shields, red grew the place of killing; the white plumes of the chiefs
were dipped in the blood of heaven. They knew it; they saw the omen of
death, and, ah! they laughed in the joy of the waking of battle. What
was death? Was it not well to die on the spear? What was death? Was it
not well to die for the king? Death was the arms of Victory. Victory
would be their bride that night, and oh! her breast is fair.

Hark! the war-song, the Ingomo, the music of which has the power to
drive men mad, rose far away to the left, and was thrown along from
regiment to regiment--a rolling ball of sound--

We are the king's kine, bred to be butchered,
You, too, are one of us!
We are the Zulu, children of the Lion,
What! did you tremble?

Suddenly Chaka was seen stalking through the ranks, followed by his
captains, his indunas, and by me. He walked along like a great buck;
death was in his eyes, and like a buck he sniffed the air, scenting
the air of slaughter. He lifted his assegai, and a silence fell; only
the sound of chanting still rolled along the hills.

"Where are the children of Zwide?" he shouted, and his voice was like
the voice of a bull.

"Yonder, father," answered the regiments. And every spear pointed
across the valley.

"They do not come," he shouted again. "Shall we then sit here till we
grow old?"

"No, father," they answered. "Begin! begin!"

"Let the Umkandhlu regiment come forward!" he shouted a third time,
and as he spoke the black shields of the Umkandhlu leaped from the
ranks of the impi.

"Go, my children!" cried Chaka. "There is the foe. Go and return no
more!"

"We hear you, father!" they answered with one voice, and moved down
the slope like a countless herd of game with horns of steel.

Now they crossed the stream, and now Zwide awoke. A murmur went
through his companies; lines of light played above his spears.

Ou! they are coming! Ou! they have met! Hearken to the thunder of the
shields! Hearken to the song of battle!

To and fro they swing. The Umkandhlu gives way--it flies! They pour
back across the stream--half of them; the rest are dead. A howl of
rage goes up from the host, only Chaka smiles.

"Open up! open up!" he cries. "Make room for the Umkandhlu GIRLS!" And
with hanging heads they pass us.

Now he whispers a word to the indunas. The indunas run; they whisper
to Menziwa the general and to the captains; then two regiments rush
down the hill, two more run to the right, and yet another two to the
left. But Chaka stays on the hill with the three that are left. Again
comes the roar of the meeting shields. Ah! these are men: they fight,
they do not run. Regiment after regiment pours upon them, but still
they stand. They fall by hundreds and by thousands, but no man shows
his back, and on each man there lie two dead. Wow! my father, of those
two regiments not one escaped. They were but boys, but they were the
children of Chaka. Menziwa was buried beneath the heaps of his
warriors. Now there are no such men.

They are all dead and quiet. Chaka still holds his hand! He looks to
the north and to the south. See! spears are shining among the trees.
Now the horns of our host close upon the flanks of the foe. They slay
and are slain, but the men of Zwide are many and brave, and the battle
turns against us.

Then again Chaka speaks a word. The captains hear, the soldiers
stretch out their necks to listen.

It has come at last. "Charge! Children of the Zulu!"

There is a roar, a thunder of feet, a flashing of spears, a bending of
plumes, and, like a river that has burnt its banks, like storm-clouds
before the gale, we sweep down upon friend and foe. They form up to
meet us; the stream is passed; our wounded rise upon their haunches
and wave us on. We trample them down. What matter? They can fight no
more. Then we meet Zwide rushing to greet us, as bull meets bull. Ou!
my father, I know no more. Everything grows red. That fight! that
fight! We swept them away. When it was done there was nothing to be
seen, but the hillside was black and red. Few fled; few were left to
fly. We passed over them like fire; we ate them up. Presently we
paused, looking for the foe. All were dead. The host of Zwide was no
more. Then we mustered. Ten regiments had looked upon the morning sun;
three regiments saw the sun sink; the rest had gone where no suns
shine.

Such were our battles in the days of Chaka!

You ask of the Umkandhlu regiment which fled. I will tell you. When we
reached our kraal once more, Chaka summoned that regiment and mustered
it. He spoke to them gently, gently. He thanked them for their
service. He said it was natural that "girls" should faint at the sight
of blood and turn to seek their kraals. Yet he had bid them come back
no more and they had come back! What then was there now left for him
to do? And he covered his face with his blanket. Then the soldiers
killed them all, nearly two thousand of them--killed them with taunts
and jeers.

That is how we dealt with cowards in those days, my father. After
that, one Zulu was a match for five of any other tribe. If ten came
against him, still he did not turn his back. "Fight and fall, but fly
not," that was our watchword. Never again while Chaka lived did a
conquered force pass the gates of the king's kraal.

That fight was but one war out of many. With every moon a fresh impi
started to wash its spears, and came back few and thin, but with
victory and countless cattle. Tribe after tribe went down before us.
Those of them who escaped the assegai were enrolled into fresh
regiments, and thus, though men died by thousands every month, yet the
army grew. Soon there were no other chiefs left. Umsuduka fell, and
after him Mancengeza. Umzilikazi was driven north; Matiwane was
stamped flat. Then we poured into this land of Natal. When we entered,
its people could not be numbered. When we left, here and there a man
might be found in a hole in the earth--that was all. Men, women, and
children, we wiped them out; the land was clean of them. Next came the
turn of U'Faku, chief of the Amapondos. Ah! where is U'faku now?

And so it went on and on, till even the Zulus were weary of war and
the sharpest assegais grew blunt.

CHAPTER VI

THE BIRTH OF UMSLOPOGAAS

This was the rule of the life of Chaka, that he would have no
children, though he had many wives. Every child born to him by his
"sisters" was put away at once.

"What, Mopo," he said to me, "shall I rear up children to put me to
the assegai when they grow great? They call me tyrant. Say, how do
those chiefs die whom men name tyrants? They die at the hands of those
whom they have bred. Nay, Mopo, I will rule for my life, and when I
join the spirits of my fathers let the strongest take my power and my
place!"

Now it chanced that shortly after Chaka had spoken thus, my sister
Baleka, the king's wife, fell in labour; and on that same day my wife
Macropha was brought to bed of twins, and this but eight days after my
second wife, Anadi, had given birth to a son. You ask, my father, how
I came to be married, seeing that Chaka forbade marriage to all his
soldiers till they were in middle life and had put the man's ring upon
their heads. It was a boon he granted me as inyanga of medicine,
saying it was well that a doctor should know the sicknesses of women
and learn how to cure their evil tempers. As though, my father, that
were possible!

When the king heard that Baleka was sick he did not kill her outright,
because he loved her a little, but he sent for me, commanding me to
attend her, and when the child was born to cause its body to be
brought to him, according to custom, so that he might be sure that it
was dead. I bent to the earth before him, and went to do his bidding
with a heavy heart, for was not Baleka my sister? and would not her
child be of my own blood? Still, it must be so, for Chaka's whisper
was as the shout of other kings, and, if we dared to disobey, then our
lives and the lives of all in our kraals would answer for it. Better
that an infant should die than that we should become food for jackals.
Presently I came to the Emposeni, the place of the king's wives, and
declared the king's word to the soldiers on guard. They lowered their
assegais and let me pass, and I entered the hut of Baleka. In it were
others of the king's wives, but when they saw me they rose and went
away, for it was not lawful that they should stay where I was. Thus I
was left alone with my sister.

For awhile she lay silent, and I did not speak, though I saw by the
heaving of her breast that she was weeping.

"Hush, little one!" I said at length; "your sorrow will soon be done."

"Nay," she answered, lifting her head, "it will be but begun. Oh,
cruel man! I know the reason of your coming. You come to murder the
babe that shall be born of me."

"It is the king's word, woman."

"It is the king's word, and what is the king's word? Have I, then,
naught to say in this matter?"

"It is the king's child, woman."

"It is the king's child, and it is not also my child? Must my babe be
dragged from my breast and be strangled, and by you, Mopo? Have I not
loved you, Mopo? Did I not flee with you from our people and the
vengeance of our father? Do you know that not two moons gone the king
was wroth with you because he fell sick, and would have caused you to
be slain had I not pleaded for you and called his oath to mind? And
thus you pay me: you come to kill my child, my first-born child!"

"It is the king's word, woman," I answered sternly; but my heart was
split in two within me.

Then Baleka said no more, but, turning her face to the wall of the
hut, she wept and groaned bitterly.

Now, as she wept I heard a stir without the hut, and the light in the
doorway was darkened. A woman entered alone. I looked round to see who
it was, then fell upon the ground in salutation, for before me was
Unandi, mother of the king, who was named "Mother of the Heavens,"
that same lady to whom my mother had refused the milk.

"Hail, Mother of the Heavens!" I said.

"Greeting, Mopo," she answered. "Say, why does Baleka weep? Is it
because the sorrow of women is upon her?"

"Ask of her, great chieftainess," I said.

Then Baleka spoke: "I weep, mother of a king, because this man, who is
my brother, has come from him who is my lord and they son, to murder
that which shall be born of me. O thou whose breasts have given suck,
plead for me! Thy son was not slain at birth."

"Perhaps it were well if he had been so slain, Baleka," said Unandi;
"then had many another man lived to look upon the sun who is now
dead."

"At the least, as an infant he was good and gentle, and thou mightest
love him, Mother of the Zulu."

"Never, Baleka! As a babe he bit my breast and tore my hair; as the
man is so was the babe."

"Yet may his child be otherwise, Mother of the Heavens! Think, thou
hast no grandson to comfort thee in thy age. Wilt thou, then, see all
thy stock wither? The king, our lord, lives in war. He too may die,
and what then?"

"Then the root of Senzangacona is still green. Has the king no
brothers?"

"They are not of they flesh, mother. What? thou dost not hearken! Then
as a woman to woman I plead with thee. Save my child or slay me with
my child!"

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 far 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.

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