Books: Nada the Lily

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"Where is my brother?" cried Nada when we came back.

"Lost," I answered. "Lost, never to be found again."

Then the girl gave a great and bitter cry, and fell to the earth
saying, "I would that I were dead with my brother!"

"Let us be going," said Macropha, my wife.

"Have you no tears to weep for your son?" asked a man of our company.

"What is the use of weeping over the dead? Does it, then, bring them
back?" she answered. "Let us be going!"

The man thought these words strange, but he did not know that
Umslopogaas was not born of Macropha.

Still, we waited in that place a day, thinking that, perhaps, the
lioness would return to her den and that, at least, we might kill her.
But she came back no more. So on the next morning we rolled up our
blankets and started forward on our journey, sad at heart. In truth,
Nada was so weak from grief that she could hardly travel, but I never
heard the name of Umslopogaas pass her lips again during that journey.
She buried him in her heart and said nothing. And I too said nothing,
but I wondered why it had been brought about that I should save the
life of Umslopogaas from the jaws of the Lion of Zulu, that the
lioness of the rocks might devour him.

And so the time went on till we reached the kraal where the king's
business must be done, and where I and my wife should part.

On the morning after we came to the kraal, having kissed in secret,
though in public we looked sullenly on one another, we parted as those
part who meet no more, for it was in our thoughts, that we should
never see each other's face again, nor, indeed, did we do so. And I
drew Nada aside and spoke to her thus: "We part, my daughter; nor do I
know when we shall meet again, for the times are troubled and it is
for your safety and that of your mother that I rob my eyes of the
sight of you. Nada, you will soon be a woman, and you will be fairer
than any woman among our people, and it may come about that many great
men will seek you in marriage, and, perhaps, that I, your father,
shall not be there to choose for you whom you shall wed, according to
the custom of our land. But I charge you, as far as may be possible
for you to do so, take only a man whom you can love, and be faithful
to him alone, for thus shall a woman find happiness."

Here I stopped, for the girl took hold of my hand and looked into my
face. "Peace, my father," she said, "do not speak to me of marriage,
for I will wed no man, now that Umslopogaas is dead because of my
foolishness. I will live and die alone, and, oh! may I die quickly,
that I may go to seek him whom I love only!"

"Nay, Nada," I said, "Umslopogaas was your brother, and it is not
fitting that you should speak of him thus, even though he is dead."

"I know nothing of such matters, my father," she said. "I speak what
my heart tells me, and it tells me that I loved Umslopogaas living,
and, though he is dead, I shall love him alone to the end. Ah! you
think me but a child, yet my heart is large, and it does not lie to
me."

Now I upbraided the girl no more, because I knew that Umslopogaas was
not her brother, but one whom she might have married. Only I marvelled
that the voice of nature should speak so truly in her, telling her
that which was lawful, even when it seemed to be most unlawful.

"Speak no more of Umslopogaas," I said, "for surely he is dead, and
though you cannot forget him, yet speak of him no more, and I pray of
you, my daughter, that if we do not meet again, yet you should keep me
in your memory, and the love I bear you, and the words which from time
to time I have said to you. The world is a thorny wilderness, my
daughter, and its thorns are watered with a rain of blood, and we
wander in our wretchedness like lost travellers in a mist; nor do I
know why our feet are set on this wandering. But at last there comes
an end, and we die and go hence, none know where, but perhaps where we
go the evil may change to the good, and those who were dear to each
other on the earth may become yet dearer in the heavens; for I believe
that man is not born to perish altogether, but is rather gathered
again to the Umkulunkulu who sent him on his journeyings. Therefore
keep hope, my daughter, for if these things are not so, at least sleep
remains, and sleep is soft, and so farewell."

Then we kissed and parted, and I watched Macropha, my wife, and Nada,
my daughter, till they melted into the sky, as they walked upon their
journey to Swaziland, and was very sad, because, having lost
Umslopogaas, he who in after days was named the Slaughterer and the
Woodpecker, I must lose them also.

CHAPTER X

THE TRIAL OF MOPO

Now I sat four days in the huts of the tribe whither I had been sent,
and did the king's business. And on the fifth morning I rose up,
together with those with me, and we turned our faces towards the
king's kraal. But when we had journeyed a little way we met a party of
soldiers, who commanded us to stand.

"What is it, king's men?" I asked boldly.

"This, son of Makedama," answered their spokesman: "give over to us
your wife Macropha and your children Umslopogaas and Nada, that we may
do with them as the king commands."

"Umslopogaas," I answered, "has gone where the king's arm cannot
stretch, for he is dead; and for my wife Macropha and my daughter
Nada, they are by now in the caves of the Swazis, and the king must
seek them there with an army if he will find them. To Macropha he is
welcome, for I hate her, and have divorced her; and as for the girl,
well, there are many girls, and it is no great matter if she lives or
dies, yet I pray him to spare her."

Thus I spoke carelessly, for I knew well that my wife and child were
beyond the reach of Chaka.

"You do well to ask the girl's life," said the soldier, laughing, "for
all those born to you are dead, by order of the king."

"Is it indeed so?" I answered calmly, though my knees shook and my
tongue clove to my lips. "The will of the king be done. A cut stick
puts out new leaves; I can have more children."

"Ay, Mopo; but first you must get new wives, for yours are dead also,
all five of them."

"Is it indeed so?" I answered. "The king's will be done. I wearied of
those brawling women."

"So, Mopo," said the soldier; "but to get other wives and have more
children born to you, you must live yourself, for no children are born
to the dead, and I think that Chaka has an assegai which you shall
kiss."

"Is it so?" I answered. "The king's will be done. The sun is hot, and
I tire of the road. He who kisses the assegai sleeps sound."

Thus I spoke, my father, and, indeed, in that hour I desired to die.
The world was empty for me. Macropha and Nada were gone, Umslopogaas
was dead, and my other wives and children were murdered. I had no
heart to begin to build up a new house, none were left for me to love,
and it seemed well that I should die also.

The soldiers asked those with me if that tale was true which I told of
the death of Umslopogaas and of the going of Macropha and Nada into
Swaziland. They said, Yes, it was true. Then the soldiers said that
they would lead me back to the king, and I wondered at this, for I
thought that they would kill me where I stood. So we went on, and
piece by piece I learned what had happened at the king's kraal.

On the day after I left, it came to the ears of Chaka, by the mouth of
his spies, that my second wife--Anadi--was sick and spoke strange
words in her sickness. Then, taking three soldiers with him, he went
to my kraal at the death of the day. He left the three soldiers by the
gates of the kraal, bidding them to suffer none to come in or go out,
but Chaka himself entered the large hut where Anadi lay sick, having
his toy assegai, with the shaft of the royal red wood, in his hand.
Now, as it chanced, in the hut were Unandi, the mother of Chaka, and
Baleka, my sister, the wife of Chaka, for, not knowing that I had
taken away Umslopogaas, the son of Baleka, according to their custom,
these two foolish women had come to kiss and fondle the lad. But when
they entered the hut they found it full of my other wives and
children. These they sent away, all except Moosa, the son of Anadi--
that boy who was born eight days before Umslopogaas, the son of Chaka.
But they kept Moosa in the hut, and kissed him, giving him imphi[1] to
eat, fearing lest it should seem strange to the women, my wives, if,
Umslopogaas being gone, they refused to take notice of any other
child.

[1] A variety of sugar-cane.--ED.

Now as they sat this, presently the doorway was darkened, and, behold!
the king himself crept through it, and saw them fondling the child
Moosa. When they knew who it was that entered, the women flung
themselves upon the ground before him and praised him. But he smiled
grimly, and bade them be seated. Then he spoke to them, saying, "You
wonder, Unandi, my mother, and Baleka, my wife, why it is that I am
come here into the hut of Mopo, son of Makedama. I will tell you: it
is because he is away upon my business, and I hear that his wife Anadi
is sick--it is she who lies there, is it not? Therefore, as the first
doctor in the land, I am come to cure her, Unandi, my mother, and
Baleka, my sister."

Thus he spoke, eyeing them as he did so, and taking snuff from the
blade of his little assegai, and though his words were gentle they
shook with fear, for when Chaka spoke thus gently he meant death to
many. But Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, answered, saying that it was
well that the king had come, since his medicine would bring rest and
peace to her who lay sick.

"Yes," he answered; "it is well. It is pleasant, moreover, my mother
and sister, to see you kissing yonder child. Surely, were he of your
own blood you could not love him more."

Now they trembled again, and prayed in their hearts that Anadi, the
sick woman, who lay asleep, might not wake and utter foolish words in
her wandering. But the prayer was answered from below and not from
above, for Anadi woke, and, hearing the voice of the king, her sick
mind flew to him whom she believed to be the king's child.

"Ah!" she said, sitting upon the ground and pointing to her own son,
Moosa, who squatted frightened against the wall of the hut. "Kiss him,
Mother of the Heavens, kiss him! Whom do they call him, the young cub
who brings ill-fortune to our doors? They call him the son of Mopo and
Macropha!" And she laughed wildly, stopped speaking, and sank back
upon the bed of skins.

"They call him the son of Mopo and Macropha," said the king in a low
voice. "Whose son is he, then, woman?"

"Oh, ask her not, O king," cried his mother and his wife, casting
themselves upon the ground before him, for they were mad with fear.
"Ask her not; she has strange fancies such as are not meet for your
ears to hear. She is bewitched, and has dreams and fancies."

"Peace!" he answered. "I will listen to this woman's wanderings.
Perhaps some star of truth shines in her darkness, and I would see
light. Who, then, is he, woman?"

"Who is he?" she answered. "Are you a fool that ask who he is? He is--
hush!--put your ear close--let me speak low lest the reeds of the hut
speak it to the king. He is--do you listen? He is--the son of Chaka
and Baleka, the sister of Mopo, the changeling whom Unandi, Mother of
the Heavens, palmed off upon this house to bring a curse on it, and
whom she would lead out before the people when the land is weary of
the wickedness of the king, her son, to take the place of the king."

"It is false, O king!" cried the two women. "Do not listen to her; it
is false. The boy is her own son, Moosa, whom she does not know in her
sickness."

But Chaka stood up in the hut and laughed terribly. "Truly, Nobela
prophesied well," he cried, "and I did ill to slay her. So this is the
trick thou hast played upon me, my mother. Thou wouldst give a son to
to me who will have no son: thou wouldst give me a son to kill me.
Good! Mother of the Heavens, take thou the doom of the Heavens! Thou
wouldst give me a son to slay me and rule in my place; now, in turn,
I, thy son, will rob me of a mother. Die, Unandi!--die at the hand
thou didst bring forth!" And he lifted the little assegai and smote it
through her.

For a moment Unandi, Mother of the Heavens, wife of Senzangacona,
stood uttering no cry. Then she put up her hand, and drew the assegai
from her side.

"So shalt thou die also, Chaka the Evil!" she cried, and fell down
dead there in the hut.

Thus, then, did Chaka murder his mother Unandi.

Now when Baleka saw what had been done, she turned and fled from the
hut into the Emposeni, and so swiftly that the guards at the gates
could not stop her. But when she reached her own hut Baleka's strength
failed her, and she fell senseless on the ground. But the boy Moosa,
my son, being overcome with terror, stayed where he was, and Chaka,
believing him to be his son, murdered him also, and with his own hand.

Then he stalked out of the hut, and leaving the three guards at the
gate, commanded a company of soldiers to surround the kraal and fire
it. This they did, and as the people rushed out they killed them, and
those who did not run out were burned in the fire. Thus, then,
perished all my wives, my children, my servants, and those who were
within the gates in their company. The tree was burned, and the bees
in it, and I alone was left living--I and Macropha and Nada, who were
far away.

Nor was Chaka yet satisfied with blood, for, as has been told, he sent
messengers bidding them kill Macropha, my wife, and Nada, my daughter,
and him who was named by son. But he commanded the messengers that
they should not slay me, but bring me living before them.

Now when the soldiers did not kill me I took counsel with myself, for
it was my belief that I was saved alive only that I might die later,
and in a more cruel fashion. Therefore for awhile I thought that it
would be well if I did that for myself which another purposed to do
for me. Why should I, who was already doomed, wait to meet my doom?
What had I left to keep me in the place of life, seeing that all whom
I loved were dead or gone? To die would be easy, for I knew the ways
of death. In my girdle I carried a secret medicine; he who eats of it,
my father, will see the sun's shadow move no more, and will never look
upon the stars again. But I was minded to know the assegai or the
kerrie; nor would I perish more slowly beneath the knives of the
tormentors, nor be parched by the pangs of thirst, or wander eyeless
to my end. Therefore it was that, since I had sat in the doom ring
looking hour after hour into the face of death, I had borne this
medicine with me by night and by day. Surely now was the time to use
it.

So I thought as I sat through the watches of the night, ay! and drew
out the bitter drug and laid it on my tongue. But as I did so I
remembered my daughter Nada, who was left to me, though she sojourned
in a far country, and my wife Macropha and my sister Baleka, who still
lived, so said the soldiers, though how it came about that the king
had not killed her I did not know then. Also another thought was born
in my heart. While life remained to me, I might be revenged upon him
who had wrought me this woe; but can the dead strike? Alas! the dead
are strengthless, and if they still have hearts to suffer, they have
no hands to give back blow for blow. Nay, I would live on. Time to die
when death could no more be put away. Time to die when the voice of
Chaka spoke my doom. Death chooses for himself and answers no
questions; he is a guest to whom none need open the door of his hut,
for when he wills he can pass through the thatch like air. Not yet
would I taste of that medicine of mine.

So I lived on, my father, and the soldiers led me back to the kraal of
Chaka. Now when we came to the kraal it was night, for the sun had
sunk as we passed through the gates. Still, as he had been commanded,
the captain of those who watched me went in before the king and told
him that I lay without in bonds. And the king said, "Let him be
brought before me, who was my physician, that I may tell him how I
have doctored those of his house."

So they took me and led me to the royal house, and pushed me through
the doorway of the great hut.

Now a fire burned in the hut, for the night was cold, and Chaka sat on
the further side of the fire, looking towards the opening of the hut,
and the smoke from the fire wreathed him round, and its light shone
upon his face and flickered in his terrible eyes.

At the door of the hut certain councillors seized me by the arms and
dragged me towards the fire. But I broke from them, and prostrating
myself, for my arms were free, I praised the king and called him by
his royal names. The councillors sprang towards me to seize me again,
but Chaka said, "Let him be; I would talk with my servant." Then the
councillors bowed themselves on either side, and laid their hands on
their sticks, their foreheads touching the ground. But I sat down on
the floor of the hut over against the king, and we talked through the
fire.

"Tell me of the cattle that I sent thee to number, Mopo, son of
Makedama," said Chaka. "Have my servants dealt honestly with my
cattle?"

"They have dealt honestly, O king," I answered.

"Tell me, then, of the number of the cattle and of their markings,
Mopo, forgetting none."

So I sat and told him, ox by ox, cow by cow, and heifer by heifer,
forgetting none; and Chaka listened silently as one who is asleep. But
I knew that he did not sleep, for all the while the firelight
flickered in his fierce eyes. Also I knew that he did but torment me,
or that, perhaps, he would learn of the cattle before he killed me. At
length all the tale was told.

"So," said the king, "it goes well. There are yet honest men left in
the land. Knowest thou, Mopo, that sorrow has come upon thy house
while thou wast about my business."

"I have heard it, O king!" I answered, as one who speaks of a small
matter.

"Yes, Mopo, sorrow has come upon thy house, the curse of Heaven has
fallen upon thy kraal. They tell me, Mopo, that the fire from above
ran briskly through they huts."

"I have heard it, I king!"

"They tell me, Mopo, that those within thy gates grew mad at the sight
of the fire, and dreaming there was no escape, that they stabbed
themselves with assegais or leaped into the flames."

"I have heard it, O king! What of it? Any river is deep enough to
drown a fool!"

"Thou hast heard these things, Mopo, but thou hast not yet heard all.
Knowest thou, Mopo, that among those who died in thy kraal was she who
bore me, she who was named Mother of the Heavens?"

Then, my father, I, Mopo, acted wisely, because of the thought which
my good spirit gave me, for I cast myself upon the ground, and wailed
aloud as though in utter grief.

"Spare my ears, Black One!" I wailed. "Tell me not that she who bore
thee is dead, O Lion of the Zulu. For the others, what is it? It is a
breath of wind, it is a drop of water; but this trouble is as the gale
or as the sea."

"Cease, my servant, cease!" said the mocking voice of Chaka; "but know
this, thou hast done well to grieve aloud, because the Mother of the
Heavens is no more, and ill wouldst thou have done to grieve because
the fire from above has kissed thy gates. For hadst thou done this
last thing or left the first undone, I should have known that thy
heart was wicked, and by now thou wouldst have wept indeed--tears of
blood, Mopo. It is well for thee, then, that thou hast read my riddle
aright."

Now I saw the depths of the pit that Chaka had dug for me, and blessed
my Ehlose who had put into my heart those words which I should answer.
I hoped also that Chaka would now let me go; but it was not to be, for
this was but the beginning of my trial.

"Knowest thou, Mopo," said the king, "that as my mother died yonder in
the flames of thy kraal she cried out strange and terrible words which
came to my ears through the singing of the fire. These were her words:
that thou, Mopo, and thy sister Baleka, and thy wives, had conspired
together to give a child to me who would be childless. These were her
words, the words that came to me through the singing of the fire. Tell
me now, Mopo, where are those children that thou leddest from thy
kraal, the boy with the lion eyes who is named Umslopogaas, and the
girl who is named Nada?"

"Umslopogaas is dead by the lion's mouth, O king!" I answered, "and
Nada sits in the Swazi caves." And I told him of the death of
Umslopogaas and of how I had divorced Macropha, my wife.

"The boy with the lion eyes to the lion's mouth!" said Chaka. "Enough
of him; he is gone. Nada may yet be sought for with the assegai in the
Swazi caves; enough of her. Let us speak of this song that my mother--
who, alas! is dead, Mopo--this song she sang through the singing of
the flames. Tell me, Mopo, tell me now, was it a true tale."

"Nay, O king! surely the Mother of the Heavens was maddened by the
Heavens when she sang that song," I answered. "I know nothing of it, O
king."

"Thou knowest naught of it, Mopo?" said the king. And again he looked
at me terribly through the reek of the fire. "Thou knowest naught of
it, Mopo? Surely thou art a-cold; thy hands shake with cold. Nay, man,
fear not--warm them, warm them, Mopo. See, now, plunge that hand of
thine into the heart of the flame!" And he pointed with his little
assegai, the assegai handled with the royal wood, to where the fire
glowed reddest--ay, he pointed and laughed.

Then, my father, I grew cold indeed--yes, I grew cold who soon should
be hot, for I saw the purpose of Chaka. He would put me to the trial
by fire.

For a moment I sat silent, thinking. Then the king spoke again in a
great voice: "Nay, Mopo, be not so backward; shall I sit warm and see
thee suffer cold? What, my councillors, rise, take the hand of Mopo,
and hold it to the flame, that his heart may rejoice in the warmth of
the flame while we speak together of this matter of the child that
was, so my mother sang, born to Baleka, my wife, the sister of Mopo,
my servant."

"There is little need for that, O king," I answered, being made bold
by fear, for I saw that if I did nothing death would swiftly end my
doubts. Once, indeed, I bethought me of the poison that I bore, and
was minded to swallow it and make an end, but the desire to live is
great, and keen is the thirst for vengeance, so I said to my heart,
"Not yet awhile; I will endure this also; afterwards, if need be, I
can die."

"I thank the king for his graciousness, and I will warm me at the
fire. Speak on, O king, while I warm myself, and thou shalt hear true
words," I said boldly.

Then, my father, I stretched out my left hand and plunged it into the
fire--not into the hottest of the fire, but where the smoke leapt from
the flame. Now my flesh was wet with the sweat of fear, and for a
little moment the flames curled round it and did not burn me. But I
knew that the torment was to come.

For a short while Chaka watched me, smiling. Then he spoke slowly,
that the fire might find time to do its work.

"Say, then, Mopo, thou knowest nothing of this matter of the birth of
a son to thy sister Baleka?"

"I know this only, O king!" I answered, "that a son was born in past
years to thy wife Baleka, that I killed the child in obedience to thy
word, and laid its body before thee."

Now, my father, the steam from my flesh had been drawn from my hand by
the heat, and the flame got hold of me and ate into my flesh, and its
torment was great. But of this I showed no sign upon my face, for I
knew well that if I showed sign or uttered cry, then, having failed in
the trial, death would be my portion.

Then the king spoke again, "Dost thou swear by my head, Mopo, that no
son of mine was suckled in thy kraals?"

"I swear it, O king! I swear it by thy head," I answered.

And now, my father, the agony of the fire was such as may not be told.
I felt my eyes start forward in their sockets, my blood seemed to boil
within me, it rushed into my head, and down my face their ran two
tears of blood. But yet I held my hand in the fire and made no sign,
while the king and his councillors watched me curiously. Still, for a
moment Chaka said nothing, and that moment seemed to me as all the
years of my life.

"Ah!" he said at length, "I see that thou growest warm, Mopo! Withdraw
thy hand from the flame. I am answered; thou hast passed the trial;
thy heart is clean; for had there been lies in it the fire had given
them tongue, and thou hadst cried aloud, making thy last music, Mopo!"

Now I took my hand from the flame, and for awhile the torment left me.

"It is well, O king," I said calmly. "Fire has no power of hurt on
those whose heart is pure."

But as I spoke I looked at my left hand. It was black, my father--
black as a charred stick, and the nails were gone from the twisted
fingers. Look at it now, my father; you can see, though my eyes are
blind. The hand is white, like yours--it is white and dead and
shrivelled. These are the marks of the fire in Chaka's hut--the fire
that kissed me many, many years ago; I have had but little use of that
hand since this night of torment. But my right arm yet remained to me,
my father, and, ah! I used it.

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