“I say,” broke out Falkner. “Have we got to fight all these? Because if so, the odds ain’t fair.”
For all that he looked as if he was willing to undertake even this. Whatever his faults, Falkner Sewin was a good man to have beside one in a tight place.
“No,” I said. “There’s no more fight here, unless I’m much mistaken. This is a King’s impi.”
It was a fine sight to see them approach, that great dark phalanx. Soon they halted just before the waggons, and a shout of sibongo went up from the turbulent crowd who had been mobbing and threatening us but a little while since.
The two chiefs in command I knew well, Untúswa, a splendid old warrior and very friendly to the whites, and Mundúla, both indunas of the King.
“Who are these?” said the first, sternly, when we had exchanged greetings. “Are they here to trade, Iqalaqala?”
“Not so, Right Hand of the Great Great One,” I answered. “They are here to threaten and molest us—and it is not the first time some of them have visited us on the same errand. We are peaceful traders in the land of Zulu, and assuredly there are many here who know that this is not the first time I have come into the land as such.”
A hum of assent here went up from the warriors in the background. Those I had thus denounced looked uncommonly foolish. Still I would not spare them. It is necessary to keep up one’s prestige and if those who are instrumental in trying to lower it suffer, why that is their lookout, not mine.
“He is a liar, chief,” interrupted Dolf Norbury, savagely. “These two have stolen my dog and I and my people have come to recover him. Before they came in to try and steal my trade. That is where we quarrelled before.”
Untúswa heard him but coldly. As I have said, Dolf Norbury was not in favour with the more respectable chiefs of Zululand at that time. Quickly I put our side of the case before this one.