“Heat of two suns!”
“Scorcher up of the world!”
These and other extravagant attributes were thundered forth from the excited and adoring multitude, and Haviland, who understood a little about that sort of thing, was quick to observe that these attributes mostly referred to fire. A few others were uttered, such as “Swallower up of Rumaliza!” “Thou who makest dust of Mushâd!” and so forth, but the sibonga was always brought back again to the attribute of fire. It interested him, and he made up his mind to ask Kumbelwa about it by and by.
But now the King had reached his chair of state and was seated thereon. It was a genuine throne, of very old and quaint workmanship, beautifully carved, with couchant lions on the arms, and guarding the steps, and had probably been obtained from some slaver who traded in the north. This chair was placed on a kind of raised verandah with a wide grass roof, and was well sheltered from the sun. The indunas squatted on the floor of the verandah on either side of the throne.
“Come forward, ye white men,” said the King, and they noticed that his voice was extraordinarily full and deep.
Our two friends advanced to the throne, and as they did so it was not reassuring to notice ten or a dozen men standing rather conspicuously at hand, armed with wicked-looking scimitars, also thongs and raw-hide whips—all most uncomfortably suggestive of their grim vocation.
“You who speak with our tongue,” said the King, pointing at Haviland, “how know you it?”
“In the land of Cetywayo, Great Great One.”
“Now thou liest, for Cetywayo is there no more. Your people have upset his throne long since.”
Haviland wondered how on earth that news should have travelled to this remote, hardly heard-of tribe, but he answered: