“Are you a rich man, Nxabahlana?” said Claverton, answering the query by another, in true native fashion.
The Kafir eyed him suspiciously. “It is war-time now,” he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders; “no one can be said to be rich in war-time.”
“True; but war does not last for ever. Some day there will be peace, and then, when the whites have taken all their cattle and the Gaikas are starving, and begging for food, supposing that Nxabahlana found he had plenty of cattle in his kraals. He would be a rich man when all his people were poor; and a rich man is always the most powerful chief.”
A gleam in the other’s eyes, and the least movement of a glance in the direction of the rest, convinced the prisoner that he was understood, and he began to hope.
“Supposing, then,” he went on, “that when all of Nxabahlana’s wives had been captured and distributed among the Fingoes, or were half-starved and too weak to work, and worn out, and thin, and useless, Nxabahlana had plenty of cattle, he could buy more wives—young, and fresh, and healthy. And then, when all the chiefs of the Gaikas were deposed and in disgrace, supposing the Government were to say: ‘During the war a white man, an officer in the colonial forces, was captured by the Gaikas, and his life was saved by a chief who set him free, and provided him with a horse and a guide to lead him into the colonial camp. This, then, is the chief whom we must put in Sandili’s place, although he is of the house of the Great Chief, for he is our friend—and his name is Nxabahlana.’”
The eyes of the savage glistened at the prospect thus opened out before him. All Kafirs are by nature covetous, and this man’s greediest instincts were powerfully appealed to. Plenty amid scarcity—wives, cattle, power—for that last consideration thrown out by the prisoner had carried more weight than he thought. He, Nxabahlana, was now disliked and distrusted by Sandili. Here, then, would be a good opportunity of securing the favour of the Colonial Government, and benefiting himself at the expense of his kinsman and chief.
“How many cattle will Nxabahlana find in his kraal, after the war, if Lenzimbi goes free?” he asked.
“One hundred fat beasts,” replied Claverton. He knew his man, and that the other would take advantage of his necessity to the utmost, so he purposely began at a low figure.
“Aow! A chief cannot buy many wives with that,” was the reply, given with a dissatisfied head-shake.
“Say one hundred and fifty, then.”