“Treason! Treason?” he repeated, foaming at the mouth and gnashing his teeth.
“What does the sorcerer mean?” asked Sandili. “Who is the traitor?”
“There is a white prisoner here,” bellowed the wizard. “He belongs to us. He belongs to the nation—to the Great Chief—to me—to us all—for we shall all take of the war-medicine which I will make out of his heart. He is a brave man; his heart will make strong war-medicine. The Great Chief, Sandili, is our father; but there is treason in his house—in his own house!” And again the hideous wizard broke into a series of prolonged and diabolical howls. “There is one here who would have deprived us of our spoil,” he went on; “who would have released our prisoner and enriched himself; who would have gone over to the white men and betrayed us, his brethren—betrayed the Great Chief, his father, and the head of his father’s house!”
The councillors were visibly agitated. Though their consciences were clear, it might be in the purpose of Nomadudwana to denounce any one of them. A shout of wrath went up from the crowd beyond.
“Who is the traitor? What is his name? He must be killed!” exclaimed the Kafirs, gripping their sticks and assegais. “Name him! Name him!”
The wizard glared around, and many a bold spirit quailed before the glance of those dreaded eyes.
“The traitor is of the house of the Great Chief—of his own house. Where is Nxabahlana?”
A loud murmur of mingled amazement and relief arose, succeeded by ominous mutterings.
“Here!” roared the warrior named, springing into the circle and confronting his denouncer. “Here! What have you to say against Nxabahlana? Liar, fool, juggler! Out with it, before I cut out your lying tongue!”
“Stop!” cried Matanzima. “Stop! We must hear what all have to say. If Nxabahlana is true, he need fear nothing. Where is Senhlu?”