For long we thus travelled, and when night came we sat and feasted upon the meat of a young impala which I had killed by a lucky spear-cast; but we slept away from any fire, and in a place of secure concealment. On the morrow we kept on our way once more, and by noon came to the resting-place I had designed for the King. This was a group of caves, somewhat high up among the rocks of the Lebombo range. Beneath, the slope fell away, bushy, but not too thickly so as to prevent us from descrying the approach of friend or foe, while on either side so strewn with rocks and boulders was the base of the cliff that retreat would be easy in the event of pursuit.
“Whau, Untúswa!” said the King, with a laugh in his eyes. “When Tambusa would have broken a nest of wasps around thy kraal, thou wert turning thy wanderings to good account!”
“That is so, Great Great One,” I answered, recalling to mind the words of Sifadu—“The day might come when Dingane himself would be glad to join us.” And strange it was that my enforced flight from the hate of the principal indunas should be the means of providing the King with a place of refuge and concealment in the day of his downfall.
So we rested there for many days, Dingane and I. Yes, this dreaded one, before whom all men and all nations had trembled, now treated me as a friend, so entirely does adversity draw the greater and the lesser together. Yet never for a moment did I forget who it was that I thus foregathered with; never was there aught that was unbecoming in word or tone or action of mine towards the King—the real and true ruler of the great Zulu nation.
Often would the thought of Lalusini return to me, of her purposed revenge, which she intended to seize through me. This, then, was that for which she had plotted—this the means by which I was to become great. Had I in refusing it acted the part of a fool? No, that could not be, for, Nkose, although I spared not such as would injure me or could not keep faith, yet never did I lift hand against any who did well by me. Wherefore now I rejoiced that I had not slain the King—had not slain a sleeping and helpless man at the bidding of a woman, even though that woman were Lalusini.
Sometimes a gloom would settle upon the mind of Dingane. His sun had set, he would declare. The power of Zulu was a thing of the past, now that the nation was divided. But at such times I would say what I could to cheer him, telling him portions of my own story, which, in truth, had been wonderful. The army was scattered. Time was needed to collect it, and that time, I thought, had now arrived. I saw that everything was at hand that the Great One might need, and then I prepared to depart.
“I know not, Untúswa,” he said, as I took leave of him. “But for thy faithfulness these many days I might bethink me that soon thou shouldst return at the head of an impi to earn the reward promised by Mpande and the Amabuna to him who should deliver to them the real King—”
But I interrupted; somewhat unbecomingly, I admit:
“If that is thy thought, father, slay me as I stand,” and dropping my weapons I advanced a pace or two.
“Nay, nay, Untúswa,” he said, “that is what I might have thought, not what I thought,” replied the King gently. “Fare-thee-well, Untúswa, and may success be thine. Fare-thee-well, Untúswa, my servant—Untúswa, my friend.”