Her words seemed to beat within my brain as I took my way backward through the forest, and there was that in them which I liked. No, in truth I could not deliver her over to vengeance; any other person—but Lalusini—ah, no! I could not do it.
“The stroke of Sopuza” had indeed fallen, and these, Nkose, were the words of a prophecy uttered long before by an old magician as to the manner in which death should one day find out Dingane, and for this reason fierce war had been waged upon the tribe which owned Sopuza for chief, and whose dwelling was upon the Swazi border. But, secure in its mountain fastnesses, our impis had not always been able to reach it.
Quickly I took my way back to the kraal. The King was not dead, and had been inquiring for me; and when I entered the royal house, he spoke drowsily, calling me by name. I found that he had received several stabs, one of them cleaving his entrails in a frightful manner. He would hardly see the rising of another sun.
“Hither, Untúswa,” he murmured. “Didst thou make an end of those scorpions?”
“An end, indeed, Black Elephant,” I answered.
“All of them?”
“That is yet to be done, father. There will shortly be howling throughout the Swazi nation, for of that race are those who struck the Great Great One.”
“Yet I thought—or dreamed—that the hand of a woman was in it,” said the King.
“Ha! the women of the Amaswazi shall help to pay the penalty, then,” I answered, fearful lest the Great Great One should have recognised Lalusini, whom I would fain save.
“No matter, the stroke of Sopuza has fallen—ah, yes, it has fallen at last,” he murmured. “And now, Untúswa, send and gather together all the warriors. Bid that they come in full array of war; for I desire to feast my eyes upon the sight I have ever loved best.”