“Not from me will that news come, leader of Umzilikazi’s hunting dogs,” replied this brave man, speaking in a quick hard voice in his agony.
“Ho! then shall the game continue; and there is much daylight before us yet,” said Sivuma; and again he beckoned the torturers.
This time the red-hot blades were inserted between Jambúla’s toes. Still, beyond some slight writhing, he showed nothing of the horrible torment he suffered.
All of this, Nkose, I was obliged to witness—being helpless. Had there been but few men I had quickly been in their midst; but what can one man do against a hundred? I could have yielded, but this would not have saved Jambúla; for, in any case, death by torment was the doom of the man—slave or free—who had linked his lot with that of the attempted slayer of the King. But I promised myself a rich revenge on all concerned in this matter when my day should come; nor would my yielding up of myself now do aught to hasten this, that I could see. Besides, all this would I have endured myself rather than betray Umzilikazi, in the days before he had broken faith with me; for it is the duty of a man to suffer anything rather than betray his chief.
Now the torture had gone on a little longer, when I saw Jambúla raise his head.
“Cease now, I pray thee, my father!” he gasped. “I can bear no more. I will lead you to the hiding-place of Untúswa.”
At that I started, Nkose. After all, this man was of an alien race—not one of us. He could not bear torture as the children of Zulu.
“Thou wilt, dog?” cried Sivuma, in delight. “And thou shalt. Fail, though, and for days shalt thou lie beneath the red-hot pang of the heated steel; ay, until thou diest.”
“I will not fail, my father,” groaned Jambúla, as though weak and exhausted with the pain. “He is somewhat far from here; but you shall take him. Then will the King, the Great Great One, give me my life?”
“Thy life? That I know not, but it may be,” replied Sivuma, ready to promise anything in his eagerness.