Thus we sat and talked on far into the night, and many a question did I put to Talumni concerning her own wanderings, and how she had first appeared at Nkunkundhlovu. I found she had been there before my own arrival; but when I asked why she had taken another name, and whether Dingane really believed the account she had given of herself, she said:
“I know not how clear of suspicion is the King’s mind, but that it is not entirely clear let this tell: Never once has the Great Great One desired that I should become an inmate of the isigodhlo. Now Dingane’s love for handsome women is known to the whole nation, and I—well I am not quite the least comely of my sex, Untúswa.” This she said with a playful smile. “Therefore it may be that he suspects something.”
Then I told her about Tambusa, and how his enmity placed me in daily peril. Her face clouded somewhat.
“We must suffer him for the present, Untúswa,” she said. “He may be necessary to me in my plans, and to compass his death would be to jeopardise those plans. He and Umhlela are all powerful in the nation, yet they must remain so for a little longer. Still, be wary and cautious, for even the shield of my múti may not always be broad enough to shelter thee.”
The night had fled as we sat thus together—yes, indeed, it had fled—and now Lalusini bade me leave her and return, so that I might have time to travel while it was yet dark, and mix with those who were about outside of Nkunkundhlovu in the morning. This would be the easier, as the morning would be a misty one, for which reason, indeed, she had chosen this night for our meeting.
Thus we parted, and it was arranged that I should not seek her out again until she sent me word, as before. She wanted for nothing—there were those who supplied her wants, and her dwelling-place was safe and secure. None dared invade it.
As once more I threaded my way along the river-bank in the darkness, I sang softly to myself, not in fear, as many of our people do, to keep away evil ghosts, but in joy. My beautiful sorceress wife! Au! Was there ever another such?—and she seemed to have returned to me from the dark deeps of the dead. But with my joy there mingled another thought. The desire for vengeance seemed to have passed—the longing to deliver my former nation over to the spears of Dingane seemed wondrously to have diminished. I remembered old comradeship—and friends, many and brave, who had charged with me in close and serried line, shoulder to shoulder, in the lightning rush of our might as we hurled ourselves on the foe; who had sprung forward with redoubled courage to the rallying wave of my white shield; and now it seemed that I desired no longer the destruction of these. With the recovery of Lalusini, my rancour against Umzilikazi even seemed to melt away. But only to accomplish such destruction had I been allowed to konza to Dingane, wherefore now I was as one who is jammed against a tree between the long horns of a fierce and savage cow—he cannot remain thus for ever, and does he but move, why one horn or the other must pierce him. Well, at present, with the Amabuna threatening us, we had enough to take care of for some time to come. Umzilikazi could not be attended to until afterwards.
While comforting myself with this thought, something happened. There was a rustling in the grass, and a quick patter of feet. It was the darkest hour of the night, namely, that which precedes the dawn; but my eyes, well accustomed to the gloom, could distinguish the swift glide of fleeing shapes—indeed, a frightened, snarling yelp arose, as one of the shapes nearly came against me as I stood to listen. But they fled—those wild creatures of the night—after the manner of beasts who disperse when suddenly startled from their prey.
Then there came to my ears a low wail, as the moaning of a woman in fear, or in pain, perhaps both.