“‘Now that the witches have gone to sleep,’ said the King, ‘it seems right that the bewitched should join them; for in good truth a sentinel at his post should be proof even against the spells of witchcraft.’
“‘I welcome death at the King’s word,’ said Sekweni, who knew he was doomed. ‘But I would first ask a favour of the Great Great One.’
“‘Speak on,’ said the King.
“‘I would ask that I, too, may die the death of the spear—the death of a warrior, of a soldier of the King.’
“‘Ha! thou askest that form of death, son of Ntelani? Yet it is the more painful of the two.’
“‘It is the death of a man, O Black Elephant.’
“‘So be it,’ said Umzilikazi, making a sign to those who stood by for the purpose.
“Then my poor brother was made to sit down on the ground, and in this posture his left arm was drawn high above his head and held there, while a thin-bladed assegai was inserted below his armpit and pressed slowly, slowly downward until it reached the heart. Not a word, not a groan, escaped him in his agony, and at length, with a gasp, he fell over dead.
“In truth, Nkose, my heart was sore; yet had I spoken I could not have saved Sekweni’s life.
“‘Ou! he died bravely,’ said the King, who had been narrowly watching my poor brother’s face, but had failed to detect any sign of shrinking. ‘I love not to order the death of such. Yet he who sleeps while en outpost will surely sleep for ever, be he whom he may. Draw near, Masuka.’