“As we entered the lower gate of the kraal, I, in the midst of my guards, unarmed, but unbound and free of limb, I began to hum a song—a song which came to me at the moment, a wild, elated song of battle and of death. My head was thrown back, my eyes looked straight in front of me while I sang, as though I were marching in the ranks of the impi to victory instead of to the evil-doer’s doom. Those who guarded me stared and shrugged their shoulders.
“‘Hau!’ one of them cried. ‘He must be mad! The coming anger of the King, the Great Great One, has turned his brain.’
“‘Not so, Ncongula,’ I answered, for the speaker was well known to me. ‘I come of a House which knows how to die—whose brain the fear of death can never turn. I, Untúswa, the son of Ntelani, can walk forward to death, and sing the while.’
“This was foolish talk and boasting, Nkose. Still, I believed it at the time, and it helped to keep my heart from quailing; for it was a terrible thing I had done, and from its consequences there was no escape.
“The warriors were not mustered under arms, but there was an enormous crowd filling the whole of the great open space, so that it was with difficulty we could make our way through the densely-packed mass. But the peremptory summons of my guards to make way for the property of the King soon opened a lane in the midst. I threw side-glances upon the sea of faces hemming me in, and in most I read expressions of sorrow, especially among those of my own age, for although some of the older men regarded me with jealousy, I was well liked among my companions in arms; and the daring magnitude of my offence had struck them with admiration. Beyond the ring-fence in the background, where stood the huts, heads of women clustered thickly, and even they forgot to use their tongues in the intense excitement of the moment. All this I took in, so that it would remain stamped upon my brain as long as the power of thought should be left. Then I was standing before the King, and raising my hand, I cried ‘Bayéte.’ and bent low before him.
“Umzilikazi was seated at the upper end of the open space, a semicircle of indunas around him. Close beside him, however, squatted the old Mosutu witch-doctor, whose piercing, beady eyes met my glance with a most indescribable expression, the meaning of which I was utterly at a loss to read. I noticed, farther, that Nangeza was not present; but this was only to be expected. When she had been led off by the guard of women, I never expected to behold her face again. Her doom would take place privately. It was only mine—as a necessary warning to those of my own age and standing—that would be pronounced and carried out in the sight of the nation. The great space, as I said, was crowded with dense masses of people; but, except a small body of armed warriors in attendance on the King, all carried sticks only.
“The King’s eyes were fixed upon me, and in them I read no hope; indeed, not one spark of hope had kindled in my heart from the moment of our capture. Then Umzilikazi spoke:
“‘Draw near, son of Ntelani! Welcome, son of Ntelani!’ he said, speaking soft and pleasantly, but in that most terrible voice of all—even that mocking, bitter voice of his. ‘So thou art returned once more? The calf has again returned to the kraal? Welcome, wanderer!’
“‘I lie beneath the foot of the Black Elephant,’ I answered.
“‘Ha! But thou art an Elephant which is blacker still. Hail, Untúswa, builder up of a new nation! Hail, thou mightiest of all kings! Cry him the “Bayéte,” my children! Praise him, ye izimbonga! What! Have ye no titles for Untúswa, the would-be King—the great King of Nowhere?’ And, as he looked from side to side, some of the old men mumbled out certain of the royal titles at me in mockery; but most of those present were silent, being filled with perplexity, perchance remembering that the humour of kings is like the blade of a spear, having two edges, and prone to cut both ways.