“‘No word, Great Great One,’ grunted my father, scowling savagely at me. ‘When my other son, Sekweni, earned death for his reward, did I seek to stay the justice of the King? I did not. Nor do I now. Let this one taste the reward he has won.’
“Then there fell a silence—a silence that one could feel. Even the breathing of that immense crowd seemed hushed; the bent-forward attitude, the parted lips, the eyeballs protruding, betrayed the intensity of the moment. All this I saw in side-glances. In front sat the semicircle of indunas, their faces set in hard, pitiless sternness. The countenance of the King as he sat gazing at me in silence was the only face whose owner was master of his own thoughts. The others were all carried away by the strain of the moment. For my part, I think my head turned slightly to and fro as though in a dream. I looked at the sun, whose setting I was not to see; I looked at the distant mountain ranges and the plains of earth, whose brightness I was destined to behold no more; and then the King spoke:
“‘Even as thou sayest, Untúswa, son of Ntelani, thou hast done a deed the doer of which hath never yet failed to meet with the reward of death. The girl shall die. But for thee, Untúswa, by reason of the great service thou hast done our nation in the past, I grant thee thy life. But thy life only. For thou mayest no more be among my izinceku; no more shalt thou take thy place in the ranks of the warriors, or go out with them to battle, nor shalt thou ever be suffered to tunga. Thy place henceforth shall be among the lowest of the captured slaves who herd the nation’s cattle, bearing no arms but a stick only. Thus I give thee thy life.’
“From a gasp which was first a lamentation as the multitude heard this dread sentence, there grew a great chorus of bonga.
“‘Oh the just, the merciful One! How he pardons, how he spares! Is he not our Father!’
“Thus all men cried aloud by reason of the clemency of the King. Only I stood as I had stood, moving neither hand nor foot—silent.
“‘Well, Untúswa, who art no more a warrior?’ said the King, when the shouting had ceased. ‘Have I not given thee thy life? Look up. Thou wilt see the sun go down this night, thou wilt see it rise and go down many days, many nights. While all the people cry aloud in praise that I have given thee thy life, thou alone remainest mute.’
“‘Because I would prefer death, O Black Elephant!’ I answered, raising my head. And then the tears rained from my eyes, even as from those of a child who is hurt. Yes, Nkose, I, Untúswa, the warrior who feared nothing, and who, when the King’s enemies lay in front of us, suffered no man to come between me and them, I, Untúswa, wept in the sight of the whole nation because of the dread sentence pronounced upon me by the King. For only think what it meant! I, a warrior, who lived but for battle, never again to bear arms! I, in the full flush and strength of my vigorous manhood, never to be allowed to wear the ring; I, an inceku, to descend to herd with the off-scourings of all the miserable and degraded tribes we had swept from our path! Of course, I preferred death ten times over; the death of the hot stones, of the stake of impalement, of the black ants; any death, however hideous, however lingering, to life upon the terms of such awful degradation.
“‘So thou askest for death, son of Ntelani?’ said the King.
“‘I pray for it, O Great Great One.’