A deep murmur of awe went up from all who heard. Ncwelo, though a chief of some influence, was not an induna. His place at the head of his people was near me. Glancing at him, I could see that his look was that of a man who knows himself to be already dead.
“Look again, Mcumbete,” said the King. “I see another face. Whose is it?”
“Ha!” cried the old induna, trembling with awe. “It is the face of Senkonya.”
A cruel smile played upon the King’s lips as he bade him look again.
“It is the face of Ntelani, Great Great One,” almost yelled the old induna.
“Look again, Mcumbete, look again,” laughed the King.
“I see now Tyuyumane,” faltered the old man. “Ha,” he went on, with a gasp. “Now I see a head, and it is wreathed in snakes—a head, a face. It is the face of Notalwa, the chief of the izanusi.”
The terror-stricken countenance, the shaking limbs, of the old induna were too true, too real, for any suspicion of make-believe. There was a silence of indescribable awe upon all who heard, all who beheld. It was broken by Notalwa.
Uttering hideous yells, the head isanusi leaped in the air, dancing and roaring, bellowing forth all his incantations and wizardry. Stripping off his zebra robe, he gashed himself until his body streamed with blood, mouthing out wild predictions as to the fate that would speedily befall our race for supplanting its own sorcerers in favour of the magic of a stranger. But the King, with a frown, bade him cease his bellowing, for he might early need all his magic for himself. The others named sat still as stones, but their demeanour was various. Upon the face of my father Ntelani, was the set drawnness of despair, but it was the courage of a dogged despair; fierce, fearless to the last. Senkonya, too, looked as one who had already tasted death, but Tyuyumane, ah! his look was that of one who had tasted death a hundred times over. He was a tall, strong man, with a sullen and evil face, very near in blood to the King—indeed, it had been whispered, though cautiously—that he was an elder son of Matyobane. Now he showed signs of strong and restless fear. His glance rolled to right and to left, as though seeking means of escape. But behind each of those thus named had stealthily closed up a group of armed warriors.
And now the attention of all was diverted to old Masuka, who had fallen into one of his trances, and was mouthing wildly. Then he began to speak. He told of a pool, overhung by rocks, and whose waters reflected the stars and the waning moon. He told of the assembling of men by stealth, and of the tramp of horses, of the talking together of men who wore head-rings, and of men who wore large hats. Then he described so exactly the indaba which we had witnessed—the Great Great One and I—that it seemed he must have been present concealed on the spot where we had lain and listened to it. But all this he told in a very low, and scarcely audible, voice, only to be heard by such few as were immediately bending over him, among whom was myself; for the King had beckoned me to his side. Then, when he had finished, he lay as still as though dead, and the faces had faded out of the múti bowl, whose contents were as smooth and shining as before.