“Cry not to me the Bayéte, my children!” he said, in clear and ringing tones. “Cry it to your King, Tyuyumane. Behold him, yonder—your King, Tyuyumane!”
Bitter and biting as serpents were the words, splendid the gesture, as the Great Great One waved a hand towards the chief of the impaled traitors, who was raised higher than the rest. An awestruck murmur ran through the ranks. None knew what to do; for the humour of a King is of the nature of fire, in that it is not a thing to be played with.
“What? Have ye no word, my children? Have ye no greetings for your King, Tyuyumane—your new King, who reigns from a high seat? See, I will set you the example.”
Then going before the stake whereon writhed Tyuyumane, the Great Great One mocked him, crying—
“Hail, Tyuyumane! Hail, new King of the Amazulu—ruler of the world! Is thy seat high enough? Is it soft enough? Ha! Praise him, ye izimbonga! Cry him the Bayéte, ye warriors!”
The impaled wretch gave a quivering heave, and his lips curled back from his jaw, baring the teeth, which were locked together in the agony of his torment. It was a fearful sight, for though ruthless in the heat of battle, yet at this moment we saw not red; and these sufferers, though deservedly thus punished, were of our own blood. Yet none pitied overmuch Notalwa, for the izanusi were hated and feared by all.
“We leave thee in peace, Tyuyumane,” went on Umzilikazi, still mocking. “We go out from thee, because a nation cannot own two kings. We leave thee, but will konza to thee from afar. We leave thee our royal dwelling, Ekupumuleni. We leave thee in the midst of thine izinduna,”—with a wave towards Ncwelo and Senkonya, between whom he was impaled. “We leave thee, too, our head izanusi, Notalwa, and we go forth, homeless and scanty in possessions, to seek a new home. Thou, who art weary, need travel no further. Ekupumuleni, ‘the Place of Rest,’ shall be thy resting-place forever. Ha! Hlala gahle, Tyuyumane! Rest in peace!”
With this mocking salutation, the King turned away, and, preceded by the izimbonga shouting in praise of the royal justice, he paced for the last time, and with great state, through the principal gate of Ekupumuleni, and, mounting his horse, which was awaiting him outside, signed that we should commence our march. Then, as the immense array of armed warriors, in full war adornments, filed out of the great gate, spreading forth over the plain as the waves of a dark sea, once more was raised the song of triumph which told of our victory over the Amabuna:
“Ningepinde nimhlab ’Umzilikazi! Ha—ha—ha! Ca-bo! Ca-bo!”
And soon the mighty kraal which had been the home of a warrior-nation for so long a time was quite deserted—given over to those four grisly figures, writhing there upon their stakes in blood and agony.