At the appointed time we set forth, Mgwali and I, fully armed, and bearing our shields. As we walked behind our guides, I noted the intense curiosity which our appearance was inspiring, and laughed to myself. For I heard the bystanders, especially the women, comparing our stature and fierce aspect with that of their own people, and saying if we were representatives of that horrible race—of which they had already begun to hear—then, indeed, they were as good as dead. Moreover, while not appearing to do so, I took note of the high fortified hill, which lay a little way back from the town, and thought I could find a way up it—wherein, however, I might have been wrong.
The men of the nation were gathered in an immense half-circle, like the formation of one of our impis when throwing out flanking “horns.” They sat at the upper end of a great open square, and in the bend of the half-circle were grouped the principal councillors and chiefs, and, a little in advance of the rest, clothed in the skin of a maned lion, and wearing ornaments of gold, sat the chief, Tauane. Behind were several huts of much larger size than any of the others.
Although those immediately in front of us were not armed, yet the ranks on either side showed a perfect glitter of spears. The shields were square, and not made of oxhide, like ours, but of wood. We knew at a glance that, were our death intended, we should stand no chance whatever. Two men, however brave, however well armed, would be nothing among these.
“Greeting, Chief of the Blue Cattle!” I said, as we drew near. “Remember you the name of Untúswa, son of Ntelani, and an induna of the Great King? It is a name I promised you should hear again.”
Tauane frowned, and I could see his gaze rest meaningly on our weapons. These we had gone so far as to hold in our left hands only, extending the right, open and in greeting. Further, he expected we should have bent down before him; but I, an induna of the King, a Zulu of pure blood, and coming of a kingly house, thought myself an immeasurably greater man than even the head chief of such a large and wealthy tribe as this.
“Is the nation gathered to hear my message, the ‘word’ of the Great Great One?” I asked, without further ceremony.
“Speak it, stranger,” said the chief shortly.
“This it is, then, Chief of the Blue Cattle, and councillors and people of the Bakoni. The ‘word’ of Umzilikazi, the Great King—the Black Elephant, whose tread shaketh the world—is short, even as the measure he meteth out to they who think to defy him. This it is:—‘Go, now, to this chief, Tauane, the lion-cub, and say that not many days off there draweth near an old lion, whose roar is louder than his own—that unless I behold the usual tribute, brought by himself in person, before we are within a day’s march of his town, he and his people are already dead.’ Such was the word of the founder of nations, the eater-up of disobedient peoples, O Tauane, and councillors of the Bakoni.”
I was not sure, Nkose that that moment was not my last. Such a chorus of rage went up from the armed ranks as I delivered my message as might have been heard a great way off.