“To death with him!” they roared. “To death with the man who wears the black ring! Let him be burnt in the fire!”
But of all this I took no notice. I even gave a slight laugh, as I stood, with my head thrown back, looking down upon Tauane.
“Such is the word of the Great Great One,” I repeated, slowly.
“Have you ever done a bolder act, stranger?” said Tauane. “Hear you these? They howl for the blood of him who has insulted their nation and chief. Have you ever done a bolder act?”
“I have, indeed—an act which has won me the isicoco I wear—also this”—holding forth the King’s Assegai. “If they howl now, what will they do when the ‘word’ of Umzilikazi, the mighty King, is not obeyed. Never does he send forth his ‘word’ twice. Now, when wilt thou konza to the Elephant, O Tauane? The sooner the better!”
The howl that went up now was terrible to hear. The dense lines of armed warriors sprang to their feet and hurled themselves upon us, spears uplifted.
Mgwali and I stood back to back, covered by our shields. We would die like Zulu warriors, but before we did so the King’s Assegai should cleave in twain the heart of the chief. This Tauane knew, and made furious signs to his people to forbear. But they would not listen, and it seemed that in a moment more we should fall beneath the weight of the corpses of the Bakoni whom we would carry with us to the Dark Unknown, when there arose a new and sudden tumult out beyond the lines of those who would have slain us.
Up the open square men were running—fleeing as before some great and unknown terror—calling out wildly and looking back as they ran. Every hand was stayed, each uplifted weapon lowered. Away, over the plain, dust-clouds were moving, and soon we could descry among them the advancing horns of driven cattle. Our hearts leaped. Soon we expected to behold the avenging spears of our nation. The King had repented him of our errand of peace. Our army was even now hurrying to sweep this rebellious people from the land.
“Arm yourselves, men of the Bakoni!” cried the fugitives. “Foes are at our gate! Three days have we fled before them, such of us as are left to flee, with what we could save of our cattle. Yonder they come! They will soon be here!”
Now in the disturbance which followed, the Bakoni thought no more of taking our lives. Wildly the fugitives urged that all should at once take refuge in the hills, for that a strange and mighty race was advancing like a devouring swarm of locusts, its warriors as countless in number as the destroying insects themselves. They had received warning in time and had fled; had received warning from the remnant of those who had already been devoured. But those around us laughed. Look at their strength; at their armed might! Whom did they fear? Had they not behind them, too, an impregnable fortress?