“What is this?” I said. “The tongue of the Zulu in the mouth of a stranger?”
“I know you, son of Ntelani,” she said, without looking up from her crouching attitude. “I have seen you more than once, messenger of the King.”
“But I have not seen you, stranger, who speakest with the voice of the west wind. Uncover now, that I may do so, before we return to the King.”
“To the King? To Umzilikazi?” she uttered, in a tone as of fear. “That may not be. Look now, son of Ntelani, and say whether I am to fall a spoil to the King.”
Throwing off the beaded robe, she stood upright, and now I saw that my first glimpse had told me no lie. She was tall—tall as Nangeza—but never did I see more perfect proportions and rounder, firmer limbs. She, like Nangeza, was light of colour; but, unlike Nangeza, there was a softness, a sweetness in her face, and in her clear eyes, which was enough to befool any man, being young, who looked. She wore the short beaded petticoat and gold ornaments of the Bakoni, but her hair was gathered up in the impiti, or reddened cone, such as is worn by Zulu women.
Now, for all my bragging to the King that I cared not about women, I was, in those days, just as great a fool as others of my age, and although in a general way I did not care to add to the number of my wives, yet, when I came upon such a woman as this, I was apt to leave my reason and ordinary sense so far behind that a long journey would be required to pick it up again. So when this one—revealing herself thus suddenly—threw out those words about falling a spoil to the King, my reason started away—to hunt game perhaps; and the thought that ran through my mind was that I would, by some means, keep her for myself.
“Who art thou, sister?” I said; “and how art thou called?”
“I am called Lalusini, and my Zulu blood is as pure as thine own, son of Ntelani. Perhaps purer.”
“Hau!” I cried, bringing my hand to my mouth in amazement. “Here is a marvel! Then how earnest thou here, Lalusini, whom this dog just now named Queen of the Bakoni múti?”
“In that he told no lie, Untúswa,” she answered, with a glance at the slave. “But the tale is over-long to be told at such a time.”