But the Great Great One seemed in no mood for further indaba. Signing me to approach, he whispered a few words, and seldom or never have a few words sounded more welcome. Springing up, I passed round my orders to the warriors, and in a moment Tauane and those that remained of his people were seized and bound with thongs.
Then the King spoke, and his tones never were softer:
“Yonder is a round wall within another. Within those walls two men, fighting-men of the Amazulu, fought throughout the shining of yesterday’s sun—fought against a twofold enemy, the whole might of the People of the Blue Cattle and against fire! And one of these two men was the tongue and mouthpiece of myself. This day, again, those walls shall witness a merry strife, but it shall not be against such great and overpowering odds. The remaining fighting-men of the People of the Blue Cattle, who still number a great many more than two, shall, to-day, strive within those round walls. But they shall fight there against one enemy only—one enemy instead of two—wherein I am more merciful than they. And that enemy shall be fire! Go now, ye who remain of the warriors of Bakoni! go now, and fight where my two warriors fought. Fare ye well, Hambani gahle!”
The wave of the hand with which the King concluded was our signal. The warriors hailed the Great Great One’s words with roars of acclamation, and, throwing themselves upon the prisoners—nearly a hundred in number—began dragging them off to the round stone walls, which stood up from the plain some little distance off, amid the smoking ruins of the town of the Bakoni. Others, fleet-footed, had run on in advance, and by the time we arrived at the ruins had gathered and piled up a dense ring of brushwood and dry grass. The prisoners, bound, and shrieking and kicking, were flung within the inner wall, where they were heaped up, one upon another, a tossing, struggling mass.
“Gahle—gahle!” I cried. “Not so fast! The chief must crown the pile. It is only due to his rank.”
The warriors laughed, and went on flinging in the wretched Bakoni.
“Ha, Tauane,” I said, speaking in his own tongue, “it is not good to shake weapons in the face of the King’s messenger. And know this. Not to thee alone is the secret of the Queen of the mysteries of the Bakoni known. Through the darkness of the earth, to an outward chamber in the cliff, like unto the place of an eagle’s nest, there lies hidden she in whose veins runs the pure blood of the Amazulu, even the blood which is fit to mingle with that of kings. I know the place beside thyself—I alone.”
He stared at me with a strange, wild expression.
“Thou and the King—yes,” he muttered.
“Not the King—I only,” I jeered. “Not the King; thy words did not travel so far.”