“Seat thyself, father of the red múti cloak,” said Umzilikazi, after we had gazed awhile upon this strange object. “Seat thyself, and tell us the tale of this marvel. I would fain hear of the doings of a King whose house was mightier than that of Senzangakona.”
So the white stranger seated himself there beside the King and told his tale; and a wonderful tale it was, and long did it take in telling. Whau, Nkose! It was new then, though I have more than once heard it since from the lips of white preachers, but never did they tell it as this man told it whom we found, my brother and I, making strange múti and offering sacrifice in the forest.
But there was one side of that story which pleased not any of us, which pleased not the King, and this was the teaching that all men should live at peace. We looked at one another, we war-captains, and shook our heads as we tried to imagine ourselves even more helpless than the cowardly Bakoni, whose ways were the ways of peace. We looked at the Great Great One too, though guardedly, at those parts of a story which set forth that there could be a mightier King than himself. Au! The tale was good, as a tale; but these were not teachings we liked to listen to, we chief men among a warrior race whose greatness lay in war.
“It is a great tale!” said Umzilikazi, when we had listened for a long time; “a wonderful tale. And now, my father, I would fain behold this making of múti such as my induna Untúswa witnessed unawares. I would fain see thee offer sacrifice. Shall we go forth into the forest, or can it be offered here?”
“It can be offered anywhere, Elephant of the Amandebeli, by one who is qualified to offer it,” answered the white isanusi. “But it is a very high and holy act, and cannot be offered twice upon the same day except under certain conditions, but not at all if food has been partaken of on that day.”
This answer satisfied the King. But there were some among us who murmured that the will of the Great Great One should thus be crossed, saying it brought back the day when old Masuka first came into our midst, who, being desired to make múti, refused, on the ground that the moment was not propitious.
Now, whether Umzilikazi was thus reminded, or whether his ears caught some of our murmurings, I know not. But he gave orders that the Mosutu should be called.
“Here is another isanusi, Masuka,” he said, when the old man appeared, murmuring words of bonga. “He is white, but I am not sure he is not a greater than thou.”
“I am not the greatest of my kind the world ever saw, Lord. Perchance there may be greater,” answered Masuka, darting a quick glance at the stranger with his bright and piercing eyes. “But can he make fire out of nothing, Great Great One? Can he make the thunder roar forth balls of flame into a buck smoke out of nothing? Can he make the countenances of the enemies of the King show clear in a bowl? Can he do these things, O Elephant?”
But the white man showed no dismay, no anxiety. There was nothing about him of the isanusi who fears a more powerful rival still. He looked straight in the old Mosutu’s face, and in his own was nothing but friendliness.