Now at this time, things being quiet and our nation settling down in its new land, I gained the King’s leave to build myself a kraal some little distance from Kwa’zingwenya, and thither I removed with all my possessions—my cattle and my wives—and my brother Mgwali also came with me with his wives, and two other sons of my father, and soon I was the head of a large kraal of a score and a half of huts. But as time went on, and my duties in the way of seeing to the strength and efficiency of my own half of the army became greater, so far from beginning to think less of Lalusini I thought of her more. In the sunshine, darting in gold through the forest trees, it seemed that I could see her eyes, in the soft whispers of the wind at evening I could hear her voice. In my dreams I beheld her, was with her. Au! I was bewitched indeed. But although I made more than one journey again to the mountain of death, never did I discover any sign which should show she had revisited her hiding-place. All there had fallen more and more into decay, as though she had gone never to return.
“Of a truth, Untúswa, thou shouldst be an isanusi thyself,” said the King one day when we were sitting alone together in debate. “Thou hast a gift for finding izanusi and bringing them hither—first Masuka, now this white stranger; concerning which last my mind is in darkness, for I know not what to do with him.”
“Is he not content, Black Elephant? Does he not fare well among us, teaching those who care to listen—ah, ah! those who care to listen?” I added with meaning.
“For a time yes,” said Umzilikazi. “But the day will come when he will desire to travel again.”
“Let him travel back by the way he came, Calf of a Black Cow,” I answered, still with meaning. “For him the way of the South is not safe. There indeed are peoples that would do him harm.”
The Great Great One shook his head in discontent.
“Verily, Untúswa, I know not how this will end,” he said.
“Let be for the present, my father,” I answered. “The stranger is happy now, teaching the slaves. It may be that things will right themselves in this matter.”
I spoke darkly, Nkose, not seeing light. But both I and the Great Great One little guessed in what manner things would right themselves, and that at no great distance of time—ah, no! little could we we foresee that.
Now this was the meaning which underlay my words relating to the white isanusi and his teaching of the slaves. The last thing the King desired was that this white man should journey South, to bear, mayhap, the word to the Amabuna or to Dingane: “Yonder, to the North, in a fair and well-watered land, dwells Umzilikazi, and his warriors number so many, of whom a large proportion are of no account—being dogs and slaves.” The white stranger and the Gaza, Ngubazana, were but two men: what easier than to kill them secretly and thus end all trouble? There were not wanting some among the izinduna who spoke darkly to this end. But to such counsels Umzilikazi’s ears were shut. The white stranger was his friend. He was not of the race of the greedy, lying Amabuna; moreover, for himself it was easy to see he desired nothing, neither lands nor possessions; and though his teachings were not such as to be accepted by a warrior nation, there was no harm in them, no subversion of the greatness of the King. Not upon any considerations should he be harmed—neither the Gaza, his follower.