“Spare us, Great Great One, that we may never rest until she is found,” cried Fumana.
“No tagati is there among us two, Father—among us two,” screamed Nxope.
“What mean you—witch? Ha, Nangeza, inkosikazi of Untúswa! Hast thou nothing to say, no tears for Kwelanga—for thine own life?”
While the others had thus been bemoaning and praying for mercy, Nangeza was watching them with contempt in her eyes, which latter would flash into the most intense hate and menace as she met my glance. Now she answered:
“I have much to say, if the King will hear it—ah, much to say;” and her glittering eyes sought my face in the triumph of their hate.
“I think we have heard enough of this babble,” said Umzilikazi, with a bitter sneer; for he loved not women, deeming them, though in some ways necessary, yet of no account whatever, and only producing mischief if allowed to raise their voices at all. But even the Great Great One had reckoned without the length of Nangeza’s tongue. Hardily she went on:
“There has been tagati indeed; but not among us wives of Untúswa must such be sought. Ho, Untúswa! Where is the witch thou didst save alive from the slaughter of the Bakoni? Ha, ha, Untúswa, where is she?”
Now, Nkose, my heart turned to water within me; for such a suspicion, once implanted in the King’s mind, would surely bear fruit sooner or later. And the offence was among the most deadly I could commit. But at the words, I laughed; threw back my head and laughed softly, while murmurs of amazement went up from those who heard.
“Hear you the words of this woman, Untúswa?” said the King.
“I hear them, Black Elephant.”