“They are strange words, son of Ntelani. Hast thou no answer to make to them?”
“Now, my Father, who am I that I should weary the ears of the Great Great One by crossing answers with a woman in his presence?” I cried.
“That is well said,” muttered Umzilikazi. Then aloud, “So, woman, where doth she dwell, this witch whom Untúswa saved alive from the slaughter of the Bakoni?”
“Upon the Mountain of Death, the mountain whereon her people were slain,” said Nangeza.
“And how is she named?”
“That I know not, O Elephant; but if Untúswa ever whispers her name in his sleep, it is Fumana or Nxope you should ask, O Calf of a Black Bull,” she said, in a tone full of meaning and of malice.
Now I thought and thought how Nangeza could have obtained even that amount of knowledge of my secret. Could she have followed me, stealthily, the last journey I made to the Mountain of Death? It almost seemed so. Or had she set others on to watch me? Anyhow, I felt not over-certain of seeing many more suns set.
“And is that all thou hast to say, wife of Untúswa?” said the King, softly, and putting his head on one side, as his manner was.
“This, too, Father. For many nights past I have heard, as it were, a woman’s voice singing around our kraal. I doubt not it was the voice of this witch, and that she hath lured the little one into the forest, to devour her, as the way is with such evildoers. But it is Untúswa who has brought her about our ears to blight us with a curse.”
“In truth, thou art an excellent wife—a very milch-cow of price,” said the King, mocking her. “In truth, it is worth a man’s while to throw away his life for such as thee. Thou art, indeed, worthy to be the chief wife of one of my best fighting-captains. Thou who wouldst seek to throw on to his shoulders the consequences of thine own neglect, and fill up our ears with such childish tales of witches singing around the gates! And thou, Untúswa, thou art happy, indeed, in the possession of such! Well, woman, such babble is of no avail. The alligators are hungry.”