With a horrified click, the Keeper of the Fires sprang. But he was not swift enough to prevent the impact of the animal’s horns with the royal arm thrust out in self-defence. Three young chiefs came running; one caught up the goat and carried it away bleating bellicosely; the others knelt, and while one carefully collected a gout of blood upon the King’s forearm in a piece of banana leaf, his companion wiped the wound. When they were satisfied that the bleeding had ceased, the pieces were meticulously wrapped in another leaf and borne away by the Keeper of the Fires to be deposited in the temple: for as every man knows, the royal blood must not be spilt upon the ground lest the site be accursed for ever and like the tooth of the dragon of Colchis, arise from the spot ghostly warriors to annihilate the tribe.
Neither upon the face of any of the elders nor upon the features of MFunya MPopo, the King, had a muscle moved. Yet the incident was regarded as an evil omen.… Then suddenly did Bakahenzie, the chief witch-doctor, plumed with a tall scarlet feather in addition to the green ones and a necklace of finger bones upon his bronze chest, who sat in the centre with Kawa Kendi, the King’s son upon his right, and Zalu Zako, the grandson, upon his left, begin to chant in a high wailing voice to the rapid rhythm of the drums:
“Is there not a shadow come over the land?
The frown of the One-not-to-be-mentioned?
I, Bakahenzie, have seen it! have seen it!”
And from the group within the council house, immobile, came the bass chorus of assent:
“Ough! Ough!”
“Is there not a dry curse come over the land?
Is it not the hot breath of the soul of the Snake?
I, Bakahenzie, have seen it! have seen it!”