“I do not know, Dogeetah, but I think not. If she were dead I think that we should have heard some rumour of the Feast of the eating of the dead Mother.”
“Eating the dead mother!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, Macumazana. It is the law among the Pongo that, for a certain sacred reason, the body of the Mother of the Flower, when she dies, must be partaken of by those who are privileged to the holy food.”
“But the White Devil neither dies nor is eaten?” I said.
“No, as I have told you, he never dies. It is he who causes others to die, as if you go to Pongo-land doubtless you will find out,” Babemba added grimly.
Upon my word, thought I to myself, as the meeting broke up because Babemba had nothing more to say, if I had my way I would leave Pongo-land and its white devil alone. Then I remembered how Brother John stood in reference to this matter, and with a sigh resigned myself to fate. As it proved it, I mean Fate, was quite equal to the occasion. The very next morning, early, Babemba turned up again.
“Lords, lords,” he said, “a wonderful thing has happened! Last night we spoke of the Pongo and now behold! an embassy from the Pongo is here; it arrived at sunrise.”
“What for?” I asked.
“To propose peace between their people and the Mazitu. Yes, they ask that Bausi should send envoys to their town to arrange a lasting peace. As if anyone would go!” he added.
“Perhaps some might dare to,” I answered, for an idea occurred to me, “but let us go to see Bausi.”