“The blood of Bulalio the Slaughterer, Chief of the People of the Axe, the blood of Nada the Lily, and of all those who cling to her.”
Now Dingaan sprang up and swore an oath by the head of the Black One who was gone.
“What?” he cried, “does the Lily, then, live as the soldier thought?”
“She lives, O King. She is wife to the Slaughterer, and because of her witchcraft he has put me, his first wife, away against all law and honour. Therefore I ask vengeance on the witch and vengeance also on him who was my husband.”
“Thou art a good wife,” said the king. “May my watching spirit save me from such a one. Hearken! I would gladly grant thy desire, for I, too, hate this Slaughterer, and I, too, would crush this Lily. Yet, woman, thou comest in a bad hour. Here I have but one regiment, and I think that the Slaughterer may take some killing. Wait till my impis return from wiping out the white Amaboona, and it shall be as thou dost desire. Whose are those children?”
“They are my children and the children of Bulalio, who was my husband.”
“The children of him whom thou wouldst cause to be slain.”
“Yea, King.”
“Surely, woman, thou art as good a mother as wife!” said Dingaan. “Now I have spoken—begone!”
But the heart of Zinita was hungry for vengeance, vengeance swift and terrible, on the Lily, who lay in her place, and on her husband, who had thrust her aside for the Lily’s sake. She did not desire to wait—no, not even for an hour.