“Hail, Mother of the Heavens!” I said.
“Greeting, Mopo,” she answered. “Say, why does Baleka weep? Is it because the sorrow of women is upon her?”
“Ask of her, great chieftainess,” I said.
Then Baleka spoke: “I weep, mother of a king, because this man, who is my brother, has come from him who is my lord and thy son, to murder that which shall be born of me. O thou whose breasts have given suck, plead for me! Thy son was not slain at birth.”
“Perhaps it were well if he had been so slain, Baleka,” said Unandi; “then had many another man lived to look upon the sun who is now dead.”
“At the least, as an infant he was good and gentle, and thou mightest love him, Mother of the Zulu.”
“Never, Baleka! As a babe he bit my breast and tore my hair; as the man is so was the babe.”
“Yet may his child be otherwise, Mother of the Heavens! Think, thou hast no grandson to comfort thee in thy age. Wilt thou, then, see all thy stock wither? The king, our lord, lives in war. He too may die, and what then?”
“Then the root of Senzangacona is still green. Has the king no brothers?”
“They are not of thy flesh, mother. What? thou dost not hearken! Then as a woman to woman I plead with thee. Save my child or slay me with my child!”