Now the heart of Unandi grew gentle, and she was moved to tears.
“How may this be done, Mopo?” she said. “The king must see the dead infant, and if he suspect, and even reeds have ears, you know the heart of Chaka and where we shall lie to-morrow.”
“Are there then no other new-born babes in Zululand?” said Baleka, sitting up and speaking in a whisper like the hiss of a snake. “Listen, Mopo! Is not your wife also in labour? Now hear me, Mother of the Heavens, and, my brother, hear me also. Do not think to play with me in this matter. I will save my child or you twain will perish with it. For I will tell the king that you came to me, the two of you, and whispered plots into my ear—plots to save the child and kill the king. Now choose, and swiftly!”
She sank bank, there was silence, and we looked one upon another. Then Unandi spoke.
“Give me your hand, Mopo, and swear that you will be faithful to me in this secret, as I swear to you. A day may come when this child who has not seen the light rules as king in Zululand, and then in reward you shall be the greatest of the people, the king’s voice, whisperer in the king’s ear. But if you break your oath, then beware, for I shall not die alone!”
“I swear, Mother of the Heavens,” I answered.
“It is well, son of Makedama.”
“It is well, my brother,” said Baleka. “Now go and do that which must be done swiftly, for my sorrow is upon me. Go, knowing that if you fail I will be pitiless, for I will bring you to your death, yes, even if my own death is the price!”
So I went. “Whither do you go?” asked the guard at the gate.
“I go to bring my medicines, men of the king,” I answered.