“Let me look at it.”
Then I undid the mat, and he looked on the child, and laughed aloud.
“He might have been a king,” he said, as he bade a councillor take it away. “Mopo, thou hast slain one who might have been a king. Art thou not afraid?”
“No, Black One,” I answered, “the child is killed by order of one who is a king.”
“Sit down, and let us talk,” said Chaka, for his mood was idle. “To-morrow thou shalt have five oxen for this deed; thou shalt choose them from the royal herd.”
“The king is good; he sees that my belt is drawn tight; he satisfies my hunger. Will the king suffer that I go? My wife is in labour and I would visit her.”
“Nay, stay awhile; say how it is with Baleka, my sister and thine?”
“It is well.”
“Did she weep when you took the babe from her?”
“Nay, she wept not. She said, ‘My lord’s will is my will.’”