“Not so ill,” I answered.
“I thought it,” she said with a musical laugh, “although at this place I rust and grow dull like an unused sword. Now you would rest. Go—all of you. To-morrow you and I will talk alone. Fear nothing for your safety; you are watched by my slaves and I watch my slaves. Until to-morrow, then, farewell. Go now, eat and sleep, as alas we all must do who linger on this ball of earth and cling to a life we should do well to lose. Billali, lead them hence,” and she waved her hand to signify that the audience was ended.
At this sign Hans, who apparently was still much afraid, rose from his knees and literally bolted through the curtains. Robertson followed him. Umslopogaas stood a moment, drew himself up and lifting the great axe, cried Bayéte, after which he too turned and went.
“What does that word mean, Allan?” she asked.
I explained that it was the salutation which the Zulu people only give to kings.
“Did I not say that savages are often the best?” she exclaimed in a gratified voice. “The white man, your companion, gave me no salute, but the Black One knows when he stands before a woman who is royal.”
“He too is of royal blood in his own land,” I said.
“If so, we are akin, Allan.”
Then I bowed deeply to her in my best manner and rising from her couch for the first time she stood up, looking very tall and commanding, and bowed back.
After this I went to find the others on the further side of the curtains, except Hans, who had run down the long narrow hall and through the mats at its end. We followed, marching with dignity behind Billali and between the double line of guards, who raised their spears as we passed them, and on the further side of the mats discovered Hans, still looking terrified.