And therewith, Lomalindela, autocrat of the Mashona nation, lord of life and death over nearly a million people, stalked across the room with his sword clanking at his heels, drew aside a curtain, and disappeared behind it. There followed a breathless silence for the space of perhaps half a minute, a silence deep, pregnant, and almost awe-inspiring; and then there floated out from the other side of the kaross curtain a little shriek in an unmistakable feminine tone of voice, a shriek expressive of mingled astonishment, awestruck wonder, and delight, immediately followed by a perfectly deafening clamour of exclamations and laughter from at least fifty women—if their number might be gauged by the volume of sound that they created—amid which might be imperfectly caught, at intervals, the deep tones of Lomalindela’s voice, raised apparently in remonstrance, entreaty, and indignation.
Mapela, the Wise One, and I glanced enquiringly at each other, and methought that even in the semi-obscurity of that darkened interior I could detect the ghost of a twinkle of amusement in the old induna’s eyes; for my own part, I remember that I was grinning from ear to ear as my imagination conjured up a picture of the scene which was enacting behind that curtain. The shouts, exclamations, laughter, and remonstrances increased rather than diminished as the moments sped, and presently Mapela came to me, took me by the arm, and gently led me from the itunkulu, saying as he did so:
“Come, ’mlungu; let us go. A king is but a man, after all, among his women folk, and it is not seemly that you and I should linger and hear more of what is passing yonder.”
Once safely away from the itunkulu, and beyond reach of the unseemly sounds which issued therefrom, Mapela conducted me to the group of chiefs still gathered round the royal chair and introduced me to them severally and individually; then, discreetly and with a certain air of mystery, he hinted to his fellow indunas that the investiture of the Great, Great One had been successfully accomplished, with such amazing and magnificently splendid results that it would be well for them all to spend the night in preparing to be astonished, for on the morrow they should find themselves overwhelmed with wonder and admiration. And finally, he threw out a cautious feeler with the object of ascertaining whether perchance it had occurred to me that it might be politic on my part to confirm the excellent impression which I had already made by bestowing upon him and his fellow indunas a small—a very small—modicum of the inestimable treasures which they all knew my wagon must still contain. To this I replied that the idea was at that moment the one uppermost in my mind, and that I gladly availed myself of the opportunity afforded by the king’s temporary absence to invite them to call upon me in a body as soon as possible, to receive my largesse.
Then I, in turn, took up my parable, and, in humble emulation of Mapela’s engaging frankness, hinted that if by any chance the king—or anybody else—should feel moved to display a feeling of friendliness to the extent of bestowing upon me a return present, I wanted nothing of actual value—such as spears, shields, and the like—but would gladly accept as much of that useless stuff, gold, as people might desire to force upon me, the accumulation of gold being one of my chief hobbies; eccentric, amusing, perhaps even ridiculous, but—well, there it was. And I accompanied my final statement with a shrug of the shoulders which I intended should express deprecation of my own folly. I intercepted a glance and nod of intelligence and amusement which passed round the circle at this naïve confession of folly on my part, and at that moment the king, shorn of his temporary glories, and with a distinct frown of annoyance upon his royal brow, emerged from the itunkulu and stalked towards us. Also, to my secret discomfiture, I observed that he carried in his hand the sword which I had just presented to him, and in the use of which he had expressed a desire to be instructed. I began to think that I had permitted my passion for harmony and completeness to carry me rather too far when I included the sword with the other items of the uniform which I had selected for presentation to King Lomalindela; and I resolved, there and then, never again to include lethal weapons of any description among my gifts to savages.
The king flung himself down into his throne with much of the petulance of manner that is observable in the demeanour of a spoilt child when its temper has been ruffled, from which I surmised that the impression produced upon the ladies of his harem by His Majesty’s martial garb had fallen short in some respects of what he had anticipated; that in fact, and not to put too fine a point upon it, His Majesty’s vanity had been taken down a peg or two—for the which I was rather sorry, because I somehow had a premonition that the resulting soreness of temper would recoil upon me. And, for once in a way, my premonition was promptly verified; for after scowling round for a minute or two upon all and sundry, maintaining meanwhile an ominous silence, the king straightened himself up and said sharply:
“Now, white man, we have wasted enough time in folly; let us proceed with the matter which I was discussing when you interrupted me. You were about to show me how this thing which you call a ‘sword’ should be used. You shall show me now. Mapela, choose you a skilled warrior from your regiment, that he may fight this white man, and that I may thus be able to judge the real value of the white man’s gift. The white man shall be armed only with the sword, and the Mashona’s weapons shall be his shield and stabbing spear.”
Saluting, Mapela strode across the square to where his regiment was drawn up, and moved slowly along the ranks, critically eyeing each man over as he did so. I believed that I had succeeded in producing a tolerably good impression upon Mapela; moreover, it was to his interest that I should not be killed, for if I should chance to be slain he might bid goodbye to his hopes of obtaining a present from me: and I began to wonder whether “the Wise One” possessed enough mental acuteness and alertness to conceive the idea of quietly warning the warrior whom he might choose that there was no need for him to put up a real fight, and that every purpose would be served if the warrior, while feigning to use his best endeavours to kill me, should skilfully permit me to disarm him. Unfortunately, however, Mapela could not know what was passing in my mind, and I had missed the only opportunity that had presented itself for discussing the matter with him—which was while the king was displaying his fine feathers to his ladies; and it might very well happen that the old induna, animated by the best intentions in the world toward me, might select a foeman whom he might deem well worthy of my steel, for the purpose of enabling me to display my skill before the king. It was a most annoying dilemma for a peaceably disposed young fellow like myself, with a natural aversion to unnecessary strife and bloodshed, to find himself in, and for the life of me I could see no way out of it. The king was clearly in no mood to listen to argument; indeed, he was evidently very much ruffled in temper, and in just that frame of mind which would impel him to insist the more strongly on having his own way should I attempt anything in the nature of dissuasion: therefore all I could see for it was to submit to his whim, and do my best to disarm my antagonist without hurting him.
By the time that I had thus far considered the matter, Mapela had made his choice, and now approached us, accompanied by a fine, stalwart young Mashona warrior of some five or six and twenty years of age, a ringed man, whose smooth, dark skin was already seamed here and there with scars that told of more than one hard-fought fight, and whose lithe and easy movements indicated that he was in the very pink of fighting condition. Halting within a pace or two of where I stood, near the king, Mapela saluted, and said:
“Behold, O Great, Great One, I have chosen a warrior, even as you bade me. He is named ’Mfuni, and is the son of Matanga, one of our most skilled and cunning fighters, who has carefully trained his son in all the arts of warfare. Is my choice approved?”