“I have heard that Machenga is the name of the king’s chief witch doctor,” I replied, with still greater caution. “But who are you, and why have you come to my wagon at this time of night? Is it to talk to me of Machenga?”
“Machenga is a very great man,” observed my visitor. “Next to the king, he is the greatest man in all Mashonaland. Also, he is the king’s friend: the friends of the king are his friends; and the enemies of the king are his enemies.”
“Come you to me with a message from Machenga?” I demanded. “If so, proceed; my ears are open.”
“Au!” ejaculated the unknown one. “Chia’gnosi is very wise; he understands. He understands that when Machenga speaks the king listens; and those who—like Chia’gnosi—are wise and desire the king’s favour, do well first to secure the favour of Machenga.”
“Piet,” I called, “come hither and open for me the bale containing the handkerchiefs and printed calico; also find for me the pliers and the brass chain.”
The articles named were duly produced, and I selected two of the most brilliant bandanas I could find, added thereto a couple of yards of calico, printed with a tasteful design in crimson and blue consisting of an alternation of horseshoes and running horses carrying their heads and tails very high, cut off a yard of brass chain to which I attached a shaving mirror as a pendant, filled a brass box with mixed beads, and arranged the whole in a tasteful little heap on the top of the voorkissie. Then I turned to my visitor and, pointing to the heap, said:
“Friend, your words are words of wisdom. You see these gifts? Take them and place them in the hut of Machenga, saying that I, Chia’gnosi, send them in token of my goodwill. Say also that I have here many other gifts, equally precious, and that, if the king continues to regard me with favour, and grants me a certain request which I think of preferring, a generous share of these gifts shall find their way to the hut of Machenga.”
For an instant my visitor leaned forward, his gleaming eyes fixed avariciously upon the little pile of trumpery spread out temptingly upon the lid of the chest, and, as he did so, the upper folds of his kaross slipped apart, and I caught a momentary glimpse of a most extraordinary countenance. It was that of an old man, so old that the head was quite bald and the wrinkled face entirely devoid of hair; but the deeply sunken eyes glowed like those of a leopard in the dark, the forehead was broad and high, the nose thin and crooked like the beak of an eagle, the mouth a mere straight slit, and the thin lips were drawn back in a sort of incipient snarl. But it was the expression of the face that particularly arrested my attention, for never before had I beheld a human countenance on which unimaginable cruelty and boundless rapacity were so clearly and strongly written. This was no common, ordinary individual, I at once told myself: there could be but one man in all Gwanda with such a countenance as that, and I instantly guessed the truth, that my visitor was none other than Machenga himself.
For a moment or two the talon-like right hand of the man hovered greedily over the little display; then it flashed back and was lost in the folds of the kaross, which were quickly drawn round the head again, all but concealing it from view. The man stepped back a pace and drew himself up haughtily, and, with a gesture of contempt, pointed to the gifts.
“Au!” he exclaimed. “Think ye that Machenga craves such baubles as those? They are well enough for children and fools, but Machenga accepts only gifts of real value.”