“Who can they be?” asked Percy.
“I suppose that they must be Cetchwayo’s followers, and if so we shall find him there. He, at all events, is not likely to do us any harm, if, as is generally supposed, he wishes to be friends with the English. I know that he sometimes holds a sort of court by himself, away from the king, although he is said to have almost as much power in the country as his fat old father,” answered Denis. “I’ll try and find out from our guards.”
When Denis, however, put the question to the Zulus, they, not understanding, or not wishing to give him information, made him no answer.
“Never fear, it will be all right,” said Denis. “When Cetchwayo finds that we belong to Hendricks, whom he knows well, he will set us at liberty, and soundly rate our captors for carrying us off.”
They were still, however, left in doubt as to how they were to be treated. The chiefs on horseback proceeded down the hill, and directed their course towards one end of the valley, where a large hut had been put up, before which was seated a tall, rather stout personage, with several chiefs standing near him.
“That must be Cetchwayo,” said Denis, pointing him out to Percy. “I never saw the black prince, but he answers his description.”
On reaching the neighbourhood of the hut, the chiefs dismounted, and giving their horses to some attendants, advanced on foot. After going through the usual ceremonies, they stood on one side, and their leader making a sign to his followers to come forward with their prisoners, the prince cast a frowning glance at them; perhaps it was habitual to his countenance.
“Can either of you speak the Zulu tongue?” he inquired in a gruff voice.
“I can,” answered Denis in the same language, stepping forward. “What does the Prince require of us?”
“To whom do you belong?” was the next question.