Shaka the Great (14 page)

From
The Anatomy of the Zulu Army
by Ian Knight

“You missed the mermaid, my dear colleague; but perhaps, if we sit quietly here, we may see another.”

“I did not,” said McAdam, “I saw the brute out of the quartergalley scuttle; and it was only a manatee.”

Stephen mused for a while, and then he said, “A dugong, surely. The dentition of the dugong is quite distinct from that of the manatee: the manatee, as I recall, has no incisors. Furthermore, the whole breadth of Africa separates their respective realms.”

“Manatee or dugong, 'tis all one,” said McAdam. “As far as my studies are concerned, the brute is of consequence only in that it is
the perfect illustration of the strength, the irresistible strength, of suggestion …”

From
The Mauritius Command
by Patrick O'Brian

The two factions glare at each other over the fire Jakot keeps feeding. The flames create the illusion of a barrier, however, which is better than nothing. Just don't think of the dwindling stock of wood alongside you, although the warriors on the opposite side have their own supply and throw in a log every now and again. It's as if they're using the fire to keep Jakot, Fynn and the others pinned down. Yes—while another group sneaks up behind them! Jakot twists his head. As luck would have it (about the only bit of luck they've had, and only a smidgen at that) they're on the edge of a cliff. But he didn't get a chance to judge how scalable the precipice might be, while it was still light. Thanks to Fynn, he had other things on his mind.

Meddling meddlesome Englishman!

There they were, finally returning to Port Natal where Jakot feels safest, when the cries of a wailing girl attracted Fynn's attention.

The sounds had led them to this spot, where there'd been a young man on the ground. He was just a few seasons older than the girl crouching next to him. His face contorted with pain, he was pressing his hand over a wound in his thigh, while the girl begged and pleaded with the big man standing over them. This individual was clutching an iklwa and was accompanied by a sangoma Jakot recognized as Kholisa. Both of them were facing down a group of eight men all armed with spears.

And there was Fynn striding forward, demanding that Jakot discover the cause of the stand-off.

Before the Swimmer could master his fear, though, Kholisa had hobbled over. “He wants to know what is going on,” he said, motioning toward Fynn. The Englishman had already removed his knapsack and was ministering to the youngster's wound.

“This is so,” said Jakot. “And I apologize for this rude interruption. It
was not of my doing and”—an ingratiating smile—“I am glad at least that you are here.”

“Aiee, but I do not know how long Jembuluka and I can hold their anger in check.”

Jakot eyed the larger group warily. “They want to harm this one who you are trying to protect?”

Kholisa nodded.

What do they say?
asked Fynn, turning his head.

We are still … they are angry at your intrusion, Master. I am still trying to—

What intrusion? They were about to butcher this young fellow.

It, uh, appears as if he is guilty of some sort of wrongdoing.

Well, find out, man, find out …

The young man, whose name was Vala, was accused of murder, explained the sangoma.

Murder, your Excellency,
hissed Jakot.
This is not good.

Indeed it isn't,
said Fynn, examining the bandage he had applied to Vala's thigh.
But it should heal if he doesn't put too much weight on it for a while.
To the maiden clutching Vala's arm:
Don't worry, m'dear, be right as rain before you know it.

Turning to Jakot:
Kindly tell this to the lad, too.

What?!

Ignoring Jakot's tone, Fynn patiently explained that he wanted the Xhosa to warn the young man to favor that leg a while.

But, but, your Excellency,
spluttered the interpreter, tilting his head once, twice, thrice, but not wanting to actually point at the glowering men and their spears.

All in good time, old fellow. And one more thing …

Yes, Excellency.

Don't call me that!

Now, as Jakot prods the flames, Fynn says:
When do you think they'll be back?

The young maiden, who was clearly besotted with Vala, had told them one of Shaka's indunas was in the area. As soon as it was dark, and she'd fetched them food and beer, she went to go and find him. Before that, Kholisa
had slipped away in the opposite direction, explaining the kraal of the prince he served was close by.

Jakot shrugs. He doubts either of them will be back before dawn.

Just as I thought. Do you think our hosts will try anything drastic?

Vala, who's managed to fall asleep between them, groans. Resisting the temptation to ram his elbow into the boy's gut, Jakot shrugs again. Vala stands accused of murdering the kraal head, and therefore the dead man's brothers and sons want to see justice administered here and now. A scuffle had ensued earlier, with Vala being wounded in the thigh before Jembuluka and Kholisa had been able to force the others back.

Jembuluka, who's the dead man's brother-in-law, had urged caution. This was not Shaka's way, he had reminded the others. Ntokozo, he said, was a much respected Uselwa Man, and Shaka was bound to take an interest in the matter. Vala had to be brought before him while still capable of standing on his hind legs.

Restless as they might seem, the others are holding themselves in check, for now.

All the same, Jakot won't be sleeping tonight, and he quietly damns Fynn for constantly wanting to look and see and find out—and interfere!

Long spring grass blurs the rough edges and disguises the fact that the gentle slope is more moor than veld, an eroded badland of dongas and low ridges, drumlins and catsteps. Grumpy, irascible ground, where hidden holes and burrows lie in wait to trip up those who stray from the path. Bisecting this terrain is a narrow trough with steep sides, a crack in the grassland hiding a shallow, fast-flowing stream. At the crossing, the banks fall away and the stream spreads itself out as it races over a slab of slippery rock, before dropping three meters into a pool. Below the pool, the furrow becomes a ravine, then the stream continues on its way through a tunnel of trees. The pool is thus secluded, and it's difficult to see how one might get down there from the crossing.

Standing on the edge of the cascade, the water swirling about his ankles, the Induna notes how the pool has worn away the rock on its left flank, turning the precipice into an overhang. The rim furthest away from the waterfall is made up of huge boulders pressed together like buttocks. Forced into a detour, the stream leaves the pool in what is, to all intents and purposes, the upper left-hand corner. Trees and bushes cluster on the bank here, dense and tightly packed like dancers at a feast. Standing on the path on the other side of the crossing, one can look down on the tops of the trees.

The Induna raises his eyes and traces the course of the stream, this green rope leading to the sea, which is merely a blue band on the horizon, a shade darker than the sky.

One could find where the ravine peters out and then make one's way back to the pool by walking upstream.

He has decided on a quicker way, however. His shield, waterskin and extra spears hidden already, he peers over the waterfall once
more, resting his weight on his right foot. The pool is clear and deep in the center.

He jumps.

A soaring second of suspension, then he hits the water with his knees bent and his arms spread. Straightening his legs, he powers himself upward and sideways.

The water reaches his chest and he has to throw his arms apart and lean forward, using the water to help him regain his balance as he loses his footing on the slippery stones. Then he changes his mind, allows himself to fall and, using his hands, his chin trailing two long catfish whiskers in the water, he walks himself to the flattened rock. Shaped like a ramp, it slopes up and away from the pool.

There's the spear he tossed down …

Raising himself on to his haunches, he reaches for the iklwa and examines the rust-colored stain that covers the center of the rock.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Induna checks the angle. This is where Sebenzi's body was last seen, and it would have been in plain view of anyone standing on top of the waterfall.

The men who found the bodies said they saw Sebenzi lying across the sharp edge of the rock, his backside and thighs rising out of the water. Clearly, after leaping or falling into the pool, he'd managed to drag himself that far before succumbing to his wounds. The men called his name and threw stones, but he remained unmoving. They then turned their attention to the herdboy lying in the grass alongside the path, just before it entered the crossing. He at least was showing some signs of life, and they decided not to waste time climbing down to Sebenzi. Better to carry the herdboy back to the village and see if the inyanga could do anything for him.

As it turned out, the boy was dead by the time they arrived at the umuzi.

“And then you returned to the crossing with more men?” the Induna had asked them.

The warriors shook their heads in unison. “It was dark by the time we reached the village,” said the shorter of the two.

“And Zulus are afraid to travel at night!”

Again the shaking heads, denying the Induna's sarcasm. “That is not why, Shadow of Shaka,” said the short one.

“No, Nduna,” said the other, “and we are not cowards, but we are also unafraid of admitting we'd rather stay in our huts when a man's umkhokha roams the night.”

One by one, the search parties had returned to the village to learn that the missing two had been found, and it was only at dawn the following day that a group of armed men returned to the pool …

Moving out of the water, the Induna squats on the rock. This happened some days ago, but it hasn't rained, and in the narrow strip of mud between the pool and the trees he can see numerous paw prints. He can also see where broken branches and flattened plants create a circular opening in the bush. It's as the men surmised: during the night, hyenas has pulled the body away.

The Induna slides into the water again, rolling on to his back. It's a hot day and the water is cool, and for a moment he allows his thoughts to guide him back to his own kraal—and his wife Kani. How he misses her! How he misses home! And the two are inextricably linked. He chose the site of his kraal with a soldier's eye for seclusion and safety, but it was Kani who added the finishing touches. She has made their home, nestling away from the world in the heart of a ravine, a place of true tranquility. Even with Mgobozi's widows and children living with them, little has changed. In fact, the refuge Kani has created has worked its magic on them, too; with the children, especially, emerging from their sadness over the passing of their father. Now, instead of shattering that tranquility, their laughter makes it all the sweeter.

Kani
, he whispers, tasting her name, her loins.
Kani …

However, he is Isithunzi SikaShaka, the Shadow of Shaka, the King's emissary who is allowed to wear the blue crane feather and who speaks and acts with the Bull Elephant's authority, and there is yet work to be done.

But not here. It's not even worth following those paw prints. After the hyenas had finished with the corpse, scavengers will have moved in to feast on the remains. Even if stripped bare, the bigger
bones would have been plucked from the ground by vultures, then dropped on rocks from on high so the birds could get at the marrow.

And the Induna sees Sebenzi's angry face again, for he himself was very like a vulture, trying to get at the marrow of this matter. Called to the umuzi's ibandla tree, he hadn't even been able to observe the niceties that normally preceded the main business at such meetings. While the village headman looked on helplessly, Sebenzi confronted the Induna, who had been summoned there because more than a month had passed in which the headman and his own indunas had been unable to identify the murderer of Sebenzi's father.

Whereas the unumzane had begun his investigation by asking who might have murdered the father, the Induna preferred to wonder
why
he had been killed. Approaching the problem from this direction, it was clear to him that Sebenzi himself was the likely culprit. Who but the heir stood to benefit most from the father's death?

“You say I killed my own father?” Sebenzi had snarled at the meeting that day. “Hai! Then let Shaka have his cattle, if you think that! I don't care. I would far rather see my father's murderers brought to justice!”

When the Induna asked him who he thought was responsible for his father's death, Sebenzi had muttered something about a dispute between his father and his uncle.

But that dispute, the headman hastened to add, had been over grazing land and had eventually been resolved.

“Is this true?” asked the Induna.

Sebenzi nodded sullenly.

“Then watch your tongue,” warned the headman.

“Yes,” murmured the Induna. “Baseless accusations in this matter are likely to lead to more bloodshed. Shaka will not like that.”

“Master, this is perplexing, is it not?”

Lying on his back in the water, staring at a cloudless blue sky, the Induna smiles. This is not the first time he's heard his udibi's voice. Now old enough to join a regiment, the boy has already left his service, but his presence remains constant and the Induna has
not yet found himself a replacement. He prefers to carry his own waterskin and sleeping mat and food sack these days—not least because traveling alone enables him to converse with the udibi in peace.