Shaka the Great (15 page)

And the boy would be right: this
is
perplexing …

“It is because you thought Sebenzi had murdered his father, is it not, Master?”

Yes, that thought
had
crossed his mind.

“He was as a bird squawking, but doing so in a direction that takes you away from the nest.”

The Induna grins. This is so—but now Sebenzi too has succumbed.

As has his father's fourth—and some would say favorite—wife. She was found on the path that led to the stream where the village collected its water, her head bashed in with a stone.

And, once more, messengers were sent to seek Shaka's help.

And the Induna paid his second visit to the village in as many moons. Only to be told, upon arriving, that two more people had been killed—Sebenzi and a herdboy.

“Your father has been murdered,” the Induna had told Sebenzi, at the end of his previous visit. “There is no doubt about that. You cannot now give me the names of any enemies without your sense of loss leading you to slander. Well and good, patience is therefore required.” The unumzane and his advisers would serve as Shaka's eyes and ears. With a little patience, the killer would reveal himself.

Sebenzi seemed satisfied. He assured the Induna that he'd do nothing rash. But what of his father's umkhokha? An umkhokha needs to be appeased, especially in the case of violent death. Failure to do so will put the deceased's closest relatives at risk, because it is upon them falls the onus for laying the umkhokha to rest.

That was a matter for the village sangoma, said the Induna.

“The rituals won't help if my father's murderer walks free,” said Sebenzi. He was right, but the Induna suggested the very fact that the murderer was being sought should be enough to hold the umkhokha in check.

But this one has proven to be an impatient umkhokha!

He will visit Sizwe on the morrow, decides the Induna. Perhaps the uncle had grown tired of hearing his nephew malign him and moved to silence him. Which doesn't necessarily mean Sizwe is responsible for the death of Sebenzi's father as well.

Sizwe kills Sebenzi and the herdboy—who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—but what about the wife? How does her murder fit into the scheme of things?

Or is it the umkhokha angry, lashing out and killing everyone it feels has wronged it?

A man's umkhokha is not his spirit. It's a force conjured up by violent death—a commingling of violence and death—and one of the things that set men apart from the animals. A cow or buck has no umkhokha. It is because of the umkhokha that a warrior who has killed in battle is considered unclean. In the case of murder or suicide, if the umkhokha is not treated properly—through muthi and cleansing rituals—it will cause other family members to die violently, too.

In this instance, though, the village sangoma has confessed himself at a loss. He's performed the appropriate rituals, but the umkhokha still rampages unchecked. The sangoma is extremely unsettled, for this reflects badly on his capabilities.

The Induna can empathize. His inability to find the one responsible for these murders doesn't say much about his own abilities either!

The headman shakes his head in disbelief. “This … This is the same as how we found his father.”

The Induna issues orders for the men standing around to start pulling away the thatch. It is early morning, and the herdboys have just taken the cattle to pasture—but even if the sun was at its zenith it would still be gloomy inside the hut, and the Induna needs to see what he can.

While his orders are being obeyed, he questions the wife who discovered the body. She was surprised to find her husband awake,
for he was just sitting there, on a stump he used for a stool. It was only when she touched Sizwe, and found his skin cool beneath her fingertips, that she realized he was dead.

That was earlier this morning. What about visitors during the night?

As far as the wife knows, there were none.

The Induna gazes around. It's a small settlement, comprising some seven huts built around a cattlefold, and about a ten-minute walk from the main umuzi. No fence encloses the dwellings, therefore anyone could move fairly easily among the huts after dark.

He turns to one of the dead man's sons. “Ngabe izinja zakhonkotha?”
Did the dogs bark?

“No, Nduna.”

“Was your father expecting any visitors?” Perhaps that's something he would have mentioned to his sons, but not his wives.

“He was expecting you to call on him, Shadow of Shaka.”

As well he might.

“There was something he wanted to tell you.”

“Did he say what?”

“No, Nduna.”

“Can you think what it might have been?”

“No, Master.”

“And your brothers, what say they?”

There are five sons, and each shakes his head when the Induna's gaze falls on him.

“The cattle …” It's the wife who speaks.

“What about the cattle?”

“He was concerned about the cattle.”

“In what way?”

She shrugs. “He seemed annoyed when I took him his supper. Vexed.”

The Induna points his spear at the eldest son. “Know you anything about this?”

“No, Nduna.”

“Well, he
was
in a bad temper,” confirms one of the other sons.

“With one of you?”

“No …”

“He was a man who could not untie a knot,” interrupts the wife.

“We
were
to go and count the cattle today,” adds the eldest son.

“Whose? His?”

“No, his brother's.”

“Why?”

“We do not question our father's motives, Nduna.”

“Very well then, go and fulfill this, his last request. Go count the cattle …”

After the sons have left and he's had the wife sent away, the Induna turns his attention to the body.

Enough thatch has been removed to enable a close examination. Sebenzi's uncle is still balanced on the tree stump. His back leans against the wall and he is held in place by the iklwa that has been thrust through the wall and then through his body, so that the blade emerges just below his ribcage.

And this is how Sebenzi's father was found?

The headman nods. Sebenzi's father had also been stabbed through the wall of the hut.

“By someone standing outside the hut?”

The headman's nod is accompanied by a frown this time. He clearly regards that as an odd question. Of course by someone standing outside the hut! He watches as the Induna steps over the remains of the wall and moves to investigate where the shaft sticks out. This part of the thatch-work has been left intact, and it curves over the body like the back rest of some ornate throne.

The Induna drops to his haunches, examining the strands of dried grass protruding around the assegai shaft.

“I think not,” he murmurs.

“Nduna?” asks the headman.

“No,” says the Induna, standing.

The unumzane looks from him to the shaft, and back at him again.

“Do you not see it?” asks the Induna.

The headman leans forward, squinting, unsure of what he's supposed to see.

“If we are to believe what we see here,” says the Induna, as the headman peers at the broken strands of grass, peeling outward and away from the spear shaft, “then we must say that two men were involved.”

The unumzane straightens. “How so, Nduna?”

The Induna responds with a question of his own. “Who is the strongest man here?”

A burly bearded warrior steps forward. He is one of the deceased's sons-in-law. “Fetch your spear,” says the Induna. After the man has left, the Induna examines the interior of the hut and selects a large pot. He tells one of the other men to place another stump by some portion of the wall that remains intact, and then rests the pot on that stump.

When the big man returns with his spear, the Induna tells him to thrust the blade through the thatch, aiming directly for the pot.

Two things happen. First, the man realizes he cannot force the blade through with a single thrust, because the thatch is too thick. Trying again, he starts by embedding the tip in the thatch, then pushing with all his might, but even then the blade sticks and he has to change his grip to push it all the way through. Which is when the second thing happens: the pot topples over and shatters.

“Can't you see?” says the Induna. With even the strongest man here pushing the blade, the force is not enough to break the pot. The blade merely knocked it over.

This is why at least two men had to be involved. If resting against the wall, Sizwe would have felt someone trying to push something through the thatch behind him long before the blade could be driven home. And even if he was semi-comatose or drunk, chances are the emerging blade would have sent him toppling over, leaving at best only a shallow cut. There had to be someone holding him in place while the accomplice pushed the spear through the wall.

But
… the Induna moves back inside the hut, and pulls the shaft inwards through the thatch …
there need not have been two killers at all.

You have seen? he asks the udibi, in a silent question.

“
Yes, Master.
”

What have you seen?

You have seen that the dried grass around the shaft of the spear that killed Sizwe curls outward, whereas in the Induna's demonstration just now, when the spear was thrust into and through the thatch, it curved inwards. Also, on Sizwe's side, there are tiny fragments of dried grass lying on the dirt at the foot of the wall
outside
the hut; and if the spear had been pushed inwards, those fragments would have been lying only inside the hut.

You have seen there need not have been two killers, after all.

The spear that killed the uncle was first pushed through the thatch from the
inside
of the hut. This was to make an opening. It was then reversed and the shaft thrust in through the wall again. The uncle was then forced backward, and thus made to impale himself!

“But he was not a weak man,” protests the headman, “and no one heard shouts, or any sounds of a struggle.”

“That's because he was probably dead already, or near death. The shock would've been great, for after all he was being attacked by a ghost!”

What the sons have to tell the Induna, when they return, only serves to confirm his suspicions. It's midday and the herders have brought back the cattle. The Induna has them brought to his presence. He asks them one question and, in answer, they offer him three options. He chooses the second because of its close proximity to the place where Sebenzi and the herdboy were murdered.

When the headman hears of the Induna's plans, he says he'll lend the warrior a band of armed men. The Induna declines the offer; instead, if the headman wants to help, he can send a group of men to the other places the herdboys mentioned. He doubts they'll find anything, but it's a way of being certain and of letting the unumzane believe he's played a part in the apprehension of the murderer.

Without the herdboys' directions he would never have found the kloof. It's some kilometers from the village, and past the crossing. Seen from the path, there's no break in the bushes that line the slope. It's only up close that one spots a faint trail disappearing into the tangle; and even that one would miss if one wasn't looking, because there's no outward sign that the trail will actually take one
through
the hillside.

The ravine hidden by the bushes is a narrow passage along which it would just be possible to lead cattle. And then one is standing at the apex of the hidden kloof, which runs eastward, parallel to the distant ocean.

And some thirty head of cattle are grazing here.

And a man is moving among them.

The Induna whistles.

The man's head comes up. He regards the Induna over the back of a brown and white cow.

“It's a hot day,” calls the Induna, “and I am in no mood to chase you.” His voice seems magnified by the surrounding cliffs. “But know this: even if you run, you
will
be caught.”