Shaka the Great (23 page)

But there he is himself, Shaka KaSenzangakhona, the Bull Elephant and King of Kings, Sitting Thunder, Defiler and Defier. The sun has yet to drape the shadow of the ibandla tree over Shaka's shoulders,
so one of his servants hovers nearby with a shield, should the King require some shade.

And see who has come before him now! In his late twenties, the Induna is only a few years younger than Shaka, but taller, with broader shoulders and a waist that has yet to swell from the many rewards the King has already bestowed on him. For, as one of Shaka's most valued officers, he has little time to enjoy those rewards. Like most of the other men present, he wears a tasseled kilt and goes barefoot. Cow-tail amashoba are affixed above his elbows and below his knees. His only other adornment is his war necklace, comprising beads and stones interspersed with lion's teeth. The teeth are an indication of his rank, and the other items are relics from the battlefields where he has fought.

“Eshé, Nduna!”

“Eshé, Nkosi!”

“You are well?”

“I am well, Majesty.”

“This I am glad to hear,” says Shaka, “for you have been very busy of late!”

The Induna inclines his head. Because of Vala's wound, it has taken them four days to reach Bulawayo, and Shaka has already dispensed with Sebenzi. In addition, as a matter of course, the Induna had sent one of Mhlangana's men on ahead to inform the King of Ntokozo's death, and last night, immediately upon arriving at the capital, the Induna was summoned to the King's presence. He was relieved to see that Shaka had already digested the fact of Ntokozo's murder and its implications, and therefore listened to his more detailed report calmly. Such was not the case when the King first heard of the Uselwa Man's demise, Mbopa later informed the Induna. Shaka had been in a high dudgeon, seeming at one point to hold Ntokozo responsible for his own slaying. The King's anger is understandable, though. The death of an Uselwa Man, coming so soon after his announcement about the First Fruits, is something he can do without.

“That Ntokozo has been murdered will not matter to those looking for signs indicating the King has lost the support of the ancestors,” explained Mbopa. In addition, the King is now faced with the possibility that someone might be actively trying to sabotage the First Fruits. It's precisely because of these considerations that the King had wanted to hear from his trusted emissary before the public hearing today.

“Let the accused come forward,” says Shaka.

“Bring him,” says Mbopa, signaling to the two soldiers standing a few paces behind the Induna. They are Mhlangana's men and are holding Vala by the elbows. As they take up position alongside the Induna, Shaka raises his hand. Because of his wound, the prisoner may remain standing instead of prostrating himself on his stomach before the Zulu King.

“Do not think I concede this because I favor you,” says Shaka. “Do not see portents of clemency in my words!”

A quick glance at Mbopa, and the prime minister takes over, curtly explaining that the King merely wants to be spared the tedious wait involved in seeing Vala lowered to the ground and then raised.

“Although, Majesty, from what the Nduna has told me, this wound,” Mbopa indicates the grubby remnants of the bandage Fynn had wrapped around the boy's thigh, “is but a paltry scratch.”

“But let us hear from the Nduna himself, Mbopa!”

“Of course, Majesty!”

“Nduna, what say you? Does this man deserve the privilege of being in my presence today?”

“Majesty, I do not believe so!”

“Believe, Nduna?” interjects Mbopa. “This is a serious crime, for the murder of an Uselwa Man cannot be taken lightly.”

“This is so,” says Shaka. The exchange of words is meant for their audience, and intended to be relayed across the isibaya and beyond.

After a brief, almost imperceptible pause to allow the process to begin, and knowing, without needing to see, that fingers are tapping shoulders and heads are turning, the King addresses the Induna. “And it was that?” he inquires. “It was murder?”

“It was murder, Father.”

“Which is to say a human being was responsible?”

“This is so, Majesty.”

“No abathakathi? No sorcery?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Really? For that is what I hear, Nduna.”

He turns to his prime minister. “Is it not amazing, Mbopa, how fleet-footed such tales can be?”

“Amazing, Majesty.”

Shaka turns to his commander-in-chief. “How quickly they spread, eh, Mdlaka?”

“Faster than the fastest Dhlamini,” confirms the general, referring to the Zulu clan from which the King enlists his messengers, since Dhlamini men are noted for their speed and endurance.

“Yes, you are right, although I am reminded of blood-soaked sand, for the way in which these falsehoods seep and spread. They rapidly darken visages and thoughts, and then blot out the truth.”

“Hai, but your children are wise, Father,” says Mbopa. “They know to trust your word!”

“And I have learned to trust the Induna's word in these matters,” says Shaka.

Which is why he is happy with the word “believe,” he tells Mbopa. This
is
a serious matter, yes, a matter of
murder
and, yes, one of his Uselwa Men is the victim, but roll these things up and you have a compelling reason for caution and circumspection.

“It is because I regard this as a serious matter that I expect nothing less than certainty before I mete out a punishment that matches the distress this loss has caused me,” says the King.

But, says Mdlaka, what of the iwisa found in Vala's hut? Was not Ntokozi killed with just such a weapon? And wasn't the heavy, rounded head of this particular iwisa sticky with blood?

All good questions, allows Shaka, but what does the Induna have to say?

He was shown the iwisa, confirms the Induna, and the head did seem to be stained with blood. But the weapon did not belong to
Vala. He might be given a spear if they went hunting, but it would be taken away from him afterward, for he wasn't allowed to keep anything resembling a weapon in his possession.

“But this does not exonerate him, Nduna,” says the general, almost indignantly. “He could have stolen it, once he had decided to kill his benefactor.”

“You are right, General! But I say this, what
does
count in his favor is the fact that he is not so stupid as to hide that weapon in his own hut, after committing the murder.” Briefly, the Induna describes how small and dilapidated the hut was; how it was a storage hut, and Vala wouldn't have been able to stand upright or stretch out fully when he lay down.

“Is this so?” asks Shaka, addressing the prisoner. “Are you cleverer than that?”

Vala remains mute, his head bowed.

“Perhaps he meant to dispose of it later, but didn't get the chance,” suggests Mdlaka.

But he could have thrown it into the bushes near to where he killed Ntokozo, counters the Induna. Why risk returning to his hut with a bloodied weapon?

“This hut?” says Shaka, ignoring the exchange between the Induna and the general. He turns to Mdlaka: “You called Ntokozo the boy's benefactor, but consider a hut like that, where one can't even stretch out after the hard day's work doubtless expected of this fellow, and that says to me there was a very good reason to kill!” And then there are the scars that cover the boy's back. Perhaps in his rage, in his desire for vengeance and freedom, the boy wasn't thinking straight. With his master dead at his feet, perhaps his first instinct had been to flee, and he'd forgotten he still held the iwisa in his hand until he was back cowering in his hut …

“And what of the girl? Perhaps he was merely removing an obstacle to their being together,” says Mbopa.

Zusi had resorted to muthi, points out the Induna.

“Perhaps she grew impatient. Or else he did!”

On their journey to the homestead Zusi had told him she would
have nothing to do with anyone who'd killed her father, says the Induna.

“Aiee, listen carefully to what you are saying, Nduna,” says Mbopa. “That comment of hers suggests to me the matter might have been discussed.”

“Possibly, but she only mentioned it as a sign of how sure she was of Vala's innocence.”

“Hai, but just because she says he didn't do it doesn't mean …”

“You are right, General.”

“It takes more than one sapling to build a hut,” observes Shaka. “I also agree with you, General, but perhaps this is something else to lay alongside the fact that we are expected to believe this one might be so stupid as to kill his master and then hide the murder weapon in his own hut!”

And the iwisa is the only thing that points directly to Vala's guilt, adds the Induna.

“His sullenness aside, you really don't think this one killed my Uselwa Man, do you, Nduna?”

“He passed my test, Majesty.”

“Ah yes,” grins Shaka, “tell us again of this test that had even your own bodyguards scratching their heads in dismay.”

On the third evening of their journey, they had found a suitable place to camp and made a fire to cook their porridge. The Induna had already briefed the soldiers traveling with them, and after the meal he ordered Vala to bring his sleeping mat and accompany him. He led the prisoner over a ridge and down to a plain of long grass. Here, under an acacia tree, one of Mhlangana's men had prepared the makings of a fire, and left a collection of firewood. Using flints taken from a pouch he wore on his waist, the Induna got the fire going, then stood up.

“This is where you will spend the night, and I will fetch you tomorrow,” he told Vala, who in a rare display of emotion showed
himself to be as incredulous as Mhlangana's men had been when the Induna had first outlined this plan.

Unlike them, though, he had not sought to drench the Induna under a cascade of questions. Instead, he simply stood in silence and watched the Induna walk away.

Now, while Shaka looks on, it's Mdlaka and Mbopa who want to know why the Induna had opened the kraal gate and, to all intents and purposes, invited his captive to escape.

It was a test, reiterates the Induna patiently. And Vala was bright enough to realize that fact, just as he was bright enough to understand earlier that flight would be an admission of guilt that would see him hunted down and summarily executed. But he was welcome to try it, and he was being offered a fair chance—let there be no doubt about that. His wound had been troubling him less and less, and he would have been able to put a fair amount of distance between himself and his pursuers, before the Induna came looking for him at sun-up.

Shaka glances first at Mbopa, then at Mdlaka. Does that answer their questions? Both men nod. The merest possibility of getting away would surely have appealed to a guilty man who faced a terrible punishment at the hands of the King's Slayers. “Isn't that so, Nduna?” asks Shaka.

“It is so,” agrees the Induna.

Well, then, says Shaka, what are they going to do with the accused?