Shaka the Great (44 page)

“Yes, here was a man who liked things just so, a man who'd beat her and harangue her until she got things just so, suddenly saying that things didn't have to be just so.”

“But there was a guest, Master.”

“Hai, Masipula's nastiness was well-known, remember. Those who came to fetch beer often witnessed him chastising his daughter.
Their
presence didn't stop him.”

“But Nyembezi was different, was he not?”

“Yes, you are right there. For he was a true enemy!” And Nyembezi loathed him with equal vigor.

But that brings the Induna back to the point the Bead Man had made that same day at Nyembezi's kraal, while watched over by Mzilikazi and his men. “If I'd had murder in mind when I came here,” he'd told the Induna, “would I have killed Masipula in such an obvious fashion?”

Looking into the night, the Induna conjures up the scene …

Masipula returns, carrying two gourds.

He pours the beer into each of the serving pots.

To remove any scum or other impurities, he skims the surface
of each with a spoon-like isiketo, made from strips of palm leaf plaited together.

There is a reverence in his actions as, holding the heavy ukhamba with both hands, he passes the pot to Nyembezi. Then he picks up his own ukhamba and lowers himself on to his tree stump.

He takes a deep gulp of the pinkish liquid.

He smacks his lips in pleasure …

In what starts as pleasure, but soon becomes alarm.

He stands up.

He gasps.

He clutches at his throat.

He gags.

Turns. Falls against the wall of the hut, his nails digging into the thatch.

Sags and falls.

“There was still beer in the two gourds, when you arrived?” the Induna had asked Mzilikazi.

“Yes. Nyembezi saw to it that they were not emptied.”

“And one of those gourds contained poison?”

“Yes. One was half empty—and the poison was in that one. We dipped dried lumps of porridge in it and left them out for the birds. Three ate, and three died.”

He smacks his lips …

His eyes bulge.

Putting the pot down, he stands up, confused, bewildered …

He clutches at his throat, making a
ka-ka-ka
noise …

Stands up … Clutches his throat … On his face …

“Fear, Nduna. Horror.”

“Horror?”

“That is not too strong a word. And then he was like a man who's been stabbed, and is now writhing in his own blood—only there was no blood. But I knew immediately this was no illness.”

“And you thought it was the beer?”

“What else could it have been?” asked Nyembezi. “For we hadn't yet eaten. If there was indeed poison, it had to be in the beer. Besides, I was right, was I not, Nduna?”

“And he was,” says the udibi.

He was, agrees the Induna.

And would a murderer have ensured the suspect beer was kept safe until the matter could be more fully investigated?

That was something else to consider and place alongside the Bead Man's observation. For, if he had wanted Masipula dead, he wouldn't have killed him in a way that made himself the chief suspect.

“He need never have gone near the kraal at all, and could have got someone else to kill Masipula.”

The Induna nods.

“And these are Earth matters?” asks the boy.

“Yes, things I heard that began to point to the Bead Man's innocence.”

“But then things changed,” observes the boy.

“Indeed they did,” agrees the Induna.

Nyembezi's calm insistence on his own innocence evaporated after the Induna said he was going to speak to Zikihle next.

“Why?”

“She was there as well. She saw.”

“Yes, she saw her father die a terrible death. And don't say that must have gladdened her heart! For she is not like that. He was still her … For all his cruelty, she still looked upon him as her father.”

“But there
is
that cruelty …”

“Do you think … ?”

“I do not think anything yet, which is why I must speak to her.”

“No!”

“Do not let your distress blind you. See who you are speaking to now.”

“I am sorry, Nduna—Shadow of Shaka—but if you persist in speaking to her, then I will save you the trouble!”

“How so?”

“By confessing. I killed him! I poisoned him and watched him die like the jackal he was. I saw his writhing and his pain, and I laughed. As I will laugh when the King's Slayers come for me.”

“Well, then, this matter is concluded!”

His head bowed, Nyembezi nodded.

“Good. Then my speaking to Zikihle shouldn't cause you—or her—any distress.”

“Nduna, no! You can't!”

“If this is the condemned man's last request, then I cannot grant it.”

“But …”

Women brew the beer. Then the daughters serve it to guests, after the eldest daughter has taken the first drink from the ukhamba to show them the beer hasn't been poisoned. But not there. Not at that homestead where the dutiful daughter was kept busy by fetching and carrying, cooking and cleaning. Hai, the place was so neat it was hard to believe it was all the work of one person!

But this dutiful daughter wasn't ever allowed to touch the beer.

There were those, Nandi and Pampata among them, who said the years of drudgery had made remarkably little impact on Zikihle's beauty. The Induna thought they were being kind, however. Her face was round and her lips comely (he supposed), but a lifetime of being chastised for the smallest infraction of an insane man's
rules had given her eyes a nervous, flickering quality. If he hadn't known her story, the Induna would have said here was someone with
dishonest
eyes. And that was still a fair assessment when you took her background into account, for doesn't constant and sustained abuse force dishonesty upon the victim? Doesn't a tyrant, who would control every aspect of their lives, force his subjects to become dissemblers?

It probably didn't do her much good—truth, lies, it was all the same to a father who'd decided in advance to find fault and take umbrage—but it was a tendency worth noting.

And her hands and knees were the knees and hands of an old woman; and her shoulders sagged in the way of one who has not only given up hope but who can't remember when last she wished for something other than an end to her misery.

Hai, but there
was
a sudden flaring in her—like a torch being carried through a forest at night; now you see it, now you don't—when Mzilikazi began leading Nyembezi away.

Her eyes lost their nervousness, she stopped fidgeting with her skirt, and seemed to straighten up. “Where is he going? Where are you taking him?”

Seeing the boy's chest rise as he made ready to reprimand Zikihle, to remind her she was talking to the Shadow of Shaka, the Induna lay a calming hand on the udibi's shoulder.

“Please, where are you taking him?”

“There is no longer any need to worry yourself over this affair, for he has admitted he is the one who poisoned your father.”

“
No
, that is not true. He is lying!”