Shaka the Great (46 page)

Thumb smudge of orange against a black background.

A man and a boy.

The man is stretched out, resting on his left elbow, his feet pointed toward the embers.

The boy sits opposite him, resting his chin on his right knee and toying with three snail shells.

African night.

The man lies back, his hands behind his head. Now he can look past the canopy of the tree and see Impambano, Orion's Belt—and Indwendweni, the string of stars to the right of that constellation.

“Nduna!”

The Induna's head comes up with a start. He has dozed off, doesn't know how long for. The boy is fast asleep beneath a cowskin cloak, on the other side of the fire.

It's Shaka who has spoken. He sits on a rock to the Induna's left, and waves a calming hand when the warrior makes to rise.

“It is late,” he says, “so let us dispense with some formalities. Besides, they become of little importance when you consider this meeting shouldn't be possible.”

Noting how the Induna glances at the boy a second time, the King adds that he need not worry, for they will not awaken the udibi.

As Shaka speaks, the Induna realizes he is wearing the muthi of the First Fruits—Imithi Emnyama, muthi of the dead moon, isifile, and ngolu mnyama namhla, the dark day thereafter when human beings are especially vulnerable to evil.

“And, no, you are not dreaming,” says Shaka, as the Induna wonders why his King should be here sitting next to him, wearing Night Muthi out of season.

“At least I don't think so.” Shaka frowns.
“You
may be dreaming, but I know
I'm
not.” A glint of ivory appears between the black and ochre hemispheres of his face, as he smiles. “Although I do not know why I am here.” A shrug. “Then again, maybe I do. Maybe I was guided here to hear you speak of knowledge that is of the Earth, and knowledge that is of the Sky. Or is it knowing?”

The Induna hopes the flicker of a shrug he proffers will manage to convey to the King that—whether it's knowledge or knowing—he is happy with either description.

“And then there's what you said about the little one's trick … hai, do you know that old goat Mgobozi would never even tell
me
the secret of
his
trick?”

Another flicker of a shrug, this one intended to indicate that the King can decide for himself whether the Induna does or doesn't know that.

“But what you said about repetition, and how those who once watched spellbound cease being awed and start looking—that was well put. I know that feeling.”

Shaka regards the Induna a moment, then smiles. And the warrior has to fight not to flinch as the King reaches out to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know that feeling, as I know you are disconcerted. But do not worry! For I too am confused.”

At last the Induna finds his voice. “Confused, Majesty?”

Shaka chuckles. “You? Confused, Majesty?
You?
Indeed I am, Nduna, because you are not dead.”

“Ma … majesty?”

“Dead, Nduna.”

“But I am not …”

“Precisely—which is why I am confused. I have been roaming the night and on occasion I have met and spoken with old friends …”

… but not her, never her …

“… and all have this in common. They have made the Great Journey.”

As she has, yet she eludes him as surely as the White Men!

“Except for you, Nduna.”

The Induna's arm comes up. “You mean”—he indicates the space between them—“we have … You and I, we have … before …”

“Yes, but do not ask me where or when. There is a mist, so I see only glimpses when I return from my wanderings.” As in knowing he spoke to Mgobozi, and knowing that the general told him, or let him see, something important, but being unable to remember what it was.

That reminds him … Mgobozi is still alive tonight. That is, he was still alive when Nandi sent the Induna to help the Bead Man. He must be careful, therefore, of inadvertently revealing to the Induna who he has spoken to. It will not do the warrior any good to know their fate, especially when it comes to Mgobozi.

And Nandi, his mother, she is still alive tonight …

But, before he can dwell on that thought, Shaka finds himself gazing at the sleeping udibi and finds his memory tingling. There is something the boy knows … or will know.

Is that why he's here?

“Majesty?”

Shaka does know this for sure, though. The harder he tries, and the more agitated he becomes, the quicker he is likely to return to Bulawayo. And so he allows the Induna to distract him.

“Yes,” he says, “we should not be talking like this.”

“Because I am not dead?”

“That is so.”

“Then perhaps it is because I am not real, Father.”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

“I merely state the obvious, Father. Something beneath your notice.”

“Hai, Nduna, I said let us dispense with some formalities. Indeed, let us dispense with silly questions, as well. Instead, let us talk. Let me tell you how a king allowed himself to be guided by the Sky—which is to say a sense of knowing he could not explain to his advisers …”

African night, African sky: Impambano, Orion's Belt, and Indwendweni, the string of stars to the right of that constellation. African sounds: grunts and growls out there, lion roar, jackal howl, and the crunching of bones.

“Mother, if you have come to pester me about my Bulawu again …”

“Boy, you know how important it is that you should find your talisman, but that is not why I have come to see you.”

“Everything in its time.”

“Aiee, and it is time your hut was cleaned. Look at this dust! Are your servants blind?”

“I'll attend to it, Mother, although …”

“Yes, yes,
you
might not mind. You might be happy to let those lazy jackals get away with the bare minimum, but you must remember that your people look to you to set an example.”

“My children …” says Shaka with a rueful grin.

“Hai, you're talking to me now, boy. Save such nonsense for your court. Your children! Aiee, if you knew the pain of childbirth and parenthood … well, you wouldn't look so pleased with yourself.”

“But someone once said they look to me to set an example. Is that not how children look to their father?”

“And where would we be if you judged yourself according to your father's shadow?”

“Mother, you wound me!”

“Enough of this flippancy, then. You are their father, and they are your children, well and good—but beware of treating them as children!”

“As always, your wisdom enlightens me. I thank you.”

Nandi raises her hand, and Shaka leans forward with the unconscious indulgence of a son expecting a loving pat on the cheek. Instead he finds his ear tweaked.

“Mother!” he exclaims, stepping sideways, instantly regretting the girlish shriek that carried that word. But he was taken by surprise, after all.

“Sarcasm is something else you can save for the ibandla tree.”

“I did not mean … That was sore!”

“Enough! I have an important matter to discuss.”

“It's always important,” mutters the Bull Elephant.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Remember what I said about sarcasm?”

“I would say I am all ears, Mother, but I am not sure I'd be telling the truth,” says Shaka, gingerly rubbing the left side of his head.

“Ngoza.”

The King's hand comes away from his head. “What of him?”

“The Buffalo is sick. He must be destroyed.”

“What ails him?” asks Shaka, fully aware that Nandi is speaking metaphorically.

“Do not cheek me, boy.”

“But you make it so easy, Mother.”

Nandi raises her hand in a mother's
I'm-warning-you
gesture.

“My apologies, Mother.”

“Cha, only apologize when you mean it.”

“Very well, Mother, but my playfulness is prompted by finding ourselves on the same path this afternoon.”

“Really? Think you that?”

“Well …”

“Think you that—as you swallow Pakatwayo's lies?”

“His lies?”

“His lies. Do you really think you can trust the Qwabes, simply because Qwabe and Zulu were brothers? Look how trustworthy
your
brothers are!”

Shaka has to work hard to hide his grin. If his overtures to Pakatwayo's Qwabes have fooled even his mother …

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

“Hai! Are you blind?” Everyone talks about Dingane, but in
Nandi's opinion it's Mhlangana who needs watching.

“I meant, Mother, what reason do you have to cast aspersions on Pakatwayo's honor?”

“The Bead Man.”

“
Who?
”

“You know him, Thutha!”
Fool!

Yes, he does, agrees Shaka. He merely said “
Who?
” because Nandi seemed to expect some kind of response.

Not deigning to reprimand her son once more, Nandi says Nyembezi has reported to her that Ngoza's ambassadors are courting Pakatwayo as energetically as Shaka has—and with more success, it seems.

“You can trust this Bead Man?”

“Of course! He is a Zulu.”

“Cha! And all my children are loyal!”

Nandi grins. “He also owes me his life.”

“Yes, I remember the affair.”

“Anyway, he would have reported what he heard, regardless, for he is a loyal Zulu.”

“The Qwabes and Ngoza's jackals …”

“Yes, even as our cousins have reassured you of their loyalty, they have been plotting with the Thembus.”

“And there is no chance of intervening?”

“You'd be wasting your time.”

Shaka nods. Even if, at the last moment, he could convince the Qwabes to join him, he'd never be able to trust them.

“You must also see how there can be no quarter given,” adds Nandi.

“Even if they are our cousins,” murmurs Shaka.

“Forget that. They have! Their king crawls before Ngoza, and have any of our cousins come to warn us? They are happy to follow him? Well, then, let them follow him to the grave.”

“Aiee! I thank you, Mother. That Pakatwayo might be untrustworthy and be working to betray me. I had not thought of that.”

“Beware, Bull Elephant, you have two ears and my fingers are strong.”

Shaka holds up a hand in submission. “My apologies, Mother, but I am only jesting.”

“This is no time for flippancy, Boy.”

“I am aware of that. Just as you need to be aware of something else I have in mind.”

“What is that?”

He will continue to court Pakatwayo, and the Qwabe ruler will know nothing of his suspicions.

“Suspicions? I bring you more than suspicions, Boy.”

“Please, Mother, let me finish.”

“Then finish, Boy.”

“That is what I said I wanted to do.”

“Now
you
interrupt
me
! I was about to say: finish but choose your words more carefully!”

“I will, Mother.”

“Then finish, Boy!”

“As I have said, I will continue to flatter Pakatwayo, but I will also be sending emissaries to Ngoza to speak of a possible alliance between Thembu and Zulu.”

“Why?”

Nandi's shocked incredulity is a joy to behold.

Shaka grins, taps his forehead, clutches his crotch. “Because two ears aren't the only things I have.”

Hai, but you would know of Mnkabayi and Ndlela …

At this time Mnkabayi is content to spend most of her time in the nation's northernmost war kraal. Next to KwaBulawayo, it is the Sky People's most important ikhanda. And, of course, that is a testament to her status, and the trust Shaka has placed in her. And his cause is still her cause, and the qualms that surface from time to time are easy to put aside.

It's more often than not Ndlela who brings these potential problems to her. He's probably even more knowledgeable about the intricacies of Zulu lore than Mduli was. And matters such as the isicoco, and Shaka refusing to let his warriors marry, bother him.

Ndlela's conservatism is a trait Mnkabayi finds amusing at times (even endearing, although that's not an adjective that readily springs to mind when thinking of a veteran soldier who has a scar stretching from his hairline, just in front of his right ear, down to his jawbone, where the tip of the blade caught but was bumped free, as well as several smaller scars, like fossilized mopani worms, embedded across his body and thighs). His knowledge is also useful, especially in predicting how people will respond to royal decrees that might be considered controversial.