Shaka the Great (68 page)

“A story like this is like trying to squeeze sand. Some of it always gets out.”

“We will do our best,” says the Induna.

“You will have done that if you find this crippled sangoma. That's all I ask. That's all Shaka asks!”

And to KwaBulawayo she comes …

… with her retinue, of course. As Senzangakhona's sole surviving sister, and a princess who's treated as a queen by Shaka, she'll be one of the most powerful dignitaries present at the First Fruits.

And by the time she's made sure her quarters are to her liking—and set her servants to fix the things that displease her, and has paid her respects to Shaka and Pampata, and visited her other nephews and caught up with Ndlela who arrived a few days before her, and listened to her ladies in waiting—she knows where to find him.

The one she loves above all else.

The one she was forced to relinquish, and who can never know her.

And, as always, when he's close by, she ensures their paths will cross, the banal pleasantries they exchange having to stand in for all the things she wants to tell him.

And when she can't make their paths cross, she'll watch him from afar …

(Working hard to hide her eagerness, but enjoying the giddiness, feeling like a young girl awaiting her suitor—she who has never had any suitors, only clandestine couplings, and off to the impalers for those who betrayed her trust.)

That no one else knows this, except Ndlela, somehow makes the bond between her and him—the one who can never know her—even stronger.

And she can tell herself this, too, as she waits for her nephew. She is doing this for him …

The climb wasn't arduous at all but, at the summit, she allows him to take her arm. She's found it's always good to be thought of as more fragile than one is, especially the older one gets. Although it's scarcely to his credit that he falls for this simple ploy, for looking beyond appearances is an ability that should come naturally to one of the Bloodline. Cha! But she is letting Ndlela's doubts get to her. They taint her beer, making it sour, making herself sour and a little too ready to find fault.

Mnkabayi pats her nephew's hand. “I am pleased you found the time to accompany me.”

“I will always find time for you, Aunt.”

At least he can hide his boredom and be charming, Mnkabayi tells herself. Although that's nowhere near as important as possessing a talent for being manipulated, molded and shaped according to her wishes—which trait she believes this one has in abundance.

“I am sure,” she says, “there are many pleasures more alluring over there than spending time with an aged relative.”

A courtly chuckle. “All those people! I am glad to escape their noise for a while.”

And also the eyes of your brother's spies
, thinks Mnkabayi. She nods in agreement. The Umkhosi seems to get bigger and grander every year. Which is as it should be, thanks to his brother.

“Indeed.”

Who seems to have planted his kingdom in fertile soil, for see how it grows …

A cough. “This is so.”

And, of course, this season some special guests will be present at the climax of the First Fruits …

They have reached the edge of the hill, and KwaBulawayo is merely a smudge in the distance. At their feet is a circle of stones. It is an isiguqo, a kneeling-place, where one can come and commune with the Great Spirit. Hills where these circles are to be found are never pointed at with a finger; only a clenched fist is used. Judging by the flattened grass, this one has seen a lot of use recently, most likely by those seeking some extra protection for their crops. Perhaps they've been made more nervous than usual this year, because Shaka has invited izilwane to attend the Umkhosi … Or is that wishful thinking on her part?

“Tell me,” she says, “have you had much to do with these savages that your brother finds so diverting?”

“Not really.” A shrug. “They bore me.”

“There are some who find their presence annoying.”

“Would you be one of those, my Aunt?” he asks, showing her he might be shrewder than even she realizes.

Hiding her smile with a hand, Mnkabayi lets him think she's wondering how far she can trust him.

“No,” she says drawing the word out, “not quite. Which is to say, I haven't formed an opinion of them yet.”

“I'm not sure what to say, Aunt. They come and go. And especially Mbuyazi,” he adds, referring to Fynn.

“Ah, yes, Mbuyazi. My nephew, your brother, says he has quite domesticated him.”

“He seems to enjoy Mbuyazi's company.”

“But I interrupted you. You were saying how they come and go?”

“Yes, and especially Mbuyazi. Possibly this is why they amuse my brother so. They are so eager to please, so afraid. And they smell.”

“Like all the others,” observes Mnkabayi, meaning the various parties of shipwreck survivors who have traipsed along the coast and then sought Shaka's protection over the years.

“Yes,” agrees her nephew.

“Still, as bedraggled and lost as they might seem, these are not like the others, my boy. To think so would be a grave error.”

“But”—his free hand comes away from his side, to sweep the air—“they smell.”

Mnkabayi chuckles, shakes her head, pats her nephew's knuckles once more. “You say they come and go—” she begins.

“Indeed,” interrupts her nephew.

“But what of their floating kraal?”

“What of it?”

She's been told it disappears for long periods of time.

That is so, agrees her nephew. They go to fetch supplies, and to consult with their King Jorgi.

“That is what makes them different.”

“I still don't understand.”

“They may come and go, as you say, but they remain here among us. It's their floating kraal that goes away.”

They stand for a moment, enjoying the view, the sky and the veld—with KwaBulawayo the join between the two. Her words must sink in. He must understand. The barbarians have asked for, and received, land from Shaka. They are not mere wayfarers forced to remain where they are by circumstances beyond their control. They are not lost, and the sea hasn't eaten their ships and spat them out at Shaka's feet. They have come here to stay, their floating kraal providing a path that still connects them to their tribe.

… and who knows how many more might come down that path, as perilous as it seems to be!

They might be here to trade with the King, but they are also the vanguard: their settlement at Thekwini not the end of the path, but a gateway …

“Your brother claims he can keep them docile and says they will make valuable allies. But do they think they can trust Shaka?”

“That's a strange way of putting it, Aunt, but who knows how they think? They are not like us.”

“It is important, nonetheless. If they do think they can trust Shaka, then his position is strengthened.”

A pause.

“After all, you can see how too much trust might let them lower their guard.”

“Well, my brother has certainly gone out of his way to win that trust.”

“And I would be confident of his success, were it not for the mamba in the hut.”

“Mamba?” he asks, looking around anxiously.

“By mamba I mean the Swimmer, Nephew. You have heard the story going around, haven't you, about Shaka and Dingiswayo? What if the Swimmer takes it back to his white masters?” All know how the Swimmer regularly falls in and out of favor with both groups, fleeing to Bulawayo when his former employers threaten to flog him, scurrying back to the bay whenever he's annoyed Shaka. A juicy, tasty story like this one would be just the thing to bargain with, should he need the protection of the White Men at Ethekwini once again.

“Those who know and love your brother will see it for what it is—malicious gossip!” But to izilwane ears it will sound ominous, and they will regard it as a warning. “They too will be wondering whether this king can be trusted to keep his word, and in that story they'll have their answer.”

Mnkabayi pauses a moment. “You know the story I speak of, naturally.”

A neutral shrug from her nephew, followed by a sniff. “I do not really concern myself with gossip.”

“Neither do I, but I'm still surprised you haven't heard it. I had heard it before, a while ago, then it vanished. Now it has returned—possibly because of all these people coming together.”

That's why she's mentioned it. With the story having resurfaced, and spreading further afield than it might have done under normal circumstances, the Swimmer is more likely to hear it, and pass it on.

“But what story is this?” he asks, barely able to hide his impatience.

You have heard of how Dingiswayo recognized Shaka's greatness
(she says).
You have heard how Dingiswayo spoke to my brother, your father, and persuaded him to acknowledge Shaka as his heir. But then Senzangakhona went back on his word! And Dingiswayo sent Shaka and the Izicwe regiment to seize the Zulu throne. All this you have heard. These are among the baubles the praise singers string together to amuse us.

And they tell of the dark day Dingiswayo decided to march on Zwide. Of how Dingiswayo neglected to send word to Shaka, telling him where exactly their forces should meet. Of how Dingiswayo blundered into Zwide's arms while out scouting.

Some say that the king of the Mthetwas was bewitched; that his semen was stolen and delivered to Zwide's medicine men.

Some say Shaka saved the nation by refusing to attack when he heard his mentor had been beheaded by Zwide. The Mthetwas were thrown into confusion by the death of their king, and Zwide's forces were able to eat them up; and Shaka withdrew with a few of Dingiswayo's remaining allies, to bide his time.

This is what they say, and this is what you will have heard.

But …

Aiee, my tongue burns me for uttering these things, repeating these slanders. Would that the earth open and swallow me! But it must be said. It is our duty, as loyal servants of Shaka, to know these things so that we can root out those who spread such lies!

And there are those who say that Dingiswayo offered succor to Shaka and Nandi. That he saw in Shaka the makings of a great warrior. That Shaka became as a son to him. Yet, despite this, he demurred when Shaka begged him to help seize the Zulu throne, because Senzangakhona was one of his most loyal allies. But Shaka persisted, and getting Senzangakhona to acknowledge Shaka as his first-born and heir was Dingiswayo's attempt at a compromise. He wouldn't help Shaka overthrow Senzangakhona, but let his favorite be assured the throne would be his one day soon. Then, of course, after Senzangakhona betrayed him on his deathbed, Dingiswayo had no choice but to help Shaka claim the crown by force.

And, after the throne was his, Shaka set about building up his army. Soon he was eyeing the empire of the man who'd previously been his mentor.
The Zulu kingdom was growing, but it would always remain stunted by the presence of the Mthetwas. And who would ever want to rule as a vassal!

Then Dingiswayo went to war against the Ndwandwes, ordering all his allies to join him. That was the chance Shaka had been waiting for. Even though he loathed Zwide, he sent emissaries to the Ndwandwe capital, to tell Zwide of Dingiswayo's plans …

“He betrayed Dingiswayo?”

“Hush!” Mnkabayi puts a finger to her lips. “That is only what they say.”

“Who?” It's a stupid question that she decides she'll ascribe to shock.

“Those who would malign the King,” she says.

“And they say—”

“—claim—”

“… claim that Shaka betrayed Dingiswayo?”

“Yes, through his emissaries, he told Zwide where and when Dingiswayo could be found. Then he took his own time about joining up with the Mthetwa army.”