Shaka the Great (7 page)

We did these things, listened to the sangomas, appeased the ancestors, but still we lived in fear …

Umandulo, Moon of the New Fields, August 1825

“It is so, it is so. He would have the First Fruits celebrated at Bulawayo, and only at Bulawayo, and the savages from King Jorgi will be there! I would that it were not so, Mama. Aiee! I would that it were not, but it is so.”

To hide her reaction, Mnkabayi turns away from the sangoma and moves out from under the shade of the tree to stand gazing down upon her cattle.

How hideous things have become. This land. These people. Him!

She folds her arms, a big buxom woman who has yet to start showing her age. That's a testament to her large appetite, her immense will, her vast energy, say some. Others whisper
witchcraft
, and she lets them live to spread such rumors, because they breed fear, which is always a useful weapon. Besides, as a member of the royal family she cannot be openly accused; she is beyond the reach of those who purport to sniff out abathakathi.

Ironically, these same whisperings also make her a much sought-after patron among some of those who wouldn't have hesitated to condemn her had her status been more lowly. If she is untouchable, perhaps she will protect them, make them untouchable as well. Hence the oh-so-eager fool who has now taken it upon himself to ruin her afternoon—this limping Kholisa who sees himself as Nobela's heir. And there are others, too. Even more since Shaka ended Nobela's reign of terror.

Mnkabayi allows herself a grin, for even the maddest dog will do the right thing every now and again. Nobela was one of those who'd wanted her dead before she could even suckle her mother's breast. How Mnkabayi loathed that crone! How she loathes them all.

It had to be thus, they said, if Jama was to save himself from the curse of twins. His life was in danger, for supernatural powers were working to crush him. His only recourse now was to kill one of the babies. He had no choice, said his counselors. Because he was king, the ramifications of having twins might affect the whole tribe, they added.

But, in an act of courageous obstinacy, Jama insisted that Mnkabayi—who had left her mother's womb first—and her sister Mmama would both be allowed to live. And anyone who sought to harm them would have to face his wrath.

Mmama had died while still an infant and, although her immediate family treated her just like any other child, Mnkabayi would never forgive the sangomas. But those who seek her protection do have their uses because, for one thing, their followers tell them things.

Mnkabayi's gaze returns to her cattle. How peaceful it all seems. A soft sun, a mild breeze, sweet grass. But, then, the greatest lies are like that, for how else would they be believed?

Having shooed the sangoma away, Ndlela joins her.

Mnkabayi is about fifteen summers older than him, and they were lovers once, when he was still a herdboy and she played the experienced guide who taught him the warm secrets of a woman's body. Seducing herdboys remains one of her favorite pastimes, but there was something about Ndlela, the glimmer of promise, that saw her take an interest in other aspects of his education as well as his advancement, long after she'd found new cubs to pleasure her. Now the age difference doesn't seem so great, and the induna is her most trusted adviser.

“He is mad,” murmurs Ndlela, referring to Shaka.

“Or wise. He is the inkosi, the King, so why shouldn't the Umkhosi, the First Fruits, be about him?”

“But the people—”

“Will do what, Ndlela? Have they risen up yet? No! And why should they? They grow fat, their cattle grow fat, bayede Shaka!”
Hail! Shaka!

“There are many widows, Ma. There are many families who are bereft, many fathers who have no heirs, and mothers without sons. Listen carefully late at night and you will hear their cries! There are many who have tasted the sweet words, swallowed the promises and spat them out. They've found them wanting, not even fit to feed a vulture.”

“But there he has us, too, don't you see?” says Mnkabayi. “There are widows, it is true, but not as many as there might have been.” For has Shaka not had the isicoco ripped off the heads of those who are entitled to wear it? And has he not said marriage makes a man weak, and therefore forbidden his warriors to marry?

“Another calumny,” hisses Ndlela.

The isicoco, or headring, is made by plaiting a fiber around the skull, then smearing it with black gum to harden it, and it is one of the most significant adornments in Zulu society. Only once it is assumed is a male recognized as an indoda, a man, with all the rights and responsibilities of an adult. Before that, no matter what his age, he's regarded as a youth—an insizwa, or hornless ox.

When Shaka came to power, he drafted the men who wore the isicoco and were already married into the Amawombe regiment. Those who wore the headring but had not yet married were forced to remove it, and they became the Ujubingqwana—the Shorn Heads. Not surprisingly, this was the cause of much resentment, as the new king had in effect stripped these men of their adult status.

“Yes,” says Mnkabayi, “he took that away, but he gave them something else in return. He is no fool.”

Let service in the army be the true test of manhood, Shaka had said. And, before anger and resentment were able to gain purchase, becoming a threat to his throne, he sent his regiments off to war, where striving not to die soon took precedence over a mere headring. The fact that Shaka handed his men victory after victory also
helped, for they began to see his definition of manhood offered some very real rewards.

“This is so,” murmurs Ndlela, “yet I am like a man standing by a fire. I can put my hands out and feel the warmth, and thereby know the fire is there without even looking.”

“You are right, Ndlela, there
is
resentment, despite Shaka's successes. And this is where this current peace aids us. It gives them time to sit and think, time to brood about the horrors that followed Nandi's death.”

“Hai! Our Father turned on his own children, but what have they done, Ma?” asks Ndlela. “Nothing!”

Mnkabayi nods.

“He turns men into youths, and they are angry. But they are also not angry, because he makes them men again,” says Ndlela. “His ban on marriage—yes, there's another source of anger! But it's also a weapon, not so? A potent weapon. For see how happy they are when he finally lets one of his regiments marry! The jubilation is louder than the complaints that went before. He makes a mockery of the sangomas, and that makes our people nervous, but they are also pleased to see the sangomas bested.”

The induna shakes his head. “There is this,” he says, twisting his left palm upward; “there is reward. But there is always that,” he adds, curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist. “Are we walking into the wind, we who can see further? Is it not better to count our cattle and hope the coming storm doesn't rob us of everything?”

Mnkabayi smiles. “But there is a lesson hidden within what you say. It lies there like a snake, and it's one Shaka hasn't noticed!”

“Aiee, tell me, Ma! Tell me what it is!”

“Very well, everything you say is true. They glower, then they grin. They mutter, then they sing! That is the lesson, Ndlela: they are fickle! My nephew has won them over, he has pampered and pacified them, made commoners into lords, savages into Zulus, but he can never hold them. He has built his kraal and set up his throne on a morass. It holds for now, but who knows for how much longer?
He calls them his children, but who knows how long before he realizes just how petulant children can be!”

The daughter of Jama, sister of Senzangakhona, lays a hand on her trusted adviser's shoulder. “We cannot sit back and do nothing, for then our people will be obliterated. And if we are to save our people, we must look amongst those who have lost more than they have gained.”

Ndlela sighs, pats his isicoco. Because he is in Mnkabayi's service no one would think of forcing him to remove the headring. Her patronage also means he's one of a select few whose status has enabled him to assume it without being married, for it is unthinkable that one such as he should ever be seen as a youth.

And it's men like this Mnkabayi is now referring to, clan headmen stripped of power and forced to take the title “unumzane,” gentleman, in place of the more traditional “inkosi,” chief, which is now reserved only for Shaka. This includes former favorites of Senzangakhona and his father, and other members of the Zulu nobility who have also seen their privileges severely curbed. Such as Senzangakhona's sons …

Ndlela shuts his eyes as though in pain. They've been through this before. Many times. No matter what path they take, they always end up at the gate of the royal kraal, wondering which of these pampered bulls inside it have what it takes to challenge Shaka. Dingane, Mhlangana, Bakuza, Mpande, Magwaza, Nzibe, Kolekile, Gowujana, Sigwebana, Gqugqu, Mfihlo, Nxojana—who among them has the courage to move against Shaka?

Some of them are still too young, of course. Mpande, for example, is Dingane's udibi, and others haven't even reached puberty. But those who are old enough … these are not the kind of bulls a man would want to build a herd with.

And is it not said that Mduli—the cantankerous uncle who sent Nandi's relatives packing, saying she merely had a stomach-ache when they told him she was pregnant by Senzangakhona, and who was among the first Shaka had put to death when he took the throne—is it not said that he asked to die like a warrior, with an
assegai thrust, and went to join the ancestors praising Shaka's greatness? Is it not related how he had looked into Shaka's eyes and there seen everything that Senzangakhona and his sons lacked?

Today, however, Mnkabayi surprises Ndlela. Today she chuckles and says he is right to look doubtful.

“However …” continues this daughter of Jama and sister of Senzangakhona, who has the status of a queen and to whom Shaka has entrusted the care of his great northernmost war kraal. “However, I have been watching and thinking, and I have changed my mind, for I believe there might indeed be one who is up to the task.”

And to think …

Left alone again to admire her cattle, Mnkabayi allows herself another grin.

How peaceful it all seems. A soft sun, a mild breeze, sweet grass. But, then, the greatest lies are like that …

The kingdom has grown and Shaka has given the Sky People almost complete control over trade in the region.

It hasn't always been so. Acknowledge that fact, at least.

But Mnkabayi's happy to. She will not dissemble and lie. More importantly, she will not seek to delude herself. Not like those graybeards who look back upon a time of drought and death and try to tell us those were good days, better than now—no, she won't do that.

I wanted him. I wanted him to come …

Her uncle Mduli wasn't the only one who spotted his potential. Somehow the spirit of Zulu shone through in Shaka despite her brother's disdain and his rejection of this boy who only wanted to be loved, who couldn't be held responsible for the conniving of his mother—yes, and somehow despite that harridan's influence, the bile she fed him at her breast, the anger she poured into his ear when he was older, the resentment she clothed him in.

Yes, the Bloodline in him kept breeding power, like the lightning strike in the night that sets the flames chewing at the split tree
before spreading to the dry grass … Like the drumbeat that can never be stilled because it's the beat itself that feeds the drummers, keeps them going after their hands have completely worn away and they are left to pound the cowskin with bloodied stumps … Or the trickle conceived deep in the earth, the birth emerging through stone, the stream becoming a river, defying rapids and cataracts, eating away rocks and splitting the ground. And somehow this one has made it to the sea without burning out in a drought or becoming another's tributary …