Shaka the Great (16 page)

The man's hands come away from his sides in a gesture of resignation.

The Induna moves down the shallow declivity. The man will be brought before Shaka, who'll want to hear his incredible tale before handing him over to his impalers. But the Induna has some questions of his own first.

“I know why the uncle had to die,” he says, stopping a few meters away from the man. “He would have realized the cattle were missing sooner or later, for they became his upon the death of the heir. But why the wife?”

The man shrugs. “She was the youngest, and I thought she had shown a willingness …”

“But she refused to come away with you.”

“Yes.”

“And in revealing your feelings to her, you revealed yourself as her husband's murderer.”

“Yes.”

“Hai, could you not wait? These cattle would have been yours some day, and perhaps by then the herd would have grown.”

“My father was threatening to give the herd away, one beast at a time, to his wives,” says Sebenzi.

“As he was entitled to.”

“Yes, but it wasn't generosity—it was to taunt and spite me!”

“So you killed him.”

“Yes, and I do not regret it!”

“But you knew you would be suspected and so, in order to enjoy your inheritance, you arranged to be killed—after you had hidden the cattle here with the help of the herdboy, who would know of secret places like this where one might hide cattle, and who then also had to be silenced.”

“I lay a long time in that pond waiting for those fools to find me.”

“To find you before the hyenas did. Or rather before they sniffed the offal you had with you.”

Sebenzi nods.

“Aiee, it must have pained you to slaughter a cow! But the animal's meat was to be the herdboy's reward for helping you, not so?”

“Yes.”

“Still, it did not go to waste. You used the offal, then lived off the rest.”

Another nod.

“But why did you stay here so long? After all, it is but a short journey to the land of the Pondoes.”

“I was waiting to see what you would do.”

“That was foolish.”

“I realize that now.”

He lies on his back beneath the night sky. Stunned, can't move, can't feel anything. Right now he is simply an aching head. It's as if the dregs of everything he once was have pooled in his skull, stained blood-red by anger.

Woke up angry, woke up fuming.

Woke up ready to be irritated, annoyed, provoked. To kick the day before it kicked him. A seething, roiling rage, because the time is near and that opens the gate to doubt and fear—a puny herd of two, cow and bull, he should be used to it by now, these feelings; he should be able to control them, but the doubt and the fear have intensified as the seasons have passed and the demands on him have grown.

His gourds are always among those chosen by the King, and the more successful he has become, the more “wealthy,” the more they cling to him like ticks, these creatures who think, because they are of the same blood, they are entitled to “share” in some of his success.

Yet none have realized the strain he is under. At the last Umasingana, it had taken him four sleeps—four!—before he had discovered the first gourd he thought worthy of the King (and it had taken him another five days to find three more).

Was the knack leaving him?

Every season the same grim question. Every season the doubt and fear growing more intense …

Perhaps the boy will bring him luck. A surly one, and distrustful. It would be easy to assume—as has that lout Jembuluka—that he is not grateful for having been taken in. But it's not as simple as that, reckons Ntokozo, staring up at the sky. Vala does show definite signs of resentment, but what Jembuluka doesn't understand, what he's too stupid to see, is that the resentment is justified. It's something to be accepted, not an excuse for
harsher treatment, or more severe punishment, as if the boy doesn't bear enough scars already.

Wouldn't resentment become your shadow, too, were you to see your king's power destroyed and your people forced to flee their homeland?

And, with Ntokozo signaling his understanding of that resentment by not constantly chastising the boy, a bond has begun to form between them.

He still disciplines Vala when his chores are not done properly, but he doesn't include, along with the punishment, a remonstration and a reminder of how fortunate the youth should count himself.

This too he feels is strengthening the tie between them.

And he values the boy's silence when they take to the road. Such a change from the wheedling and the backstabbing his sons indulge in, when one of them acts as his udibi.

And taking the boy along with him when the word comes from Bulawayo—that might help. If only because of his enthusiasm. It's one of the few times he can recall seeing Vala's face light up—when he mentioned the possibility of his coming with him to find the gourds for the King.

It's also the only time he can remember the boy asking for something. He'd be happy to accompany his master, he'd said, and he was sure they'd find many gourds for the King—but would he then be permitted to accompany Ntokozo to KwaBulawayo to present them to the King?

Boy,
he had thought before saying he would think about Vala's request
, if we find such an abundance of gourds as you say we will, I'll not only take you to Bulawayo, I'll introduce you to Shaka as our clan's next Uselwa Man!

But his sons and their mothers would … aiee, he doesn't like to think what their reaction will be. Although neither of his eldest have shown an interest in his craft, he reckons they'll suddenly be wailing their bereavement at having been denied the opportunity to follow in their father's footsteps.

But the knack … ?

He's desperate.

And afraid.

Desperate to regain the knack that made finding the “right” gourds so easy in the past. Afraid it's slipping away forever …

And it's not just his family. Too many of the other Uselwa Men are jealous of his reputation, so he won't—and can't—give them the satisfaction of seeing him fail.

Woke up angry, woke up fuming.

Woke up ready to be irritated, annoyed, provoked. To kick the day before it kicked him. And to kick his sons while he was at it!

He usually succeeds in dividing the misery equally between his boys, so that all quail before him, but it stands to reason that the two eldest will inevitably attract a little more ire than the others. Currently it's the oldest son, Vuyile, his wrath stalks.

Lazy, lazy boy! Who takes too much for granted!

Although that's partly his mother's fault. She's fed him grandiose ideas, and now Vuyile acts as if he already wears the leopard skin of the clan head.

Not that the next in line's much better, he decides, recalling the look of triumph on Gudlo's face when he said he was considering making
him
heir.
Don't think I didn't spot that, Boy!

When he's finished with Vuyile, he'll cut Gudlo down to size.

And when he's finished with Gudlo, he'll circle the mountain to fall on Vuyile once more.

And Vuyile's mother.

And Jembuluka, her brother, who is truly well named.

And the others!

Ticks, the lot of them, sucking him dry.

And why can't he
move
?

Must have twisted as he fell, for he's on his back staring at the stars. At the fragment of moon.

On his back, beneath the sky, still too angry to die. How easy he'd made it for them in the end.

A grin.

Didn't think they had it in them.

They are ungrateful, whining cowards, as bitter as bad beer, as insistent in their demands as mosquitoes, as spiteful as some old women. They are never satisfied, always wanting more. He knows how a cow must feel in times of drought, with all those dry mouths tugging at it … But he didn't
think any of them had the courage to go this far, to even contemplate going this far …

Then again, it doesn't take much courage to poison a man.

And he's sure now that's what has happened: he's been poisoned.

But
why?

He and he alone is the source of their wealth, so why kill him?

Who among them is that foolish?

The Induna has breakfasted and is busy gathering together his belongings, when he's summoned by the village headman. Grass mats have been spread under the tree outside of the unumzane's hut and two of his wives are tending to a trembling young girl, trying to feed her milk and porridge. As soon as she sees the Induna, she tries to clamber to her feet, and has to be restrained by the women.

The girl's name is Zusi and she has come seeking the Shadow of Shaka, explains the headman. And, truly, she has a terrible tale to tell. Ntokozo KaLumula, one of the King's most respected Uselwa Men, has been murdered!

“But he's innocent,” shrieks the girl, milk now splattered down her chin and across her bare breasts. “He is not the one who killed my father!”

“Her beloved,” explains the headman, in response to the Induna's quizzical look. “It seems as if he's been blamed for the murder.”

“And he did nothing, Shadow of Shaka,” says Zusi, trying to pull away from the wives. “You have to save him! You have to!”

“She walked here through the night?” asks the Induna.

The headman nods.

The Induna was to have escorted Sebenzi to KwaBulawayo, with an armed guard supplied by the unumzane, but the latter says he'll put his eldest son in charge of the party in the Induna's stead. The boy is ready for the responsibility, and will anyway be with older warriors who'll keep an eye on both him and the prisoner.

He will also tell one of his other sons to accompany the Induna back to the Uselwa Man's kraal. “For this one is tired,” he says, meaning the girl, “and you may require a guide.”

They leave within the hour. At first the girl keeps pace alongside
the warrior, telling him over and over again how Vala could never have committed such a deed. Soon, though, exhaustion causes her to falter, and the Induna lifts her on to his back.

He's glad for a respite from her imprecations, for this is a serious matter, indeed. The King's decision to hold the First Fruits only at KwaBulawayo has caused resentment in some quarters and, given the important role Uselwa Men play in the ceremony, Ntokozo's murder will be seized upon as a sign that Shaka's arrogance has angered the ancestors.

Making matters worse, the King is already uneasy. It is mid-August 1825, the month of The First Fields. Spring is due, but Shaka has yet to hear from Mbilini KaZiwedum, head of the clan responsible for informing the Kingdom when the time is right for the sowing of the seeds. As the days have passed, the King has grown ever more impatient; for the longer the soil remains sullen, the more likely this will be seen as yet another augury of the ancestors' displeasure. And now this …

The King will not be happy.

“Nduna,” whispers the girl, startling the Induna out of his reverie. He thought she had finally managed to fall asleep.

“What is it, child?”

“I am afraid.”

It is just past midday. A breeze bringing with it the scent of the sea teases the grass, which is beginning to turn green. Some oribi graze in the distance, providing a speckling of black tails. Treelines—broom-cluster figs, their stems splayed to carry a dense canopy of gray-green leaves; the pigeonwood with its smooth gray bark and its untidy branches and unkempt leaves; the similar-looking, but taller, white pear, its leaves marked by a yellow central vein—show the passage of streams down to the ocean, although many will simply be narrow folds filled with grass and carry water only in times of heavy rainfall.

Sneaking a glance over her shoulder, to make sure the unumzane's son is several paces behind them and out of hearing, Zusi moves her lips closer to the Induna's ear. “I am afraid, Nduna, because I am to blame.”

“For what?”

Her father had been particularly ill-tempered of late, cruel even …

The Induna stops, turns and lets Zusi slide off his back. Fourteen summers old, she is no child, and heavy, and the Induna is glad of the opportunity to rest.

“And you feel this was your fault?” he asks.

A shrug.

Had Ntokozo found out about her and Vala?

No, no one knew. Except …

“Except?”

“A sangoma, Nduna.” When she was sure Vala was willing to be her isoka, her beloved, and accept her as his isigxebe, his sweetheart, Zusi went to ask a sangoma in a nearby village for a maguqu potion, something to make her father feel even more benevolent toward Vala, and thus open the way for them to reveal their love.

But that's when her father started acting strangely, says Zusi: after she started feeding him the sangoma's muthi mixed in with his porridge.

She went back to the sangoma, who said some of those fed that kind of muthi reacted in this way, and it was testament to how great a struggle it was going to be to get Ntokozo to accept Vala as his daughter's suitor, no matter how kindly disposed he was to him. The sangoma then gave her a stronger batch of muthi, which she was to continue adding to her father's porridge; and a second potion that she was to put in his evening meal on the next night the moon was isilucezu, or in its first quarter. That had been two nights ago. She had obeyed the sangoma—and that was the very night her father died!

“Know this,” says the Induna. “You have come to me seeking my help and I will help you, for I serve Shaka, who is our Father and who will answer his children when they call out to him. I will help you, but I cannot promise I'll be able to save Vala.”