Finished by H. Rider Haggard (summer beach reads txt) 📖

It was the first human touch I had seen about her, and I was glad to have found a weak spot in her armour. Moreover, from that moment she was always my friend.

“As you will, Nombé. Now for your message.”

“My Lords the Spirits, speaking through Zikali as one who makes music speak through a pipe of reeds, say—”

“Never mind what the spirits say. Tell me what Zikali says,” I interrupted.

“So be it, Macumazahn. These are the words of Zikali: ‘O Watcher-by-Night, the time draws on when the Thing-who-should-never-have-been-born will be as though he never had been born, whereat he rejoices. But first there is much for him to do, and as he told you nearly three hundred moons ago, in what must be done you will have your part. Of that he will speak to you afterwards. Macumazahn, you dreamed a dream, did you not, lying asleep in the house that was built of white stone which now is black with fire? I, Zikali, sent you that dream through the arts of a child of mine who is named Nombé, she to whom I have given a Spirit to guide her feet. You did well to follow it, Macumazahn, for had you tried the other path, which would have led you back to the towns of the white men, you and those with you must have been killed, how it does not matter. Now by the mouth of Nombé I say to you, do not follow the thought that is in your mind as she speaks to you and go to Natal, since if you do so, you and those with you will come to much shame and trouble that to you would be worse than death, over the matter of the killing of a certain white doctor in a swamp where grow yellow-wood trees. For there in Natal you will be taken, all of you, and sent back to the Transvaal to be tried before a man who wears upon his head horse’s hair stained white. But if you come to Zululand this shadow shall pass away from you, since great things are about to happen which will cause so small a matter to be forgot. Moreover, I Zikali, who do not lie, promise this: That however great may be their dangers here in Zululand, those half-fledged ones whom you, the old night-hawk, cover with your wings, shall in the end suffer no harm; those of whom I spoke to you in your dream, the white lord, Mauriti, and the white lady, Heddana, who stretch out their arms one to another. I wait to welcome you, here at the Black Kloof, whither my daughter Nombé will guide you. Cetewayo, the king, also will welcome you, and so will another whose name I do not utter. Now choose. I have spoken.’”

Having delivered her message Nombé stood quite still, smiling as before, and apparently indifferent as to its effect.

“How do I know that you come from Zikali?” I asked. “You may be but the bait set upon a trap.”

From somewhere within her robe she produced a knife and handed it to me, remarking—

“The Master says you will remember this, and by it know that the message comes from him. He bade me add that with it was carved a certain image that once he gave to you at Panda’s kraal, wrapped round with a woman’s hair, which image you still have.”

I looked at the knife and did remember it, for it was one of those of Swedish make with a wooden handle, the first that I had ever seen in Africa. I had made a present of it to Zikali when I returned to Zululand before the war between the Princes. The image, too, I still possessed. It was that of the woman called Mameena who brought about the war, and the wrapping which covered it was of the hair that once grew upon her head.

“The words are Zikali’s,” I said, returning her the knife, “but why do you call yourself the child of one who is too old to be a father?”

“The Master says that my great-grandmother was his daughter and that therefore I am his child. Now, Macumazahn, I go to eat with my people, for I have servants with me. Then I must speak with the Swazi king, for whom I also have a message, which I cannot do at present because he is still drunk with the white man’s liquor. After that I shall be ready to return with you to Zululand.”

“I never said that I was going to Zululand, Nombé.”

“Yet your heart has gone there already, Macumazahn, and you must follow your heart. Does not the image which was carved with the knife you gave, hold a white heart in its hand, and although it seems to be but a bit of Umzimbeete wood, is it not alive and bewitched, which perhaps is why you could never make up your mind to burn it, Macumazahn?”

“I wish I had,” I replied angrily; but having thrown this last spear, with a flash of her unholy eyes Nombé had turned and gone.

A clever woman and thoroughly coached, thought I. Well, Zikali was never one to suffer fools, and doubtless she is another of the pawns whom he uses on his board of policy. Oh! she, or rather he was right; my heart was in Zululand, though not in the way he thought, and I longed to see the end of that great game played by a wizard against a despot and his hosts.

So we went to Zululand because after talking it over we all came to the conclusion that this was the best thing to do, especially as there we seemed to be sure of a welcome. For later in the day Nombé repeated to Anscombe and Heda the invitation which she had delivered to me, assuring them also that in Zululand they would come to no harm.

It was curious to watch the meeting between Heda and Nombé. The doctoress appeared just as we had risen from breakfast, and Heda, turning round, came face to face with her.

“Is this your witch, Mr. Quatermain?” she asked me in her vivacious way. “Why, she is different from what I expected, quite good-looking and, yes, impressive. I am not sure that she does not frighten me a little.”

“What does the Inkosikaasi (i.e., the chieftainess) say concerning me, Macumazahn?” asked Nombé.

“Only what I said, that you are young who she thought would be old, and pretty who she thought would be ugly.”

“To grow old we must first be young, Macumazahn, and in due season all of us will become ugly, even the Inkosikaasi. But I thought she said also that she feared me.”

“Do you know English, Nombé?”

“Nay, but I know how to read eyes, and the Inkosikaasi has eyes that talk. Tell her that she has no reason to fear me who would be her friend, though I think that she will bring me little luck.”

It was scarcely necessary, so far as Heda was concerned, but I translated, leaving out the last sentence.

“Say to her that I am grateful who have few friends, and that I will fear her no more,” said Heda.

Again I translated, whereon Nombé stretched out her hand, saying—

“Let her not scorn to take it, it is clean. It has brought no man to his death—” Here she looked at Heda meaningly. “Moreover, though she is white and I am black, I like herself am of high blood and come of a race of warriors who did nothing small, and lastly, we are of an age, and if she is beautiful, I am wise and have gifts great as her own.”

Once more I interpreted for the benefit of Anscombe, for Heda understood Zulu well enough, although she had pretended not to do so, after which the two shook hands, to Anscombe’s amusement and my wonder. For I felt this scene to be strained and one that hid, or presaged, something I did not comprehend.

“This is the Chief she loves?” said Nombé to me, studying Anscombe with her steady eyes after Heda had gone. “Well, he is no common man and brave, if idle; one, too, who may grow tall in the world, should he live, when he has learned to think. But, Macumazahn, if she met you both at the same time why did she not choose you?”

“Just now you said you were wise, Nombé,” I replied laughing, “but now I see that, like most of your trade, you are but a vain boaster. Is there a hat upon my head that you cannot see the colour of my hair, and is it natural that youth should turn to age?”

“Sometimes if the mind is old, Macumazahn, which is why I love the Spirits only who are more ancient than the mountains, and with them Zikali their servant, who was young before the Zulus were a people, or so he says, and still year by year gathers wisdom as the bee gathers honey. Inspan your horses, Macumazahn, for I have done my business and am ready to start.”