more people than did all my brother’s army, the Isigqosa?  Oh, you are a great man.  Had it not been for the loyalty”—­this word was spoken with just a tinge of sarcasm—­“of Saduko yonder, you would have won the day for Umbelazi.  Well, now that this quarrel is finished, if you will stay with me I will make you general of a whole division of the King’s army, since henceforth I shall have a voice in affairs.”

“You are mistaken, O Son of Panda,” I answered; “the splendour of the Amawombe’s great stand against a multitude is on the name of Maputa, the King’s councillor and the induna of the Black One [Chaka], who is gone.  He lies yonder in his glory,” and I pointed to Maputa’s pierced body.  “I did but fight as a soldier in his ranks.”

“Oh, yes, we know that, we know all that, Macumazahn; and Maputa was a clever monkey in his way, but we know also that you taught him how to jump.  Well, he is dead, and nearly all the Amawombe are dead, and of my three regiments but a handful is left; the vultures have the rest of them.  That is all finished and forgotten, Macumazahn, though by good fortune the spears went wide of you, who doubtless are a magician, since otherwise you and your servant and your horse would not have escaped with a few scratches when everyone else was killed.  But you did escape, as you have done before in Zululand; and now you see here lie certain men who were born of my father.  Yet one is missing—­he against whom I fought, aye, and he whom, although we fought, I loved the best of all of them.  Now, it has been whispered in my ear that you alone know what became of him, and, Macumazahn, I would learn whether he lives or is dead; also, if he is dead, by whose hand he died, who would reward that hand.”

Now, I looked round me, wondering whether I should tell the truth or hold my tongue, and as I looked my eyes met those of Saduko, who, cold and unconcerned, was seated among the captains, but at a little distance from any of them—­a man apart; and I remembered that he and I alone knew the truth of the end of Umbelazi.

Why, I do not know, but it came into my mind that I would keep the secret.  Why should I tell the triumphant Cetewayo that Umbelazi had been driven to die by his own hand; why should I lay bare Saduko’s victory and shame?  All these matters had passed into the court of a different tribunal.  Who was I that I should reveal them or judge the actors of this terrible drama?

“O Cetewayo,” I said, “as it chanced I saw the end of Umbelazi.  No enemy killed him.  He died of a broken heart upon a rock above the river; and for the rest of the story go ask the Tugela into which he fell.”

For a moment Cetewayo hid his eyes with his hand.