“With Mameena it is otherwise,” went on the messenger, “for as soon as she was brought here with Zikali the Little and Wise, with whom, it seems, she has been sheltering, and learned that you, Macumazahn, were at the kraal, she asked leave to see you—­”

“And is it granted?” I broke in hurriedly, for I did not at all wish for a private interview with Mameena.

“Nay, have no fear, Inkoosi,” replied the messenger with a smile; “it is refused, because the King said that if once she saw you she would bewitch you and bring trouble on you, as she does on all men.  It is for this reason that she is guarded by women only, no man being allowed to go near to her, for on women her witcheries will not bite.  Still, they say that she is merry, and laughs and sings a great deal, declaring that her life has been dull up at old Zikali’s, and that now she is going to a place as gay as the veld in spring, after the first warm rain, where there will be plenty of men to quarrel for her and make her great and happy.  That is what she says, the witch who knows perhaps what the Place of Spirits is like.”

Then, as I made no remarks or suggestions, the messenger departed, saying that he would return on the morrow to lead me to the place of trial.

Next morning, after the cows had been milked and the cattle loosed from their kraals, he came accordingly, with a guard of about thirty men, all of them soldiers who had survived the great fight of the Amawombe.  These warriors, some of whom had wounds that were scarcely healed, saluted me with loud cries of “Inkoosi!” and “Baba” as I stepped out of the wagon, where I had spent a wretched night of unpleasant anticipation, showing me that there were at least some Zulus with whom I remained popular.  Indeed, their delight at seeing me, whom they looked upon as a comrade and one of the few survivors of the great adventure, was quite touching.  As we went, which we did slowly, their captain told me of their fears that I had been killed with the others, and how rejoiced they were when they learned that I was safe.  He told me also that, after the third regiment had attacked them and broken up their ring, a small body of them, from eighty to a hundred only, managed to cut a way through and escape, running, not towards the Tugela, where so many thousands had perished, but up to Nodwengu, where they reported themselves to Panda as the only survivors of the Amawombe.

“And are you safe now?” I asked of the captain.

“Oh, yes,” he answered.  “You see, we were the King’s men, not Umbelazi’s, so Cetewayo bears us no grudge.  Indeed, he is obliged to us, because we gave the Usutu their stomachs full of good fighting, which is more than did those cows of Umbelazi’s.  It is towards Saduko that he bears a grudge, for you know, my father, one should never pull a drowning man out of the stream—­which is what Saduko did, for had it not been for his treachery, Cetewayo would have sunk beneath the water of Death—­especially if it is only to spite a woman who hates him.  Still, perhaps Saduko will escape with his life, because he is Nandie’s husband, and Cetewayo fears Nandie, his sister, if he does not love her.  But here we are, and those who have to watch the sky all day will be able to tell of the evening weather” (in other words, those who live will learn).