“I knew that you were coming, O King, to honour my poor house with a visit,” said Zikali slowly, “and therefore the ox is already killed and the meat will soon be on the fire.  Meanwhile drink a sup of beer, and rest.”

He clapped his hands, whereon Nombe and some servants appeared with pots of beer, of which, after Zikali had tasted it to show that it was not poisoned, the king and his people drank thirstily.  Then it was taken to those outside.

“What is this that my ears hear?” asked Zikali when Nombe and the others had gone, “that the White Dogs are on the spoor of the Black Bull?”

Cetewayo nodded heavily, and answered—­

“My impis were broken to pieces on the plain of Ulundi; the cowards ran from the bullets as children run from bees.  My kraals are burnt and I, the King, with but a faithful remnant fly for my life.  The prophecy of the Black One has come true.  The people of the Zulus are stamped flat beneath the feet of the great White People.”

“I remember that prophecy, O King.  Mopo told it to me within an hour of the death of the Black One when he gave me the little red-handled assegai that he snatched from the Black One’s hand to do the deed.  It makes me almost young again to think of it, although even then I was old,” replied Zikali in a dreamy voice like one who speaks to himself.

Hearing him from under my kaross I bethought me that he had really grown old at last, who for the moment evidently forgot the part which this very assegai had played a few months before in the Vale of Bones.  Well, even the greatest masters make such slips at times when their minds are full of other things.  But if Zikali forgot, Cetewayo and his councillors remembered, as I could see by the look of quick intelligence that flashed from face to face.

“So!  Mopo the murderer, he who vanished from the land after the death of my uncle Dingaan, gave you the little red assegai, did he, Opener of Roads!  And but a few months ago that assegai, which old Sigananda knew again, thrown by the hand of the Inkosazana-y-Zulu, drew blood from my body after the white man, Macumazahn, had severed its shaft with his bullet.  Now tell me, Opener of Roads, how did it pass from your keeping into that of the spirit Nomkubulwana?”

At this question I distinctly saw a shiver shake the frame of Zikali who realized too late the terrible mistake he had made.  Yet as only the great can do, he retrieved and even triumphed over his error.

“Oho-ho!” he laughed, “who am I that I can tell how such things happen?  Do you not know, O King, that the Spirits leave what they will and take what they will, whether it be but a blade of grass, or the life of a man”—­here he looked at Cetewayo—­“or even of a people?  Sometimes they take the shadow and sometimes the substance, since spirit or matter, all is theirs.  As for the little assegai, I lost it years ago.  I remember that the last time I saw it was in the hands of a woman named Mameena to whom I showed it as a strange and bloody thing.  After her death I found that it was gone, so doubtless she took it with her to the Under-world and there gave it to the Queen Nomkubulwana, with whom you may remember this Mameena returned from that Under-world yonder in the Bones.”