The encircling Matabele stood silent, and still as statues carved from black marble. There seemed to be thousands upon thousands of them, though common sense told Robyn that it was merely a trick of her heated imagination and the poor light. A hundred, at the most two hundred, she decided.
Beside her Juba whispered, 'We are safe, Nomusa. We are beyond the Burnt Land, beyond the border of my people. They will not kill us.'
Robyn wished she was as confident, and she shivered briefly, not merely from the dawn chill. See, Nomusa, Juba insisted.
'The baggage boys are with them, and many of the amadoda carry their isibamu (firearms). If they intended to fight, they would not so burden themselves.'
Robyn saw that the girl was right, some of the warriors had rusty trade muskets slung upon their shoulders, and she remembered from her grandfather's writings that whenever the Matabele intended serious fighting they handed their muskets, which they neither trusted nor used with any accuracy, to the baggage boys and relied entirely upon the weapon that their ancestors had forged and perfected, the assegai of Chaka. Zulu. The baggage boys carry trade goods, they are a trading party, Juba whispered. The baggage boys were the young apprentice warriors, and beyond the ranks of fighting men they were still in column. As soon as Robyn recognized the boxes and bundles that the baggage boys carried balanced on their heads, her last qualms faded to be replaced by anger.
They were traders, that she was sure of now, and returning along the road from the east there was little doubt in Robyn's mind as to what they had traded for these paltry wares. Slavers! ' she snapped. 'In God's name and mercy, these are the slavers we seek, returning from their filthy business. Juba, go and hide immediately, she ordered, Then, with her Sharps rifle tucked under her arm, she stepped out through the opening in the wall of Thorn bush, and the nearest warriors in the circle lowered their shields a little and stared at her curiously. This small change in attitude confirmed Juba's guess, their intentions were not warlike. Where is your Induna? ' Robyn called, her voice sharp with her anger, and now their curiosity gave way to astonishment, Their ranks swayed and rustled, until a man came from amongst them, one of the most impressive men she had ever laid eyes upon.
There was no mistaking his nobility of bearing, the arrogance and pride of a warrior tried in battle and covered in honours. He stopped before her and when he spoke his voice was low and calm. He did not have to raise it to be heard. Where is your husband, white woman? ' he asked.
'Or your father? II speak for myself, and all my peopleBut you are a woman, the tall Induna contradicted her. And you are a slaver, Robyn flared at him, 'a dealer in women and children The warrior stared at her for a moment, then lifted his chin and laughed, it was a low clear musical sound. Not only a woman, he laughed, 'but an insolent one also.'
He shifted his shield on to his shoulder and strode past her. He was so tall that Robyn had to Ifft her chin to look up at him. He moved with a sinuous balance and assurance of carriage. The muscles in his back shone as though they were covered in black velvet, the tall plumes of his headdress nodded and the war rattles on his ankles whispered with each pace.
Swiftly he moved through the gap in the thorn hedge and at Robyn's gesture the Hottentot Corporal lifted the point of his bayonet into the 'present' position and stepped back to let the Induna pass.
With a sweeping gaze the Induna took in the condition of the camp and laughed again. Your bearers have run, he said. 'Those Mashona jackals can smell a real man a day's march away Robyn had followed him into the camp and now she demanded with anger that was not feigned, By what right do you enter my kraal and terrify my people!
The Induna turned back to her. I am the King's man, he said. 'On the King's business. ' As though that was all the explanation that was necessary.
Gandang, the Induna, was a son of Mzilikazi, the King and Paramount Chief of the Matabele and all the subservient tribes.
His mother was of pure Zanzi blood, the old pure blood of the south, but she was a junior wife and as such, Gandang would never aspire to his father's estate.
However, he was one of his father's favourites. Mzilikazi, who mistrusted nearly all of his sons, and most of his hundreds of wives, trusted this son, not only because he was beautiful and clever and a warrior without fear, but because he lived in strict accordance with the law and custom of his people, and because of his unquestioned and oft-proven loyalty to his father and his King.
For this and for his deeds, he was covered in honours to which the ox-tail tassels on his arms and his legs bore witness. At four and twenty summers, he was the youngest indoda ever to be granted the head-ring of the Induna and a place on the high council of the nation, where his voice was listened to with serious attention even by the old grey pates.
The ageing King, crippled with gout, turned more and more towards this tall and straight young man when there was a difficult task, or a bitter battle in the offing.
So when Mzilikazi learned of the treachery of one of his Indunas, a man who commanded the border guards of the south and eastern strip of the Burnt Land, he had not hesitated before summoning Gandang, the trusted son. Bopa, son of Bakweg, is a traitor.'
It was a mark of Gandang's favour that his father condescended to explain his orders as he issued them. At first, as he was ordered, he slew those who trespassed in the Burnt Land, then he grew greedy. Instead of killing, he took them as cattle and sold them in the east to the Putukezi (Portuguese) and the Sulumani (Arabs) and sent word to me that they were dead. ' The old King shifted his swollen and painful joints and took snuff, before going on, Then because Bopa was a greedy man, and the men with whom he deals are greedy also, he began to seek other cattle to trade. On his own account, and secretly, he began to raid the tribes beyond the Burnt Land Gandang, kneeling before his father, had hissed with astonishment. It was contrary to law and custom, for the tribes of the Mashona beyond the Burnt Land were the King's 'cattle', to be raided only at the King's direction.
For another to usurp the powers and gather the booty that belonged to the King was the worst form of treason.
Yes, my son, the King agreed with Gandang's horror. But his greed was without frontiers. He hungered for the baubles and the trash which the Sulumani brought him, and when this supply of Mashona 'cattle' was not enough, then he turned upon his own people The King was silent and his expression one of deep regret, for though he was a despot with powers that were subject to neither check nor limitation, although his justice and his laws were savage, yet within those laws he was a just man. Bopa sent to me messengers accusing our own people, some of them nobles of Zanzi blood, one of treachery, another of witchcraft, another of stealing from the royal herds, and I sent the messengers back to Bopa ordering him to slay the offenders. But they were not slain. They, and all their people were taken along the road that Bopa had opened to the east. Now their bodies will not be buried in this land
