pinch of powder, or a sprig of herb into one of the large earthenware pots that bubbled over the flames.
The witchdoctor was festooned with the grisly accoutrements of his profession, the dried skins of reptiles, the claws of eagle and leopard, the inflated bladder of a lion, the skull of ape and the teeth of crocodile, small stoppered gourds of potions and powders, the horn of duiker to be used as a blooding cup, and other unidentifiable charms and elixirs.
He was the orchestrator of the entire festival, the most important event in the Matabele calendar, the gathering of the first fruits of the harvest, the blessing of the nation's herds, and the setting of the warlike campaigns which would occupy the amadoda during the coming dry season. Thus the assembled Indunas watched his preparations with attention and awe.
There were thirty or so men in the squatting circle of elders, the senior Indunas of the nation, the King's privy council. The small courtyard was crowded. The tall thatched sloping side of the King's hut towered thirty feet or so above them all, the top of it lost in darkness.
The thatching was skilfully done, with intricate patterns worked into the grass, and before the low doorway stood an armchair of European design and construction.
With a small prick of recognition Zouga realized that this must be the same chair given to the King by his own grandfather Moffat, Tshedi, nearly twenty years before. Bayete!
Mzilikazi, the bull elephant of the Matabele.'
Gandang had coached Zouga in the correct etiquette, the formal greetings and the behaviour which the King would expect.
As Zouga crossed the narrow yard of bare earth, he intoned the King's praise names, not shouting them aloud, not crawling on his kneel; as a subject would have done, for he was an Englishman and an officer of the Queen.
Nevertheless, at a distance of ten feet from the King's chair Zouga squatted down, his own head below the level of the King's, and waited.
The figure in the chair was much smaller than he had expected for a warrior of such fearsome reputation, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Zouga saw that the King's feet and hands were small and delicately shaped, almost feminine, but that his knees were grotesquely swollen and distorted by the gout and arthritis that was attacking them.
The King was an old man now, nobody knew how old, but he had been a fighting warrior at the turn of the century. His once fine muscles had sagged so that his belly bulged out on to his lap, the skin stretched and riven with stria like that of a pregnant woman His head seemed too big for the narrow shoulders, and the neck hardly strong enough to support it, but the eyes which watched Zouga intently from the seams of wrinkles and loose, bagged skin, were black and bright and lively. How is my old friend Tshedi? ' the King asked in a piping high-pitched voice.
Zouga had last seen his maternal grandfather twenty years previously; the only memory that persisted was of a long flowing white beard.
hHe is well and happy, Zouga replied. 'He sends You his greeting and respect.'
The old man in the armchair nodded the big ungainly head contentedly. You may present your gifts, he said, and there was a buzz of comment from the Indunas, and even the witchdoctor at the fire looked up as the ivory tusk was carried in by three of Gandang's warriors, staggering under its weight, and laid before the King's chair.
The witchdoctor clearly resented this interruption of the ritual cleansing and the diversion of interest and attention from himself, and now with two of his assistants to help him he made an officious show of carrying one of the steaming pots from the fire and placing it between the King's feet.
Then he and his assistants raised a large kaross of stitched leopard skins and spread it like a tent over the King and his chair so the steam from the pot was trapped beneath it. Within a minute, there was a paroxysm of gasps and coughing from under the fur blanket, and when at last the witchdoctor removed it, the King was streaming sweat and choking for breath, his eyes inflamed and pouring tears, but any demons had been expelled by the coughing, and impurities washed away by the sweat and tears.
The gathering waited in respectful silence, while the King recovered his breath, and the witchdoctor withdrew to prepare the next potion. With his breath still wheezing and whistling in his throat, Mzilikazi reached into the small chest beside his chair and brought out the sealed package which Zouga had sent him. Speak the words. ' The King handed it to Zouga, demanding that he read the letter.
Although he was illiterate, the King understood clearly the uses of the written word. For twenty years he had corresponded with Zouga's grandfather, who always sent one of his mission students to deliver his letters, to read them to the King, and to record the King's reply.
Zouga stood erect and opened the package. He read aloud, translating from the English as he went along, and adding a few small embellishments to the original text.
When he had finished, there was a respectful silence from the tribal elders, and even the King studied the tall and magnificently attired figure before him with new attention. The firelight danced on the burnished brass buttons and badges of Zouga's dress uniform, the scarlet cloth of his coat seemed to glow like the very flames of the fire.
The witchdoctor would have intervened again, coming forward with a brew of steaming medicine for the King to swallow, but Mzilikazi waved him away irritably.
Knowing that this was the moment when the King's interest was at its zenith, Zouga asked smoothly, 'Does the King see these signs of my Queen? They are her special marks, and every ruler should have such a mark to prove his power and the rocklike nature of his words Zouga turned and beckoned the bearer who knelt in the gateway behind him and the terrified man crawled to Zouga's feet, not daring to look up at the King, and handed to Zouga the small tea caddy that contained the carved ivory seal and the sticks of wax. I have prepared one of these for the King, that his dignity and power may be known to all men Mzilikazi was unable to contain his interest; he craned forward in his chair and called Zouga closer. Kneeling before him, Zouga prepared the wax, melting it on to the lid of the tea caddy with a taper lit from the fire. Then.
he made the impression of the seal upon it, and when it had hardened, handed it up to the King. It is an elephant. ' The King recognized the beast with unconcealed amazement. The great black bull elephant of the Matabele, Zouga agreed. Speak the words. ' The King touched the lettering on the border, and commanded Zouga to translate it. Mzihkazi, Nkosi Nkulu! ' The King clapped his hands with delight, and passed the seal to his senior
