It was a mighty struggle, and an awful thing to see.
“Get his axe!” yelled Good; and perhaps our champion heard him.
At any rate, dropping the tolla, he snatched at the axe, which was fastened to Twala’s wrist by a strip of buffalo hide, and still rolling over and over, they fought for it like wild cats, drawing their breath in heavy gasps. Suddenly the hide string burst, and then, with a great effort, Sir Henry freed himself, the weapon remaining in his hand. Another second and he was upon his feet, the red blood streaming from the wound in his face, and so was Twala. Drawing the heavy tolla from his belt, he reeled straight at Curtis and struck him in the breast. The stab came home true and strong, but whoever it was who made that chain armour, he understood his art, for it withstood the steel. Again Twala struck out with a savage yell, and again the sharp knife rebounded, and Sir Henry went staggering back. Once more Twala came on, and as he came our great Englishman gathered himself together, and swinging the big axe round his head with both hands, hit at him with all his force.
There was a shriek of excitement from a thousand throats, and, behold! Twala’s head seemed to spring from his shoulders, and then it fell and came rolling and bounding along the ground towards Ignosi, stopping just at his feet. For a second the corpse stood upright; then with a dull crash it came to the earth, and the gold torque from its neck rolled away across the pavement. As it did so Sir Henry, overpowered by faintness and loss of blood, fell heavily across the body of the dead king.
In a second he was lifted up, and eager hands were pouring water on his face. Another minute, and the grey eyes opened wide.
He was not dead.
Then I, just as the sun sank, stepping to where Twala’s head lay in the dust, unloosed the diamond from the dead brows, and handed it to Ignosi.
“Take it,” I said, “lawful king of the Kukuanas—king by birth and victory.”
Ignosi bound the diadem upon his brows. Then advancing, he placed his foot upon the broad chest of his headless foe and broke out into a chant, or rather a paean of triumph, so beautiful, and yet so utterly savage, that I despair of being able to give an adequate version of his words. Once I heard a scholar with a fine voice read aloud from the Greek poet Homer, and I remember that the sound of the rolling lines seemed to make my blood stand still. Ignosi’s chant, uttered as it was in a language as beautiful and sonorous as the old Greek, produced exactly the same effect on me, although I was exhausted with toil and many emotions.
“Now,” he began, “now our rebellion is swallowed up in victory, and our evildoing is justified by strength.
“In the morning the oppressors arose and stretched themselves; they bound on their harness and made them ready to war.
“They rose up and tossed their spears: the soldiers called to the captains, ‘Come, lead us’—and the captains cried to the king, ‘Direct thou the battle.’
“They laughed in their pride, twenty thousand men, and yet a twenty thousand.
“Their plumes covered the valleys as the plumes of a bird cover her nest; they shook their shields and shouted, yea, they shook their shields in the sunlight; they lusted for battle and were glad.
“They came up against me; their strong ones ran swiftly to slay me; they cried, ‘Ha! ha! he is as one already dead.’
“Then breathed I on them, and my breath was as the breath of a wind, and lo! they were not.
“My lightnings pierced them; I licked up their strength with the lightning of my spears; I shook them to the ground with the thunder of my shoutings.
“They broke—they scattered—they were gone as the mists of the morning.
“They are food for the kites and the foxes, and the place of battle is fat with their blood.
“Where are the mighty ones who rose up in the morning?
“Where are the proud ones who tossed their spears and cried, ‘He is as one already dead’?
“They bow their heads, but not in sleep; they are stretched out, but not in sleep.
“They are forgotten; they have gone into the blackness; they dwell in the dead moons; yea, others shall lead away their wives, and their children shall remember them no more.
“And I—I! the king—like an eagle I have found my eyrie.
“Behold! far have I flown in the night season, yet have I returned to my young at the daybreak.
“Shelter ye under the shadow of my wings, O people, and I will comfort you, and ye shall not be dismayed.
“Now is the good time, the time of spoil.
“Mine are the cattle on the mountains, mine are the virgins in the kraals.
“The winter is overpast with storms, the summer is come with flowers.
“Now Evil shall cover up her face, now Mercy and Gladness shall dwell in the land.
“Rejoice, rejoice, my people!
“Let all the stars rejoice in that this tyranny is trodden down, in that I am the king.”
Ignosi ceased his song, and out of the gathering gloom came back the deep reply—
“Thou art the king!”
Thus was my prophecy to the herald fulfilled, and within the forty-eight hours Twala’s headless corpse was stiffening at Twala’s gate.
XV
Good Falls Sick
After the fight was ended, Sir Henry and Good were
