Shaka the Great (37 page)

Which would be inconvenient for Dingiswayo, at this point, because the bulk of his army was dealing with the Thembus.

Indeed, added Shaka, he and Dingiswayo shared the opinion that these two occurrences were not unrelated: the Thembus ignoring the Zulus in order to probe the Mthetwas' northern border, while Zwide proceeded through Zulu territory to attack Dingiswayo's eastern flank.

Aiee, and all of this made possible by a misunderstanding here among the People Of The Sky!

At any rate, then, these men—these five hundred Izicwes—were a guard of honor and potential reinforcements, and their presence was in no way intended to seem threatening, or an insult to the prowess of the Zulu warriors—who Shaka knew were ever willing to give their lives for their king. The officers of the Zulu impis were to remain in their posts, he said. For he needed their help, the nation needed their help, and they all needed the courage of the men they commanded.

(At this point, Ndlela later told Dingane and the Induna, cheers reverberated across EsiKlebeni's cattlefold.)

These brave warriors would be divided into two units, said Shaka. One would guard the perimeter of the capital, night and day, forming a wall of men against any Ndwandwe units who might let their enthusiasm and desire to spill Zulu blood get the better of Zwide's caution …

And let them not forget the Thembus! Some of them, fearing Dingiswayo's legions and believing the Zulus to be easy pickings, might come this way.

Aiee, said Shaka, momentarily forgetting the faces and shields and spears arrayed before him, he fully intended to see Zwide eat his own entrails, but the Thembus could be even more vicious, therefore he would see them destroyed too …

(Ndlela who, as one of the tribe's most senior indunas, had been standing close to Shaka and thus was one of the few to hear these last words, this aside, had told Mnkabayi and, later, Dingane and the Induna what Shaka had said. What he didn't tell any of them, not even his beloved queen, was the tone Shaka's voice had slipped into, and the strange reaction it had evoked in him. This tall, broad-shouldered young man, who bore the scars of one who had fought in the van of countless attacks, whose legs were those of one who could march all day over the roughest terrain, and whose hands and arms bore the calluses of spear hafts and shield straps, had let his voice fall into the musings of a rich man, wondering whether to move this herd or that herd to better pasture first. In other words, these weren't boasts intended to inspire his men. Had they been, he would surely have raised his voice, bellowed his intentions aloud. Just as the wealthy man had his cattle, he now had the power. So these were things he was going to do, and it was simply a matter of when and where. And, at that moment, Ndlela had the sense of sand spilling down his spine, and a singing in his veins. Not a sound but a color, though.
White
. White, the color of the sky. For everything in the sky is white—white like the inside of Umunka, the Thunder Tree, planted by the Great Spirit himself. And so like a human, for does this tree not bleed red sap when its thorns are broken off? White, the color of lightning and the heavenly herds. White, like the shadows of the shades, the amathongo. Could it really be? Did this singing, this blaze of light, mean that Shaka had the blessing of the ancestors? Was he, in fact, imbued with the power of ezimhlope, the white ones, who stand against the forces of evil? Despite himself, and his preconceptions, Ndlela had begun to feel himself drawn toward this man!)

Pulling himself away from thoughts of the future, Shaka went on to explain that the other contingent of brave Zulu warriors would be broken up into smaller units, and set to patrolling the surrounding countryside. They would be accompanied by officers from the Izicwe legion, so that these men might gain knowledge of the lie of the land. In addition, Izicwe soldiers would be sent to the far-flung villages, to warn the menfolk there to be on guard against Zwide's raiders, and not to venture too far from their umuzis.

And so it could be seen that their powerful ally had not deserted them, even though his own land was being threatened, said Shaka.

Bayede, Dingiswayo! Bayede!

And spears went up as the men echoed Shaka's praises.

Bayede, Dingiswayo! Bayede!

That was how things stood when the Induna brought Dingane back to EsiKlebeni. Senzangakhona's older sons had all been sequestered in the huts at the lower end of the capital, those located on either side of the entrance that led toward the great cattlefold in the center of the settlement.

The princes weren't prisoners, explained Ndlela, amid snorts of derision from Senzangakhona's sons. Shaka, he continued, turning to Dingane, had simply made it known he was aware that it would be a gross breach in etiquette for him to meet his other brothers before he had met Dingane.

“Etiquette?” growled Mhlangana. “Is there an etiquette for usurpers now?”

“You appreciate the wisdom,” murmured Ndlela, ignoring Mhlangana.

Dingane nodded. It was a smart bit of diplomacy, showing the prince some respect since, after Shaka, he was now the eldest of Senzangakhona's sons.

It annoyed Mhlangana no end, however. He and Dingane had different mothers and, to his everlasting chagrin, he was but a few days younger than the Needy One …

Now
there
was a lesson about pride and vanity. For all they knew,
Dingane was going to his death the next day, yet Mhlangana felt slighted! He could scarcely conceal his jealousy, and looked ready to go out and kick his mother to death for allowing him to remain just that little longer in her womb.

Hai, but a brother's resentment was as nothing compared to the discomfort the Induna felt the next day.

Dingane had chosen his friend to act as his attendant when he went to meet Shaka. The Induna regarded the chance to serve—and stand by—the prince in this way as an honor. The discomfort only started when it was time to help Dingane get ready for the meeting itself.

With the crowds beginning to gather in the great cattlefold, Dingane stunned his friend by saying that he would don only the isinene and ibeshu that comprised the Zulu kilt. He would not wear any of the regalia or adornments he was entitled to, as a prince. The feathers, the leopard skin, the necklaces and bracelets were all laid out and ready, but Dingane merely turned his back on the aghast expressions of his friend and his servants.

He remained adamant in the face of their pleas and, with Ngwadi hovering impatiently outside, there was no time to send for Ndlela or someone else who might talk some sense into the Needy One.

The Induna accepted the fact that he and Dingane could very well be walking to their deaths that morning. It wasn't the fear that Dingane's bizarre decision might annoy Shaka that unsettled him, for whether they were to live or die had already been decided. The Induna simply thought a prince should be properly dressed even—and especially—if he was about to face his death.

An induna, too, for that matter.

But Dingane had made up his mind, and reluctantly the Induna signaled for one of the terrified servants to help him undo his amashoba.

“No, no,” said Dingane hastily. The Induna was to remain dressed as he was.

It was a long, long walk from the huts at the entrance to EsiKlebeni up the slight incline of the cattlefold toward the ibandla tree standing just outside the gate that led to the king's compound. On either side stood the men, women and children of the Zulu nation—or at least those who resided at the capital. And since most of the young males were guarding the perimeter fence, or patrolling the surrounding hills, the men gathered were grandfathers or the middle-aged who had performed their stint of carrying spear and shield for their king. They stood in silence behind a rank of Mthetwa soldiers. Even the capital's sangomas remained quiet, although theirs was a seething, chagrined silence. Instead of being allowed to stand up at the top of the cattlefold, near the king's retinue, they had been consigned to the opposite end, so were among the first onlookers that Dingane and the Induna passed.

A long walk under an azure sky and a stern sun, one that tested the endurance of soldier and civilian alike.

A walk of shame for the Induna, wearing the regalia of his rank while the prince wore so little.

The people were edgy enough, and now this! What was Dingane thinking? Any sympathy they might have felt for the prince's (presumed) fate would hardly be ameliorated by what seemed to be churlish, childish behavior—and, worse, an act of defiance that might have dire consequences for all.

The Induna found himself recalling what one old-timer had told him the night before. He had been sent to find himself some food, while Ndlela and Dingane conferred, and had joined the graybeard at a nearby cooking fire. After finishing his meal, he offered the man some snuff and asked him how things had been since Shaka's arrival.

“Aiee, so you were on the road?” said the old-timer.

Perplexed at what seemed an evasion of his question, the Induna nodded.

“You were a wayfarer?”

Again the Induna nodded.

“And when wayfarers meet on the road, we greet each other and share a fire and food. Is that not our way?”

“It is,” said the Induna.

“But there is a need to be wary,” added the graybeard.

“This is so.”

Questions were exchanged, and the answers mulled over. You could expect to be asked to recount your clan history as far back as you could remember, and quizzed on where you were coming from and going to, and the places you had been. It was an understandable precaution, a way of ensuring that strangers were who they claimed to be.

“So, on the road, we are welcoming and we are also wary,” said the graybeard, “and this is how we feel now. Or, rather, this is how I feel—and, see, I have traveled far and wide, have met many wayfarers, shared many campfires, and I have lived to see my sons grow lazy and my daughters-in-law cheeky. But I know many others feel the same way.”

“Wary but welcoming,” murmured the Induna.

The old man nodded and shifted closer. “You remember how things were when Sigujana ruled?”

“But he was king for such a short time.”

“And see how many weeds sprang up in that time. An infestation!”

The graybeard lowered his voice. “But this one, this Shaka …” A coconspirator's pause; asking for encouragement to continue, a nod from the Induna provided that spur. “This Shaka, some say he isn't even Zulu. Isn't even of the Blood.” A quick look around. “I do not believe such stories, of course.”

“Of course! They are silly stories unlikely to fool even a child.”

“There you have it.”

“But you were saying … ?”

The graybeard gripped the Induna's elbow. “We are wayfarers, welcoming but wary, but already this stranger, this fellow wayfarer, has shared with us something most precious in these trying times—order!”

Already Shaka was restoring an order trampled upon during Sigujana's brief reign—and not a moment too soon! For see where Sigujana's decadence had led them. Wasn't Zwide even now eyeing Zulu cattle and Zulu women?