Shaka the Great (41 page)

“Your question is straightforward,” says the Induna, at last, “but the answer … aiee, the answer isn't so simple. It can never be simple!”

“How so, Master?”

“In a way, your question is both of the Earth and of the Sky. How did I know? I can answer by speaking of the things I thought were wrong, of how I wondered what if this, rather than that, or why not that other thing. I can speak of stories that begin to make less sense the more you listen to them, although for others the repetition only seems to strengthen their belief.”

The Induna points at the boy. “This you know, for we have often stood alone, you and I, listening for another story amid the murmuring; looking for the message hidden in the beadwork, where some patterns are meant only to distract. This you know, and this is the part of your question that's of the Earth. I can point to fragments and footprints, things that make no sense and things that make too much sense, or trivial things missed by others, or lies and contradictions. There can be debate, disagreement.”

The Induna sighs. Scratches his chin. He gazes upward at the stars, before returning his attention to the boy. “And then there is the Sky. And here your question is really about how I knew what I knew. How I knew to follow this spoor instead of that one, to talk to that gogo instead of this maiden … Do you understand?”

A crooked grin. “I'm not sure I do, Master.”

“A pot lies shattered at your feet, and you have to put it back together again before the sun dips behind the mountains. All the pieces are there, but you still have a tough task ahead of you. You still have to try first this shard, then that one. This is the Earth question.”

The Induna reaches for the waterskin and takes a mouthful of water.

“Now let us say many pots lie broken at your feet, but you have to put together only one of them before the sun sets. However, only one of the shattered vessels still has all of its pieces in the pile, and the rest have a fragment or two missing. To build that particular pot again, you have to start working on all the pots … but, because the sun is sinking ever lower, the moment will come when you have to make a guess and choose one pot to continue with, while ignoring the others.”

The Induna scratches his chin. “That is the Sky question,” he says. If you do happen to choose the right pot, you'll be hard pressed to come up with an answer as to how you came to choose that specific one. If you make a habit of always choosing the right pot, then some will call you wise and say you are blessed by the ancestors.

The Induna chuckles, takes another mouthful of water. He hands the sack to the boy. “And I can see you are saying to yourself: all I asked was how he knew! Yet now he speaks of Earth and Sky and broken pots.”

He holds up a hand to pre-empt the udibi's protests. “Well and good, I will answer your question, and think of the Sky another time. Although”—a wry grin—“as you know pots feature prominently in this tale …”

The Induna found her sitting among some of Shaka's newest “sisters,” as the King's concubines are called, overseeing their beadwork. Shaking her head at the efforts of one of the girls, and telling her to start again, she led the Induna away to the shade of some nearby trees. After seeing to it that he was served beer, Nandi allowed herself to be lowered on to a pile of skins under a paperbark acacia. Resting her back against the tree trunk, she accepted a hollowed-out rhino horn from one of her serving girls.

“It is a time of peace,” she said, after taking in a few lungfuls of marijuana—or dagga as it's known in these parts. “One which, like a maiden's sudden acquiescence, we must make the most of, Nduna. For where once our enemies treated us with disdain, now they envy us—and fear us, too.” Smoke snaked out from the corners of the Queen Mother's lips. “And, as you know, that can act as a goad as surely as greed. But I have not summoned you to talk of the future, for we have enough bother in this time of peace.”

A smile. “You are one I can trust, Nduna, and this is why I summoned you. I do not believe he did this deed, but I cannot be certain. If anyone can uncover the truth lurking here, it is you. And if that truth is unpleasant—if everything is exactly as it appears to be—well, then, I know you will not seek to mislead me. And this is why your loyalty can be relied upon. It is not a sham, a boast, or the hut that falls down before the first stern wind.”

Another lungful of dagga. “So,” she said, exhaling, “let us talk about Nyembezi the Bead Man …”

It was less than six months since Shaka had defeated the Ndwandwes, under their brilliant general, Soshangane. First, the King had his people remove themselves from the path of the invaders,
taking with them every item of food they could find. It was harvest time and Soshangane had been hoping to live off the land. Instead, Shaka led him deeper and deeper into a country denuded of sustenance, while Zulu marauders made off with the few head of cattle the Ndwandwe general had brought with him. When Shaka finally attacked, his regiments faced a starving enemy. Then, his force easily defeated, Soshangane was allowed to go free, while the Zulu impis went rampaging through Ndwandwe territory. Zwide eluded them, fleeing north with his sons, but Shaka was able to see Ntombazi punished. Zwide's mother collected the skulls of the chiefs her son had bested, and, when he caught up with her, Shaka ensured her death was painful and prolonged.

Always one unafraid of a risk, the Bead Man had been dealing with the Maputos and Portugiza for a while, gradually accumulating wealth and a reputation for the quality of his wares. Now, with the trade routes firmly under Zulu control, his impis have become like ants, chuckled Nandi.

“I do not believe there's a time when a group of his bearers, usually led by one of his brothers or sons, isn't either going to or returning from the Portugiza settlement.” More often than not the parties pass each other on the road, one herding cattle or carrying ivory to Delagoa Bay, the other bringing back stocks of beads and cloth.

In other words, they were talking about a clever, hard-working, wealthy man known for his honesty. Nandi inhaled. Savored the smoke filling her lungs. Exhaled. “Which is to say he seeks to cheat only the Maputos and their Portugiza masters,” she added.

She handed the horn to one of her servants, and waved the girl away.

“He is a good man,” she said when they were alone again. Yet now, at a homestead in the middle of nowhere, this good man had chosen to kill a fellow Zulu. To protect his goods on the road, yes, but to kill a man in cold blood? That was not the Bead Man's way.

“Or maybe I am wrong,” said Nandi, with a shrug. “And if I am wrong, so be it, but it will be Nyembezi who suffers.”

He is in custody? He has not fled?

“Mzilikazi watches over him,” said Nandi, referring to one of Shaka's favorites.

But they were getting ahead of themselves, she added.

The Induna nodded, inquiring: who was the man Nyembezi was supposed to have killed?

His name was Masipula, said Nandi, and he was known throughout the district as a bitter and twisted recluse. A thief in the night had stolen his happiness away from him, and henceforth no one else was going to experience the smallest iota of joy, if he could help it. His sons couldn't wait to leave home and he treated his daughter like a slave. Although she was regarded as a great beauty, Masipula had discouraged all suitors and now she was deemed too old for marriage, even though her looks had somehow managed to withstand her years of drudgery.

“Or so I have been told,” said Nandi.

“The thief in the night, though …” said the Induna. “That is where their paths first crossed, is it not?”

“As ever, you amaze me, Nduna! But even you will be surprised by what I have to tell you next …”

After leaving the King's mother, he didn't immediately call for the boy or send one of Nandi's servants to fetch him. He had much to mull over and, instead, readied their baggage himself and collected the provisions they'd need, before going to look for his young charge, so that the udibi might have a little more time with Pampata.

The two were by the river, sitting under a tree several meters away from the crossing where the women of the village went to fetch water. Pampata sat with her knees bent and her feet tucked under her thighs, while the boy hovered before her on his heels. In between them, he'd smoothed out a swathe of sand.

Even from a distance, it was easy to see what the boy was up to, and the Induna held back. He knew how much the boy had wanted to show Pampata this trick …

The udibi has placed three striped, pointy shells on the sand before Shaka's Beloved. Each little bigger than a man's bellybutton, they are land-snail shells. It had taken the boy a while to find some that were undamaged and almost identical. In the meantime, the Induna would often come upon him sitting on his heels glowering at three stones placed in a row. The boy's expression was intense as he moved the stones, suggesting this wasn't so much play as practice. As a result, the Induna said nothing, or ignored the boy's embarrassed scramble whenever the need to be on the move forced him to interrupt the udibi's communion with those stones.

He'd soon realized what the boy was up to, and the pride he felt was almost paternal. This was Mgobozi's trick, one whose secret the old general stubbornly refused to share with anyone. And here was the boy patiently trying to work out how it was done, on his own. He didn't quite succeed, but his efforts were duly rewarded by the dismay displayed by Njikiza and the others when he finally performed a variation on the trick for them.

“What is this?” asks Pampata now. “Would you bewitch me?”

Balanced on his toes and gripping his knees, the boy shakes his head.

“Would you trick me, then?”

A nod and a grin.

“Hai!” says Pampata, pushing out her lower lip in a feigned pout. “You would do that to me?”

Another nod, a wider grin.

This time Pampata's “Hai!” is a growl of mock challenge. “Very well, we will see! For you are not the only one who knows some trickery.”

The boy shrugs.

“What must I do?”

The boy holds up a tiny stone and topples sideways.

“Aiee! A drunk frog! That
is
a clever trick,” says Pampata, as the boy sheepishly rights himself.

Deciding it will be better if he rests on his knees, he shows her the stone again. Leaning forward, he lifts the first shell, places the
stone in the center of the impression left by the edges of the shell, and then replaces the shell. Next he swaps the other two shells around. After retrieving the stone, he places it under the shell to his left and swaps the positions of the remaining two.

“And now?” asks Pampata, as he drops the stone into her palm.

With his open hand, the udibi indicates each shell in succession.

“Hai! Now I understand. Inside one of these you have hidden your voice.”

The Induna grins. For some reason known only to the boy himself, he deems a solemn silence and accompanying mummery crucial to the successful performance of this trick.

Patiently the boy points to the stone in Pampata's palm, and then to each of the shells in turn. She knows he wants her to place the stone under one of the shells, then shift the position of the remaining two. She'd already worked that out after the boy was only a few grimaces into his mime-act, but didn't want to spoil his performance. And she, too, is secretly impressed by this variation on Mgobozi's trick.

As she makes to place the stone under one of the shells, the boy holds out his right hand to stop her, then places his left hand over his eyes.

“No,” says Pampata. “How do I know you will not peek? Turn around.”

As the boy scoots around on his toes, Pampata picks up the shell to her right. Then, unaware the Induna is watching, she hesitates and glances at the boy's back. With the sudden vigor of one reaching a decision, she scoops up all of the shells in her right hand. Transferring them to her left hand, she uses her right palm to smooth out the sand. After carefully lining them up again, she places the stone under the shell to her left. And then straightens and thinks about it—and reaches forward again. Retrieving the stone, she places it under the shell to her right.