Shaka the Great (43 page)

“Such wisdom, Majesty!”

“Yes, and then, when you are certain they have nothing of value to tell us, you will kill them. As you will kill those who are here already, for you have already ascertained how that land is fallow.”

“That is so, sire.”

“However, this talk of how Zwide was tricked has got me thinking.”

“Ah!”

“So spare a few of them.”

“A few?”

“A modest herd. Have them sent northward. Let them discover the veracity of these whispers we've been hearing. Personally, I do not believe it, for it will take more than old age to rid us of Zwide.”

“And so it did, Sire. It took Shaka.”

“And so, Kobo, we leave the path of stupidity for the perilous passes of pissing off a pissed-off monarch.”

“I only meant, your Ruthlessness, that Shaka's defeat of the Ndwandwes was total. There was no need to hunt down Zwide afterward. He had lost everything, Sire, he was as good as dead. You could even say this way was better, a fate worse than death, because imagine the agonies he must have suffered, as a mighty warlord reduced to leading a band of vagabonds.”

“I'm still not smiling, Kobo, or saying ‘Oh!'”

“Y-yes, I can see that. I mean … what I meant was …”

“What you meant, Kobo, was that Zwide became a spent force after Shaka had finished with him. This I know, Kobo. I am, after all, king, and there's a reason for that. It's because I know things.”

“This is so, Sire. But, if I might humbly point out, you also have many other fine qualities.”

“Kobo—”

“Oh, right. Profuse … No, abject … No … uhm.”

“Are you finished?”

“Uhm, yes, Majesty. Thank you for asking, Majesty.”

“So it is agreed?”

“A-agreed, Sire?”

“That we will send a few Zulu sangomas to see if Zwide really has joined the ancestors. That is all we will ask of them, and when they return we will listen to them very carefully, Kobo, because the thing we really want to know is if the second part of the rumor is true. Are the surviving sons planning a campaign against the Beetle?”

“Ah.”

“Your awe is noted, Kobo. Now … what are you waiting for? Choose your sangomas, then kill the rest. Dumo and his henchmen will be only too happy to help you get rid of this infestation.”

“It will be done, Sire.”

“One more thing, Kobo …”

“Sire?”

“Do try to wait until the first group has left, before you start killing the remaining sangomas. It will only confuse those you have chosen, if they have
to step over the bodies of their brothers and sisters of the Calling on their journey northward. They might even come to doubt any reassurances you might have given them.”

“Master, forgive me … but which pot are we putting together now?”

The Induna grins, hearing an echo of Mgobozi in the udibi's words. Cheeky words but not insolent; the same way the old general will sneak through the King's grumpiness to draw Shaka's attention to an important consideration … or to ask an apposite question.

“We speak of matters of the Earth now, Boy.”

The udibi frowns. “Because … because, even before we began our journey, it was clear there was something wrong.”

A nod of approval from the Induna. “There you have it, Little One.” The story Nandi had told them, the same tale that had sent them on their journey two days ago, had provided a jarring ending. As Nandi had pointed out, the wrong man had been killed.

“Earth questions?” muses the boy.

“Yes, things we can touch and hold, examine and discuss.” It was quite possible things were as they seemed, and the Bead Man had killed Masipula; in which case it was merely a matter of finding out what the rest of the story was. But there was enough strangeness to warrant Nandi asking the Induna to investigate the matter.

“You have asked me how I knew,” continues the Induna. “It can be as simple as that, as simple as realizing there is something wrong, right at the outset.”

Is he stating the obvious? Perhaps, in this instance, yes; but there are other times when one has to look long and hard before one spots an anomaly. Of course, this is often when the distinction between the Earth and Sky blurs. Then one needs to rely on one's instincts, those Sky thoughts that tug at one and whisper that, while everything seems placid, one must look deeper.

But the strange inversion was only the start—the first few words in the alternative narrative the Induna was seeking out.

Nyembezi was about fifty summers old, and almost as tall as the Induna, with the strong thighs that told of a man used to traveling long distances.

“Why did you come here?” asked the Induna, speaking as the Shadow of Shaka, with the blue crane feather in his headband.

Much to the warrior's surprise, the older man essayed a grin. “Clearly you have heard the tale: a battle won but the war lost.”

“He won the battle but lost the war, for it was you that Nomleti loved.”

“This is so.”

“But your victory—if it can even be called that—was sour.”

“This is true, also. I loved her, she loved me, but he was the one her father chose.”

“And Masipula made her suffer.”

“Yes, indeed. I left the district shortly after the lobola negotiations concluded, but my family kept me apprised of how he treated her.”

“In a way he suffered, too.”

“Hai! I cannot think of him without …” The Bead Man paused, grinning again.

“You were about to say … ?”

“I was about to say I cannot think of him without loathing, even though he has now set like the sun. But I see your meaning.”

“She loved you, not him, and he had to live with that.”

“Yes, but don't you see, Nduna? I told Nomleti … The last time I saw her, I told her, pleaded with her, to forget about me and concentrate on being a dutiful wife. And I know she would have tried! But could
he
see that? Could Masipula appreciate that? No! She had to be ground down, and when he was finished with her, it was her daughter's turn.”

“This may be so,” said the Induna, “but you have not answered
my question: why, after all these seasons, did you go and see Masipula?”

A family matter had brought him back to the district, explained Nyembezi. It was the death of an uncle, his mother's brother. He had to oversee the parceling out of the estate. The uncle and his family were the last surviving relatives in the area. As the Bead Man's wealth had grown, he had arranged first for his parents and siblings to come and live with him at his kraal, then the uncles, aunts, cousins and nephews who wanted to join what now amounted to the “family business.” Few demurred—even this uncle. Although he had remained here, he supplied cattle for Nyembezi's many trading expeditions.

“However, this is the first time I have been back here since leaving,” Nyembezi told the Induna.

A day after his arrival, Masipula's daughter brought him a message that her father wanted to see him.

“And that is why I went to see him, Nduna—because he invited me. Let us put aside the past, he said as he greeted me at the entrance to his kraal. After all, he laughed, neither of us were getting any younger! And we had been friends once.”

What did Nyembezi make of such an effusive welcome?

“I wasn't sure, Nduna, and I wasn't ready to lower my guard so soon. But I will tell you this: when he laughed, and said we weren't getting any younger, the sound was like stone sliding across stone. Here is someone unused to laughing, I thought to myself.”

All the same, Nyembezi had put aside his misgivings and allowed himself to be guided to the meeting place in front of the main hut, where there were two tree stumps positioned at opposite ends of a grass mat. Two serving pots had been placed in front of the host's seat and, once Nyembezi had been installed on the other stump, Masipula went to fetch some beer.

“Masipula went for it? Not his daughter?”

“No, he was very proud of his beer, as you must know, and when showing it off, he did the pouring …”

The Induna nodded. Masipula's beer was the source of no small part of his income—men came from all around to barter beads, fruit and vegetables for his brew. And, whether preparing the malt
or serving up the finished product, he'd allow no one else to help him.

“It seemed to be the one set of tasks she was spared,” added Nyembezi, “although …”

“Although?”

“I couldn't help but notice that Zikihle seemed agitated.”

“Agitated?”

“It was such a small thing, Nduna, but she was fretful about the pots. For it seemed one of them had a chip in it.”

Zikihle had at last found the courage to pick up the drinking pot, and it was in her hand as Masipula turned away from the Bead Man. For an instant his mask of bonhomie had then slipped, and Nyembezi was treated to a glimpse of the terror Zikihle had to endure. In fact, Masipula's outburst had been so abusive that Nyembezi momentarily thought he'd misheard Zikihle's stammered explanation, and there was more than just a cracked pot involved.

The tyrant who was tolerated only because of his prowess when it came to brewing beer.

Even here there was a reversal of sorts.

Beer is made from sorghum, with the malt prepared by sewing grain into a sack and allowing it to ukucwilsa, or soak, in a stream. Grain placed in the water in the morning is removed at sunset. If placed in the water at sunset, it must remain in the stream until the following sunset.

Afterward, the grain is put in a large earthen pot called an imbiza, and covered up. After two days in summer (three in winter), the sorghum will have begun to sprout shoots. It is then spread out on a mat, to dry in the sun.

Three days later, it's ready for brewing. The malt is mixed with dry sorghum and water in an imbiza, then removed and crushed on a grinding stone. This creates intlama, a dough-like substance, which is put back into the pot, then covered with water and brought to the boil …

And, among the People Of The Sky, it's women who oversee the constant pouring, boiling and ladling that brewing involves. And they also have to abstain from sexual intercourse for the duration of the process, or else the beer will taste like a thirsty man's piss.

But Masipula did all of this himself, including fetching and pouring beer for his visitors—another task usually left to women.

And, that day, Zikihle noticed something was wrong. But when the dutiful daughter made to put things right, her father shouted at her …

“Hai, it's easy to see how she could have been confused,” says the Induna.

Sitting with his feet together and his chin resting on his knees, the udibi thinks a moment, then nods. “He was shouting at her for trying to do the right thing.”