The Leopard Hunts in Darkness (56 page)

They were all silent, considering this conundrum.

‘The leopard skin is the prerogative of the house of Kumalo,’ Vusamanzi reminded them. ‘Thus the leopard cub of the prophecy would be a descendant of the royal
house.’

Tungata grunted non-committally.

‘I do not know that you have broken an oath,’ the old man went on, ‘but you have broken the chains with which the Shona bound you.’

‘Eh-heh!’ Tungata nodded, his face closed and impassive.

‘You escaped from Tuti in an
indeki
, flying like an eagle indeed,’ the old man pointed out, and again Tungata nodded, but in English he murmured to Craig, ‘The beauty of
these ancient prophecies is that they can be moulded to fit nearly any circumstance. They gain a little or lose a little with each repetition, depending on the mood and the motives of the seer at
the time.’ Then he reverted smoothly to Sindebele. ‘You are wise, old man, and well versed in magic, but tell us what of the swimming of the fish? I must warn you that I am not able to
swim, and that the only one thing I truly fear is death by drowning. You must seek another fish.’

Vusamanzi wiped the grease off his chin and looked smug.

‘There is something else I must tell you,’ Tungata went on. ‘I have entered Lobengula’s tomb. It is empty. The body of Lobengula has gone. The prophecy has been voided
long, long ago.’

The old magician showed no distress at Tungata’s words. Instead he sat back on his heels and unscrewed the stopper of the snuff-horn that hung around his neck.

‘If you have entered the king’s tomb, then you have broken your oath to defend it intact,’ he pointed out with a wicked twinkle of his eyes. ‘The oath-breaking of the
prophecy – could that be it?’ He did not wait for a reply but poured red snuff into the palm of his hand and drew it up each nostril. He sneezed ecstatically with tears running down his
withered old cheeks.

‘If you broke your oath, Nkosi, it was beyond your powers to prevent it. The spirits of your ancestors drove you to it and you are without blame. But, now let me explain the empty
tomb.’ He paused and then seemed to take off at a tangent. ‘Have either of you heard of a man who lived long ago, a man they called Taka-Taka?’ They both nodded.

‘On the maternal side Taka-Taka was the great-grandfather of Pupho here.’ Tungata nodded at Craig. ‘Taka-Taka was a famous white soldier in the old days of Lobengula. He fought
against the king’s impis, Taka-Taka is the sound that his machine-guns made when the warriors of the Matabele went against him.’

‘Old Sir Ralph Ballantyne,’ Craig agreed. ‘One of Rhodes’ righthand men, and the first prime minister of Rhodesia.’ He changed back into Sindebele. ‘Taka-Taka
lies buried in the Matopos Hills close by the grave of Lodzi, of Cecil Rhodes himself.’

‘That is the one.’ Vusamanzi wiped the snuff from his upper lip, and the tears from his cheeks with his thumb. ‘Taka-Taka, the soldier and the robber of the sacred places of
the tribe. It was he who stole the stone birds from the ruined city of Great Zimbabwe. It was he also that came into these very hills to desecrate the tomb of Lobengula, and to steal the
fire-stones that hold the spirit of the king.’

Now both Craig and Tungata leaned forward attentively. ‘I have read the book that Taka-Taka wrote describing his life—’ old Sir Ralph’s handwritten diaries were part of
Craig’s personal treasure that he had left at King’s Lynn when Peter Fungabera had driven him out. ‘I have read the very words of Taka-Taka, and he does not tell of reaching
Lobengula’s tomb. And what are these fire-stones you speak of?’

The old man held up a restraining hand. ‘You go too swiftly, Pupho,’ he admonished Craig. ‘Let the son of Kumalo explain these mysteries to us. Have you heard of the
fire-stones, Tungata Zebiwe, who was once Samson Kumalo?’

‘I have heard something of them,’ Tungata agreed cautiously. ‘I have heard that there was a huge treasure in diamonds, diamonds collected by Lobengula’s
amadoda
from the white man Lodzi’s mines in the south—’

Craig started to interrupt, but Tungata silenced him. ‘I will explain later,’ he promised, and turned back to the old magician.

‘What you heard is the truth,’ Vusamanzi assured him. ‘There are five beer-pots filled with the fire-stones.’

‘And they were stolen by Sir Ralph, by Taka-Taka?’ Craig anticipated.

Vusamanzi looked severe. ‘You should go to the women’s fire, Pupho, for you chatter like one of them.’

Craig smothered his smile, and sat back suitably chastened while Vusamanzi rearranged his skin cloak before going on.

‘When Lobengula was put to earth and his tomb sealed by his half-brother and loyal induna, a man named Gan-dang—’

‘Who was my great-great-grandfather,’ Tungata murmured.

‘Who was your great-great-grandfather,’ the old man agreed. ‘Gandang placed all the king’s treasures with him in the tomb, and then led the vanquished tribe of Matabele
back. He went back to treat with Lodzi and this man Taka-Taka, and the tribe went in to the white man’s bondage. But one man stayed in these hills, he was a famous magician named Insutsha,
the arrow. He stayed to guard the king’s tomb, and he built a village near the tomb, and took wives and bred sons. Insutsha, the arrow, was my grandfather—’ they made small
movements of surprise, and Vusamanzi looked complacent. ‘Yes, do you see how the spirits work? It is all planned and predestined – the three of us are bound by our history and our
bloodlines, Gandang and Taka-Taka and Insutsha. The spirits have brought us, their descendants, together in their marvellous fashion.’

‘Sally-Anne is right – it’s bloody spooky,’ said Craig, and Vusamanzi frowned at his gauche use of a foreign language.

‘This Taka-Taka, as I have hinted already, was a famous rogue, with a nose like a hyena and an appetite like a vulture.’ Vusamanzi gave this summation with relish and glanced
significantly at Craig.

‘Got it!’ Craig smiled inwardly, but kept a solemn expression.

‘He learned the legend of the five pots of fire-stones, and he went amongst the survivors of Gandang’s impi, the men who had been present at the time of the king’s death, and
he spoke sweet and gentle words and offered gifts of cattle and gold coins – and he found a traitor, a dog of a dog who was not fit to be called Matabele. I will not speak the name of this
piece of offal, but I spit on his unmarked and dishonoured grave.’ Vusamanzi’s spittle hit the embers of the fire with a spluttering hiss.

‘This dog agreed to lead Taka-Taka to the king’s burial place. But before he could do so, there was a great war between the white men, and Taka-Taka went north and fought against the
German induna called Hamba-Hamba, “the one - who - marches - here- and -there- and -is - never -caught”.’

‘Von Lettow-Vorbeck,’ Craig translated, ‘the German commander in East Africa during the 1914–1918 war.’ And Tungata nodded agreement. ‘When the war was over
Taka-Taka returned and he called the Matabele traitor, and they came into these hills with the dog of a dog leading them – four white men with Taka-Taka as their chief – and they
searched for the tomb. They searched for twenty-eight days, for the traitor did not remember the exact location and the tomb was cunningly concealed. However, with his hyena nose Taka-Taka smelled
it out at last, and he opened the royal tomb, and he found wagons and guns, but the king’s body and the five beer-pots for which he hungered so violently were gone!’

‘This I have already seen and told you,’ Tungata said. It was an anti-climax and Tungata turned one palm up in a gesture of resignation, and Craig shrugged, but Vusamanzi went on
resolutely.

‘They say that Taka-Taka’s rage was like the first great storms of the rains. They say he roared like a man-eating lion and that his face went red and then purple and finally
black.’ Vusamanzi chortled with glee. ‘They say he took his hat from his own head and threw it on the ground, then he took his gun and wanted to shoot the Matabele guide, but his white
companions restrained him. So he tied the dog to a tree and beat him with a kiboko until he could see his ribs sticking out of the meat of his back, then he took back the gold coins and cattle with
which he had bribed him, then he beat him again and finally, still squealing like a bull elephant in musk, Taka-Taka went away and never came back to these hills.’

‘It is a good tale,’ Tungata agreed. ‘And I will tell it to my children.’ He stretched and yawned. ‘Now it grows late.’

‘The tale is not yet told,’ said Vusamanzi primly, and placed a hand on Tungata’s shoulder to prevent him from rising.

‘There is more?’

‘There is indeed. We must go back a little, for when Taka-Taka and his companions and the traitor dog first arrived in these hills to begin the search, my grandfather Insutsha grew
immediately suspicious. Everybody knew of Taka-Taka. They knew he did nothing without purpose. So Insutsha sent three of his prettiest young wives to where Taka-Taka was camped, bearing small gifts
of eggs and sour milk, and Taka-Taka answered the girls’ questions and said that he had come into these hills to hunt rhinoceros.’ Vusamanzi paused, glanced at Craig, and elaborated,
‘Taka-Taka was also a renowned liar. However, the prettiest of the wives waited for the traitor dog of a Matabele at the bathing-pool of the river. Under the water she touched that thing of
which it is said, the harder it becomes, the softer becomes the brain of the man who wields it and the faster it waggles that fast waggles his tongue. With the girl’s hand on his man spear,
the Matabele traitor spilled out boasts and promises of cattle and gold coins, and the pretty wife ran back to my grandfather’s village.’

Vusamanzi had all their attention again, and he clearly relished it.

‘My grandfather was thrown into terrible consternation. Taka-Taka had come to desecrate and rob the king’s tomb. Insutsha fasted and sat vigil, he threw the bones and stared into the
water-divining vessel, and finally he called his four apprentice witch-doctors to him. One of the apprentices was my own father. They went in the full moon and opened the king’s tomb and made
sacrifice to placate the king’s ghost, and then, with reverence, they bore him away, and they resealed the empty tomb. They took the king’s body to a safe place and deposited it there,
with the beer-pots of bright stones – although my father told me that in their haste one of the beer-pots was overturned and broken, and that they gathered up the fallen stones and placed
them in a zebra-skin bag, leaving the broken shards in the tomb.’

‘Both the apprentices and Taka-Taka overlooked one of the diamonds,’ Tungata said softly. ‘We found the clay shards and a single diamond where they had left it.’

‘Now you may go to sleep – if you are still weary, Nkosi.’ Vusamanzi gave his permission with a gleam in his rheumy old eyes. ‘What? You want to hear more? There is
nothing else to tell. The tale is finished.’

‘Where did they take the king’s body?’ Tungata asked. ‘Do you know the place, my wise and revered old father?’

Vusamanzi grinned. ‘It is indeed an unexpected pleasure to find respect and honour for age in the young people of this new age, but to answer your question, son of Kumalo: I do know where
the king’s body is. The secret was passed to me by my father.’

‘Can you lead me to the place?’

‘Did I not tell you that this place in which we now sit is sacred? It is sacred for good reason.’

‘My God!’

‘Here!’ both Craig and Tungata exclaimed together, and Vusamanzi cackled happily and hugged his bony old knees, well pleased with their reaction.

‘In the morning I will take you to view the site of the king’s grave,’ he promised, ‘but now my throat is dry with too much talking. Pass the beer-pot to an old
man.’

W
hen Craig woke, the first morning light was diffusing through the hole in the roof of the cavern, milky and blued by the smoke from the
cooking-fire where the girls were busy preparing the morning meal.

While they breakfasted, and with Vusamanzi’s reluctant permission, Craig related in English the outlines of the tale of Lobengula’s reburial to Sarah and Sally-Anne. They were both
enthralled, and immediately on fire to join the expedition.

‘It is a difficult place to reach,’ the old man huffed, ‘and it is not for the eyes of mere womenfolk.’ But Sarah smiled her sweetest, stroked the old man’s head
and whispered in his ear, and finally, after a further show of gruff severity, he relented.

Under Vusamanzi’s direction, the men made a few simple preparations for the expedition. In one of the ancillary branches of the cavern beneath a flat stone was a hidey-hole containing
another kerosene lantern, two native axes and three large coils of good-quality nylon rope – which the old man clearly prized highly.

‘We liberated this fine rope from the army of Smithy during the bush war,’ he boasted.

‘One great blow for freedom,’ Craig murmured, and Sally-Anne frowned him to silence.

They set off down one of the branches of the cavern, Vusamanzi leading and carrying one of the lanterns followed by Tungata with one of the rope coils, the girls in the centre, and Craig with a
second coil of rope and the other lantern in the rear.

Vusamanzi strode along the passage as it narrowed and twisted. When the passage forked, he did not hesitate. Craig opened his clasp-knife and marked the wall of the right-hand fork, and then
hurried to catch up with the rest of the party.

The system of tunnels and caves was a three-dimensional maze. Water and seepage had mined the limestone of the hills until it was as perforated as Gruyère cheese. In some places they
scrambled down rock scree, and at one point they climbed a rough, natural staircase of limestone. Craig blazed every twist and turn of the way. The air was cold and dank and musky with the smell of
guano. Occasionally there was a flurry of shadowy wings around their heads, and the shrill squeal of disturbed bats echoed down the passageways.

After twenty minutes they came to an almost vertical drop of glossy smooth limestone, so deep that the lantern glow did not reach the depths. Under Vusamanzi’s direction, they secured the
end of one coil of nylon rope to a pillar of limestone, and one at a time slid down fifty feet to the next stage. This was a vertical fault in the rock formation, where two geological bodies had
shifted slightly and formed an open crack in the depths of the earth. It was so narrow that he could touch either wall, and in the lantern light Craig could just make out the bright eyes of the
bats hanging inverted from the rocky roof above them.