The induna hesitated, as if unsure whether or not he had a right to speak, and then turned back to him. Twelve youths and boys, tenders of the royal cattle at Dukuza, had been sent to him for punishment, he explained. Shaka suspected them of kleza – squirting the milk from the cows' udders into their mouths – contrary to the mourning orders. Shaka had questioned them, they denied it, and he had directed them to take the usual oath, to swear 'by Shaka'. This, knowing their guilt, they had refused to do, and so Shaka had ordered them to come here, to the Fasimba kraal, where in a year or so they would have been enrolled as inkwebane, and tell the induna that Shaka had ordered them to be put to death.
Somervile looked at Isaacs, who nodded that this was a fair translation.
The induna watched, as if somehow fearful of their opinion.
'Hervey, we must prevent this,' said Somervile, decidedly.
Isaacs looked alarmed. 'Sir, there's no way on earth as we can prevent it. We'd be cut down at once – before yon bugler could play a note!'
Hervey took hold of Somervile's arm. 'You cannot think otherwise but as Isaacs says!'
Isaacs gasped for breath even more. 'He said the youths'd come 'ere without escort, solely on their honour. That's Shaka's power!'
'And Shaka knows we'll be here,' suggested Fairbrother, in a sinister way. ' "My name is Shaka, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair" . . .'
Somervile, if not exactly despairing, was agitated nevertheless. 'I have no desire to look upon his bestial works, yet we can do no good inside this hut.'
Hervey was not so sure. 'What say you, Isaacs?'
'Will make no difference.' He sank back to the floor, the sweat running freely down his face.
'Come,' said Somervile, striding for the door.
A dozen youths and boys stood in the middle of the cattle enclosure, in line, facing the isigodlo. The same cadets of the guard of honour, but without their finery, stood in line behind them.
The induna strode angrily across the byre, berating Shaka's consigned.
Somervile followed as close as he thought safe.
'What does he say, Fairbrother? I can't make out a word.'
Fairbrother raised an eyebrow. 'A Zulu general's ranting, Sir Eyre – I doubt even the wretched boys know.'
But slowly, as the induna stopped his railing and began speaking in more measured terms, though angry still, Fairbrother was able to catch some sense of it.
'He asks them if it's true they did kleza, and that Shaka sent them to say that he'd ordered them to be put to death.'
There was a murmuring among the condemned youths, with here and there a stronger voice seeming to admit it was so.
The induna raised his stick and swung it down furiously. 'Ni ngama qawu . . . You are heroes – and as men and heroes you shall die by the spear, and not by the felons' club!'
The words were spoken so clearly – for the hearing of all in the enclosure – that Somervile and even Hervey were able to understand.
The young heroes had ranged themselves in age, so that on the right of the line, the place of honour, was the eldest, a youth of about Hervey's own height, and sixteen years, perhaps.
Somervile grew restless. 'My God, Hervey: those boys at yonder end are but eight or nine!'
Fairbrother spoke sharply. 'Close your eyes, Sir Eyre. That, or keep your counsel – with respect.'
Isaacs, who had struggled to join them on the arm of the older warrior, sealed the business. 'It's Shaka's will, and none of us'd be worth a spit if we crossed it!'
Somervile shook his head in unhappy resignation. Hervey stayed his own hand from his sabre only with the fiercest resolve.
And then, removing his shako, Fairbrother stepped forward. 'Mnumzana . . .'
At this formal style of address by one of the visitors, the induna turned. There were tears on his cheeks.
Fairbrother struggled to express their objection, trying to combine in his voice and manner not only the imperative to stay the executions, but the deference necessary to keep them alive too. 'Mnumzana . . . Sir, it is displeasing to the religion of King George, of whom Sir Eyre Somervile here is the personal representative, to have the blood of common felons shed in his presence, although undoubtedly they are brave men. King Shaka cannot know how brave these youths and boys have been, only that they disobeyed his command. Although King George knows that all Zulu are brave, would not King Shaka wish to know of their especial bravery, and might therefore wish to spare them?'
Only once did the induna need Isaacs's help to explain.
Hervey watched, tense, ready to draw his sabre. If he had to, he would tell Somervile to dash for the isigodlo while he warded off the inkwebane, and then would fall back with Fairbrother to the entrance. There they would make their stand there until the escort, and the rest of the column, answered Roddis's bugle. It was at least a plan, if a forlorn hope.
The induna, impassive despite his streaming eyes, turned away and beckoned the old warrior. He spoke quickly, insistently, but not in a voice that carried to the visitors.
When he was finished, the warrior nodded his head, once, in a gesture of resolve. 'Yebo, baba!'
Fairbrother stepped rear, to Somervile's left side, sensing they would soon have to make a dash for it.
'We fall back to the hut if they turn,' whispered Hervey, on Somervile's right. 'I'll take the headman.'
'And the other dozen spears?' whispered Fairbrother. 'Keep praying, my friend!'
The keeper now spoke quietly to the inkwebane.
Hervey was on the point of drawing his sabre when the cadets divided, marching round either flank of the youths and halting in front of them, so that each of the condemned could look into the eyes of his executioner.
'Good God!' spluttered Somervile. 'What a monstrous ceremony.'
'Easy,' whispered Hervey. 'There's not a thing we can do to save them. When I give the word, run like Hades for the hut!'
The old warrior raised his spear. 'U-Shaka!'
The inkwebane thrust their spears forward. 'U-Shaka!' they roared.
None of the condemned, not even the youngest, flinched. 'U-Shaka!' they cried back resolutely.
The inkwebane braced, spears now inches from their deadly work, waiting the final order.
The youths and boys, their chins high, stood motionless.
The old warrior turned to the induna for the order.
The induna, his tears replaced by a look of intense pride, stepped between the errant youths and their executioners. 'Nihambe kahle!' he growled – 'You must go well' (the Zulu parting) – and then repeated his praise: 'Ni ngama qawu . . . You are heroes. Sobonana futhi . . . We shall see each other again!'