And then, as though they were answering the cry of alarm, Dingane and Mhlangana sprang from behind the hedge and raced to Shaka's side.
Fairbrother froze: this was not the moment to be discovered skulking like the jackal.
He crouched lower as Mbopa's railing continued, turning to look for his line of retreat.
There was none but that would expose himself to Mbopa and the brothers.
He reached for his pistol, wondering how its one shot might be of best use (indeed any use).
Mbopa ceased his rant, and Shaka rose, as if from torpor.
Fairbrother's every muscle was tensed for flight.
And then came a cry like no other he'd heard. He froze, like Lot's wife turned to the pillar of salt.
Into Shaka's flank plunged Dingane's spear.
But the regal cloak deflected the point, so that instead it pierced his arm.
Shaka spun round.
Dingane thrust again, deep into his side.
Shaka reeled.
Mhlangana drove his spear into his breast.
Shaka threw his arms wide, and like a child betrayed, cried, 'It is you, sons of my father, who are killing me!'
Fairbrother pulled back the hammer of his pistol.
Shaka now stretched to his full height. The brothers shrank back in the astonishment of men who had inflicted mortal wounds to no effect. Was this chief immortal?
'What have I done, Dingane?' The voice was sorrowful, not angry. 'What have I done, Mhlangana, that you kill me thus? You think you will rule this country? I tell you, you will not, for I see the swallows coming. The white people have already arrived!'
The brothers stood rooted with horror.
Mbopa, who had watched as the adjudicator at a combat, stepped forward, and without a word, Brutus-like, thrust his spear beneath Shaka's ribs.
Yet still Shaka did not falter, even as blood poured from his mouth and the three body blows. He did not look at Mbopa, as if to deny he was worthy of remark. Instead, with all the majesty he could muster, he turned his back on them and began walking for the kraal.
The cloak slipped from his shoulders as if it were his life departing.
Only Mbopa followed.
A dozen paces, then as Shaka appeared to stumble, Mbopa quickened, and stabbed him twice more from behind.
Still Shaka did not fall. He turned, slowly, with a look of desolation. 'Hau! Nawe Mbopa ka Sitaya . . . So, you too, Mbopa, son of Sitaya: you, too, are killing me . . .'
But Mbopa, as defiant as the brothers were hesitant, stood his ground. He had no doubts now of the mortality of this or any other king.
Without a sound, Shaka crumpled to his knees.
And for a full minute he remained upright, as if praying. Then the King of the Zulu fell forward, his face to the red earth, which he had reddened even more with the blood of countless warriors.
The assassins stood in watching silence. Fairbrother, certain he must be discovered, got to his belly and brought his pistol to the aim.
At length, when the spear wounds no longer bled, Mbopa spoke to the brothers – sharply, for they seemed paralysed. He raised his spear, gesturing towards the dragoons' encampment.
The brothers fled.
Mbopa now strode back to where Shaka's two ancient attendants crouched, terrified. They were witnesses – the only witnesses.
They did not flinch. If Shaka demanded their lives it was their duty to submit – and was it not Shaka's own chamberlain who took upon himself the king's mantle thus?
Fairbrother took careful aim. And then – iciest of calculations – he lowered the pistol.
The cudgel struck twice, and then the spear; and then there were no more witnesses to the death of Si-gi-di. He who was equal to a thousand warriors.
XVII
LAMENTATIONSLater
'Ku dilike intaba. Inkosi ye lizwe ishonile – The mountain has fallen. The Lord of the World is dead!'
Rumour spread like flame along a trail of powder – a trail lit by Mbopa. He told of how the Izi-Kwembu had struck down the great Shaka.
Harem lilies and warriors alike fled the kraal, as if they would somehow be swallowed up in the great convulsion of the Earth that must follow the death of the Most High.
Fairbrother lay flat to the ground for what seemed an age, certain that in the frenzy, no foreign face could expect quarter. The shadows were long when at last he judged it safe to beat back to camp.
There he found Hervey and Somervile, oblivious of what had happened.
'Fairbrother?' said his friend, anxiously, seeing him dust-covered and greatly exercised.
'Shaka's dead. Murdered. Mbopa and the brothers.' He stumbled over the words, breathless. Hervey had not seen him so discomposed.
Somervile was at once agitated. 'You saw?'
'Everything. I thought I should not live to tell the tale.'
Hervey beckoned an orderly. 'Have the camp stand-to-arms,' he said, calmly.
'Who else saw?' asked Somervile.
'No one.'
'Damnation! Did you not try to prevent it?'
Fairbrother gave him a look of pity.
'Forgive me: I did not mean to imply. . . Tell me everything.'
When the account – a full and considered one – was finished, Hervey shook his head, and turned to Somervile. 'I'm sorry I doubted your trust in Pampata. He might be alive still.'
Somervile held up a hand. 'No. Mine is the responsibility. I told Pampata she would have our support, and I failed her.'
'We needn't fail her again. If we move at once we can have command of the kraal before last light.'
Somervile shook his head. 'Command?'
'Yes, command! We can apprehend the assassins!'
Somervile was calculating rapidly. 'That would present us with certain difficulties, do you not see? Dingane is heir; if we move against the kraal we shall become implicated in the plot.'
Hervey turned to Fairbrother. 'There's another heir, is there not? Mbane? Are his hands clean?'
'Mpande. No, he wasn't there with the other two. But Isaacs said he likes his pleasures in excess, did he not? He hardly sounds likely. There's Ngwadi – but he's illegitimate.'
He turned back to Somervile. 'Then what of this child of Shaka's? Is he not the rightful heir?'
'As I understand it,' replied Somervile, and sounding weary at his own incapability, 'the Zulu are not a people with settled precedent in these matters. More's the point: do you see them ruled by a boy? Who would be regent? Regency's a desperate enough affair in the most civilized of nations.'
Hervey pressed him for a conclusion. 'And so we look to our own defence, and withdraw to Port Natal as soon as may be?'