CHILD OF STORM (an Allan Quatermain Story) by H. Rider Haggard

At length he had finished his journey and returned to his starting-point, to all appearance completely puzzled.

“You keep so many wizards at your kraal, King,” he said, addressing Panda, “that it is hard to say which of them wrought this deed. It would have been easier to tell you of greater matters. Yet I have taken your fee, and I must earn it–I must earn it. Dust, you are dumb. Now, my Idhlozi, my Spirit, do you speak?” and, holding his head sideways, he turned his left ear up towards the sky, then said presently, in a curious, matter-of-fact voice:

“Ah! I thank you, Spirit. Well, King, your grandchild was killed by the House of Masapo, your enemy, chief of the Amasomi.”

Now a roar of approbation went up from the audience, among whom Masapo’s guilt was a foregone conclusion.

When this had died down Panda spoke, saying:

“The House of Masapo is a large house; I believe that he has several wives and many children. It is not enough to smell out the House, since I am not as those who went before me were, nor will I slay the innocent with the guilty. Tell us, O Opener-of-Roads, who among the House of Masapo has wrought this deed?”

“That’s just the question,” grumbled Zikali in a deep voice. “All that I know is that it was done by poisoning, and I smell the poison. It is here.”

Then he walked to where Mameena sat and cried out:

“Seize that woman and search her hair.”

Executioners who were in waiting sprang forward, but Mameena waved them away.

“Friends,” she said, with a little laugh, “there is no need to touch me,” and, rising, she stepped forward to the centre of the ring. Here, with a few swift motions of her hands, she flung off first the cloak she wore, then the moocha about her middle, and lastly the fillet that bound her long hair, and stood before that audience in all her naked beauty–a wondrous and a lovely sight.

“Now,” she said, “let women come and search me and my garments, and see if there is any poison hid there.”

Two old crones stepped forward–though I do not know who sent them–and carried out a very thorough examination, finally reporting that they had found nothing. Thereon Mameena, with a shrug of her shoulders, resumed such clothes as she wore, and returned lo her place.

Zikali appeared to grow angry. He stamped upon the ground with his big feet; he shook his braided grey locks and cried out:

“Is my wisdom to be defeated in such a little matter? One of you tie a bandage over my eyes.”

Now a man–it was Maputa, the messenger–came out and did so, and I noted that he tied it well and tight. Zikali whirled round upon his heels, first one way and then another, and, crying aloud: “Guide me, my Spirit!” marched forward in a zigzag fashion, as a blindfolded man does, with his arms stretched out in front of him. First he went to the right, then to the left, and then straight forward, till at length, to my astonishment, he came exactly opposite the spot where Masapo sat and, stretching out his great, groping hands, seized the kaross with which he was covered and, with a jerk, tore it from him.

“Search this!” he cried, throwing it on the ground, and a woman searched.

Presently she uttered an exclamation, and from among the fur of one of the tails of the kaross produced a tiny bag that appeared to be made out of the bladder of a fish. This she handed to Zikali, whose eyes had now been unbandaged.

He looked at it, then gave it to Maputa, saying:

“There is the poison–there is the poison, but who gave it I do not say. I am weary. Let me go.”

Then, none hindering him, he walked away through the gate of the kraal.

Soldiers seized upon Masapo, while the multitude roared: “Kill the wizard!”

Masapo sprang up, and, running to where the King sat, flung himself upon his knees, protesting his innocence and praying for mercy. I also, who had doubts as to all this business, ventured to rise and speak.