This, however, did not trouble Mameena, who talked away about anything and everything, completely ignoring the head-wife. For a while Nandie bore it with patience, but at length she took advantage of a pause in the conversation to say in her firm, low voice:
“This is my hut, daughter of Umbezi, a thing which you remember well enough when it is a question whether Saduko, our husband, shall visit you or me. Can you not remember it now when I would speak with the white chief, Watcher-by-Night, who has been so good as to take the trouble to come to see me?”
On hearing these words Mameena leapt up in a rage, and I must say I never saw her look more lovely.
“You insult me, daughter of Panda, as you always try to do, because you are jealous of me.”
“Your pardon, sister,” replied Nandie. “Why should I, who am Saduko’s Inkosikazi, and, as you say, daughter of Panda, the King, be jealous of the widow of the wizard, Masapo, and the daughter of the headman, Umbezi, whom it has pleased our husband to take into his house to be the companion of his leisure?”
“Why? Because you know that Saduko loves my little finger more than he does your whole body, although you are of the King’s blood and have borne him brats,” she answered, looking at the infant with no kindly eye.
“It may be so, daughter of Umbezi, for men have their fancies, and without doubt you are fair. Yet I would ask you one thing–if Saduko loves you so much, how comes it he trusts you so little that you must learn any matter of weight by listening at my door, as I found you doing the other day?”
“Because you teach him not to do so, O Nandie. Because you are ever telling him not to consult with me, since she who has betrayed one husband may betray another. Because you make him believe my place is that of his toy, not that of his companion, and this although I am cleverer than you and all your House tied into one bundle, as you may find out some day.”
“Yes,” answered Nandie, quite undisturbed, “I do teach him these things, and I am glad that in this matter Saduko has a thinking head and listens to me. Also I agree that it is likely I shall learn many more ill things through and of you one day, daughter of Umbezi. And now, as it is not good that we should wrangle before this white lord, again I say to you that this is my hut, in which I wish to speak alone with my guest.”
“I go, I go!” gasped Mameena; “but I tell you that Saduko shall hear of this.”
“Certainly he will hear of it, for I shall tell him when he comes to-night.”
Another instant and Mameena was gone, having shot out of the hut like a rabbit from its burrow.
“I ask your pardon, Macumazahn, for what has happened,” said Nandie, “but it had become necessary that I should teach my sister, Mameena, upon which stool she ought to sit. I do not trust her, Macumazahn. I think that she knows more of the death of my child than she chooses to say, she who wished to be rid of Masapo for a reason you can guess. I think also she will bring shame and trouble upon Saduko, whom she has bewitched with her beauty, as she bewitches all men–perhaps even yourself a little, Macumazahn. And now let us talk of other matters.”
To this proposition I agreed cordially, since, to tell the truth, if I could have managed to do so with any decent grace, I should have been out of that hut long before Mameena. So we fell to conversing on the condition of Zululand and the dangers that lay ahead for all who were connected with the royal House–a state of affairs which troubled Nandie much, for she was a clear-headed woman, and one who feared the future.
“Ah! Macumazahn,” she said to me as we parted, “I would that I were the wife of some man who did not desire to grow great, and that no royal blood ran in my veins.”