WE ENTER KUKUANALAND
All that afternoon we travelled along the magnificent
roadway, which trended steadily in a north-westerly
direction. Infadoos and Scragga walked with us,
but their followers marched about one hundred paces
ahead.
“Infadoos,” I said at length, “who
made this road?”
“It was made, my lord, of old time, none know
how or when, not even the wise woman Gagool, who has
lived for generations. We are not old enough
to remember its making. None can fashion such
roads now, but the king suffers no grass to grow upon
it.”
“And whose are the writings on the wall of the
caves through which we have passed on the road?”
I asked, referring to the Egyptian-like sculptures
that we had seen.
“My lord, the hands that made the road wrote
the wonderful writings. We know not who wrote
them.”
“When did the Kukuana people come into this
country?”
“My lord, the race came down here like the breath
of a storm ten thousand thousand moons ago, from the
great lands which lie there beyond,” and he
pointed to the north. “They could travel
no further because of the high mountains which ring
in the land, so say the old voices of our fathers
that have descended to us the children, and so says
Gagool, the wise woman, the smeller out of witches,”
and again he pointed to the snow-clad peaks.
“The country, too, was good, so they settled
here and grew strong and powerful, and now our numbers
are like the sea sand, and when Twala the king calls
up his regiments their plumes cover the plain so far
as the eye of man can reach.”
“And if the land is walled in with mountains,
who is there for the regiments to fight with?”
“Nay, my lord, the country is open there towards
the north, and now and again warriors sweep down upon
us in clouds from a land we know not, and we slay
them. It is the third part of the life of a man
since there was a war. Many thousands died in
it, but we destroyed those who came to eat us up.
So since then there has been no war.”
“Your warriors must grow weary of resting on
their spears, Infadoos.”
“My lord, there was one war, just after we destroyed
the people that came down upon us, but it was a civil
war; dog ate dog.”
“How was that?”
“My lord the king, my half-brother, had a brother
born at the same birth, and of the same woman.
It is not our custom, my lord, to suffer twins to
live; the weaker must always die. But the mother
of the king hid away the feebler child, which was
born the last, for her heart yearned over it, and
that child is Twala the king. I am his younger
brother, born of another wife.”
“Well?”
