“At least, Zikali, send a message to the captains of the English army and tell them that we are here.”

“Send a message to the hyenas and tell them where the carcase is; send a message to the hunters and tell them where the buck Zikali crouches on its form!  Hearken, Macumazahn, if you do this, or even urge me again to do it, neither you nor your friends shall ever leave the Black Kloof.  I have spoken.”

Then understanding that the case was hopeless, I left him and he glowered after me, for fear had made him cruel.  He had won the long game and success had turned to ashes in his mouth.  Or rather, he had not won—­yet—­since his war was against the House of Senzangacona from which he and his tribe had suffered cruel wrong.  To pull it down he must pull down the Zulu nation; it was like burning a city to destroy a compromising letter.  He had burnt the city, but the letter still remained intact and might be produced in evidence against him.  In other words Cetewayo yet lived.  Therefore his vengeance remained quite unslaked and his danger was as great, or perhaps greater than it had ever been before.  For was he not the prophet who by producing the Princess of Heaven, the traditional goddess of the Zulus, before the eyes of the king and Council, had caused them to decide for war?  And supposing it were so much as breathed that this spirit which they seemed to see, had been but a trick and a fraud, what then?  He would be tortured to death if his dupes had time, or torn limb from limb if they had not, that is if he could die like other men—­a matter as to which personally I had no doubts.

Shortly after I left Zikali Heda and I ate our evening meal together.  Anscombe, as it chanced, had gone by the secret path to the tableland of which I have spoken, where he amused himself, as of course we were not allowed to fire a gun, by catching partridges, with the help of an ingenious system of grass nets which he had invented.  There were springs on this tableland that formed little pools of water, at which the partridges, also occasionally guineafowl and bush pheasants, came to drink at sunrise and sunset.  Here it was that he set his nets and retired to work them at those hours by means of strings that he pulled from hiding-places.  So Heda and I were alone.

I told her of my ill success with Zikali, at which she was much disappointed.  Then by an afterthought I suggested that perhaps she might try to do something in the way of getting a message through to the English camp at Ulundi, or elsewhere, by help of the witch-doctoress, Nombe, adding that I would speak to her myself had I not observed that I seemed to be out of favour with her of late.  Heda shook her head and answered that she thought it would be useless to try, also too dangerous.  Remembering Zikali’s threat, on reflection I agreed with her.

“Tell me, Mr. Quatermain,” she added, “is it possible for one woman to be in love with another?”