“Mayhap my memory grows bad, O King, for I do not remember that I did these things.  I remember that the spirit of a certain Mameena whom I called up from the dead, prophesied victory to the King, which victory has been his.  Also it prophesied other victories to the King in a far land across the water, which victories doubtless shall be his in due season; for myself I gave no ‘counsel to the King or to his indunas and generals.’”

“You lie, Wizard,” exclaimed Cetewayo hoarsely.  “Did you not summon the shape of the Princess of Heaven to be the sign of war, and did she not hold in her hand that assegai of the Black One which you have told me was in your keeping?  How did it pass from your keeping into the hand of a spirit?”

“As to that matter I have spoken, O King.  For the rest, is Nomkubulwana my servant to come and go at my bidding?”

“I think so,” said Cetewayo coldly.  “I think also that you who know the place where I purpose to hide, would do well to forget it.  Surely you have lived too long, O Opener of Roads, and done enough evil to the House of Senzangacona, which you ever hated.”

So he spoke, and once more I saw his hand steal towards the spearhead which was hidden beneath the blanket that he wore.

Zikali saw it also and laughed.  “Oho!” he laughed, “forgetting all my warnings, and that the day of my death will be his own, the King thinks to kill me because I am old and feeble and alone and unarmed.  He thinks to kill me as the Black One thought, as Dingaan thought, as even Panda thought, yet I live on to this day.  Well, I bear no malice since it is natural that the King should wish to kill one who knows the secret of where he would hide himself for his own life’s sake.  That spearhead which the King is fingering is sharp, so sharp that my bare breast cannot turn its edge.  I must find me a shield!  I must find me a shield!  Fire, you are not yet dead.  Awake, make smoke to be my shield!” and he waved his long, monkey-like arms over the embers, from which instantly there sprang up a reek of thin white smoke that appeared to take a vague and indefinite shape which suggested the shadow of a man; for to me it seemed a nebulous and wavering shadow, no more.

“What are you staring at, O King?” went on Zikali in a fierce and thrilling voice.  “Who is it that you see?  Who has the fire sent to be my shield?  Ghosts are so thick here that I do not know.  I cannot tell one of them from the other.  Who is it?  Who, who of all that you have slain and who therefore are your foes?”

“Umbelazi, my brother,” groaned Cetewayo.  “My brother Umbelazi stands before me with spear raised; he whom I brought to his death at the battle of the Tugela.  His eyes flame upon me, his spear is raised to strike.  He speaks words I cannot understand.  Protect me, O Wizard!  Lord of Spirits, protect me from the spirit of Umbelazi.”

Zikali laughed wildly and continued to wave his arms above the fire from which smoke poured ever more densely, till the hut was full of it.