 6. 6 weeks had gone by since the eventful night of Benita's arrival at Urui Krantz. Now the spring had fully come. The felt was emerald with grass and bright with flowers. In the cloof behind the house, trees had put out their leaves, and the mimosas were in bloom, making the air heavy with their scent. Amongst them, the ring-doves nested in hundreds, and on the steep rocks of the precipice, the red-necked vultures fed their young. Along the banks of the stream, and round the borders of the lake, the pig lilies bloomed, a sheet of white. All the place was beautiful and full of life and hope. Nothing seemed dead and hopeless, except Benita's heart. Her health was quite come back to her. Indeed, never before had she felt so strong and well, but the very soul had withered in her breast. All day she thought, and all night she dreamed of the man who, in cold blood, had offered up his life to save those of a helpless woman and her child. She wondered whether he would have done this if he had heard the answer that was upon her lips. Perhaps that was why she had not been given time to speak that answer, which might have made a coward of him. For nothing more had been heard of Robert Seymour. Indeed, already the tragedy of the ship Sansy Bar was forgotten. The dead had buried their dead, and since then worse disasters had happened in the world. But Benita could not bury her dead. She rode about the veld. She sat by the lake and watched the wildfowl, or at night heard them flying over her in flocks. She listened to the cooing of the doves, the booming of the bitons and the reeds, and the drumming of the snipe high in air. She counted the game trekking along the ridge, till her mind grew weary. She sought consolation from the breast of nature and found none. She sought it in the starlit skies, and oh, they were very far away. Death reigned within her, who outwardly was so fair to see. In the society of her father, indeed, she took pleasure, for he loved her, and love comforted her wounded heart. In that of Jacob Mayer also she found interest, for now her first fear of the man had died away, and undoubtedly he was very interesting, well bred also after a fashion, although a Jew who had lost his own faith and rejected that of the Christians. He had told her that he was a German by birth, that he had been sent to England as a boy to avoid the conscription which Jews disliked, since in soldiering there is little profit. Here he had become a clerk in a house of South African merchants, and as a consequence, having shown all the ability of his race, was dispatched to take charge of a branch business in Cape Colony. What happened to him there, Benita never discovered, but probably he had shown too much ability of an oblique nature. At any rate, his connection with the firm terminated, and for years he became a wandering smouse or trader, until at length he drifted into partnership with her father. Whatever might have been his past, however, soon she found that he was an extremely able and agreeable man. It was he and no other who had painted the watercolours that adorned her room, and he could play and sing as well as he painted. Also, as Robert had told her, Mr Mayer was very well read in subjects that are not usually studied on the belt of South Africa. Indeed, he had quite a library of books, most of them histories or philosophical and scientific works, of which he would lend her volumes. Fiction, however, he never read, for the reason he told her, that he found life itself and the mysteries and problems which surround it, so much more interesting. One evening, when they were walking together by the lake, watching the long lights of sunsets break and quiver upon its surface, Benita's curiosity overcame her, and she asked him boldly how it happened that such a man as he was content to live the life he did. In order that I may reach her better, he answered, Oh no, not in the skies, Miss Clifford, for of them I know nothing. Nor, as I believe, is there anything to know. But here, here. What do you mean by a better life, Mr Mayer? I mean, he answered with a flash of his dark eyes. Great wealth and the power that wealth brings. Ah, I see you think me very sordid and materialistic, but money is God in this world, Miss Clifford. Money is God. She smiled and answered, I fear then that he is likely to prove an invisible God on the high felt, Mr Mayer. You will scarcely make a great fortune out of horse breeding, and here there is no one to rule. Do you suppose, then, that is why I stop at Roi Crantz, just to breed horses? Has not your father told you about the great treasure hidden away up there among the Macalanga? I have heard something of it, she answered with a sigh. Also, that both of you went to look for it and were disappointed. Ah, the Englishman who was drowned, Mr Seymour, he spoke of it, did he not? He found us there. Yes, and you wish to shoot him, do you remember? God in heaven, yes, because I thought he had come to rob us. Well, I did not shoot, and afterwards we were hunted out of the place, which does not much matter, as those fools of natives refuse to let us dig in the fortress. Then why do you still think about this treasure, which probably does not exist? Why, Miss Clifford, do you think about various things that probably do not exist? Perhaps, because you feel that here or elsewhere they do exist. Well, that is what I feel about the treasure, and what I have always felt. It exists, and I shall find it. Now, I shall live to see more gold than you can even imagine, and that is why I still continue to breed horses on the Transvaal Velt. Ah, you laugh! You think it is a nightmare that I breed? Then suddenly he became aware of Sally, who had appeared over the fold of the rise behind them, and asked irritably, What is it now, old Frau? The Bars Clifford wants to speak with you, Bars Jacob. Messengers have come to you both from far away. What messengers? he asked. I know not, answered Sally, fanning her fat face with a yellow pocket handkerchief. They asked strange people to me, and thinned with travelling, but they talk a kind of zulu. The Bars wishes you to come. Will you come also, Miss Clifford? No, then forgive me if I leave you, and lifting his hat he went. A strange man, Missy, said old Sally when he had vanished, walking very fast. Yes, answered Benita, in an indifferent voice. A very strange man went on the old woman, too much in his cop, and she tapped her forehead. I think it will burst one day, but if it does not burst, then he will be great. I tell you that before, now I tell it you again, for I think his time come, now I go cook dinner. Benita sat by the lake till the twilight fell, and the wild geese began to flight over her. Then she walked back to the house, thinking no more of Hiramea, thinking only that she was weary of this place, in which there was nothing to occupy her mind, and distract it from its ever-present sorrow. At dinner, or rather supper, that night, she noticed that both her father and his partner seemed to be suffering from suppressed excitement, of which she thought she could guess the cause. Did you find your messengers, Mr. Mayor? She asked when the men had lit their pipes, and the square face, as Hollands was called in those days from the shape of the bottle, was set upon the rough table of speckled Buchenhaut wood. Yes, I found them, he answered. They are in the kitchen now, and he looked at Mr. Clifford. Benita, my dear, said her father, rather a curious thing has happened. Her face lit up, but he shook his head. No, nothing to do with the shipwreck, that is all finished. Still, something that may interest you if you care to hear a story. Benita nodded. She was in a mood to hear anything that would occupy her thoughts. You know something about this treasure business, went on her father. Well, this is the tale of it. Years ago, after you and your mother had gone to England, I went on a big game-shooting expedition into the interior. My companion was an old fellow called Tom Jackson, a rolling stone, and one of the best elephant hunters in Africa. We did pretty well, but the end of it was that we separated north of the Transvaal, I bringing down the ivory that we had shot and traded, and Tom stopping to put in another season. The arrangement being that he was to join me afterwards and take his share of the money. I came here and bought this farm from a bore who was tired of it. Cheap enough, too, right only gave him a hundred pounds for the six thousand acres. The kitchens behind were his old house, for I built the new one. A year had gone by, before I saw any more of Tom Jackson, and then he turned up, more dead than alive. He had been injured by an elephant and lay for some months among the Macalanga to the north of Matabeleland, where he got fever badly at a place called Bambatsi on the Zambezi. These Macalanga are strange folk. I believe their name means the people of the sun. At any rate, they are the last of some ancient race. Well, while he was there he cured the old Molimo, or hereditary high priest of this tribe, of a bad fever by giving him quinine, and naturally they grew friendly. The Molimo lived among ruins, of which there are many over all that part of South Africa. No one knows who built them now. Probably it was people who lived thousands of years ago. However, this Molimo told Tom Jackson a more recent legend connected with the place. He said that six generations before, when his great-great-great-grandfather was chief, Mambo he called it, the natives of all that part of South Africa rose against the white men. Portuguese, I suppose, who still worked the gold there. They massacred them and their slaves by thousands, driving them up from the southward where Lobenguila rules now, to the Zambezi, by which the Portuguese hoped to escape to the coast. At length, the remnants of them, not more than about two hundred men and women, arrived at the stronghold called Bambatse, where the Molimo now lives in a great ruin built by the ancients upon an impregnable mountain which overhangs the river. With them they brought an enormous quantity of gold, all the stored up treasure of the land which they were trying to carry off. But although they reached the river, they could not escape by it, since the natives who pursued them in thousands watched day and night in canoes, and the poor fugitives had no boats. Therefore it came about that they were shut up in this fortress, which it was impossible to storm, and there slowly perished of starvation. When it was known that they were all dead, the natives who had followed them from the south, and who wanted blood and revenge, not gold, which was of no use to them, went away. But the old priest's forefather, who knew the secret entrance to the place, and who had been friendly to the Portuguese, forced his way in, and there amidst the dead found one woman living but mad with grief, a young and a beautiful girl, the daughter of the Portuguese lord or captain. He gave her food, but in the night when some strength had returned to her, she left him, and at daybreak he found her standing on the peak that overhangs the river, dressed all in white. He called some of his counselors, and they tried to persuade her to come down from the rock, but she answered, no, her betrothed and all her family and friends were dead, and it was her will to follow them. Then they asked where was the gold, for having watched day and night, they knew it had not been thrown into the river. She answered that it was where it was, and that, seek as he might, no black man would ever find it. She added that she gave it into his keeping, and that of his descendants to safeguard until she came again. Also she said that if they were faithless to that trust, then it had been revealed to her from heaven above, that those same savages who had killed her father and her people would kill his people also. When she had spoken thus, she stood a while praying on the peak, then suddenly hurled herself into the river, and was seen no more. From that day to this, the ruin has been held to be haunted, and saved the Mollimo himself, who retires there to meditate and receive revelations from the spirits. No one is allowed to set a foot in its upper part. Indeed, the natives would rather die than do so. Consequently, the gold still remains where it was hidden. This place itself, Tom Jackson did not see, since notwithstanding his friendship for him, the Mollimo refused to allow him to enter there. Well, Tom never recovered. He died there, and is buried in the little graveyard behind the house which the boars made for some of their people. So shortly after his death, that Mr Mayer became my partner, for I forgot to say that I had told him the story, and we determined to have a try for that great wealth. You know the rest. We trekked to Bambatse pretending to be traders, and found the old Mollimo, who knew of me as having been Tom Jackson's friend. We asked him if the story he had told to Jackson were true, and he answered that, surely as the sun shone in the heavens it was true, every word of it. For it, and much more than he had spoken of, had been handed down from father to son, and that they even knew the name of the white lady who had killed herself. It was Ferrera, your mother's name, Benita, though a common one enough in South Africa. We asked him to allow us to enter the topmost stronghold, which stands upon the hill. But he refused, saying that the curse still lay upon him and his, and that no man should enter until the Lady Ferrera came again. For the rest the place was free to us. We might dig where we would. So we did dig, and found some gold buried with the ancients, beads and bangles and wire, about a hundred pounds worth. Also, that was on the day when the young Seymours came upon us, and accounts for Mayer's excitement. For he thought that we were on the track of the treasure. We found a single gold coin, no doubt one that had been dropped by the Portuguese. Here it is, and he threw a thin piece of gold on the table before her. I have shown it to a man learned in those matters, and he says that it is a ducket, struck by one of the doges of Venice. Well, we never found any more. The end of it was that the Macalanga caught us trying to get into the secret stronghold by stealth, and gave us the choice of clearing out or being killed. So we cleared out, but treasure is not of much use to dead men. Mr Clifford ceased speaking, and filled his pipe, while Mayer helped himself to square face in an absent manner. As for Benita, she stared at the quaint old coin which had a hole in it, wondering with what scenes of terror and of bloodshed it had been connected. Keep it, said her father. It will go on that bracelet of yours. Thank you, dear, she answered, though I don't know why I should take all the Portuguese treasure, since we shall never find any more of it. Why not, Ms Clifford, asked Mayer quickly. The story tells you why, because the natives won't even let you look for it. Also, looking and finding are different things. Natives change their minds sometimes, Ms Clifford. That story is not done, it has only begun, and now you shall hear its second chapter. Clifford, may I call in the messengers, and without waiting for an answer he rose and left the room. Neither Mr Clifford nor his daughter said anything after he had gone. Benita appeared to occupy herself in fixing the broad gold coin to a little swivel on her bracelet. But while she did so, once more that strange sixth sense of hers awoke within her. As she had been afraid at the dinner on the doomed steamer, so again she was afraid. Again death and great fear cast their advancing shadows onto her soul. That piece of gold seemed to speak to her. Yet, alas, she could not understand its story. Only she knew that her father and Jacob Mayer, and, yes, yes, yes, Robert Seymour, all had a part in that tragedy. Oh, how could that be when he was dead? How could the gold link him to her? She knew not. She cared not. All she knew was that she would follow this treasure to the edge of the world. And if need be, over it. If only it brought her back to him again. Chapter 7 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The messengers. The door opened and through it came Jacob Mayer, followed by three natives. Benita did not see or hear them. Her soul was far away. There, at the head of the room, clad all in white, for she wore no mourning save in her heart. Illuminated by the rays of the lamp that hung above her, she stood still and upright, for she had risen. On the face and in her wide dark eyes, a look that was very strange to see. Jacob Mayer perceived it and stopped. The three natives perceived it also and stopped. There they stood, all four of them, at the end of the long sitting room, staring at the white Benita and at her haunted eyes. One of the natives pointed with his thin finger to her face and whispered to the others. Mayer, who understood their tongue, caught the whisper. It was, Behold the spirit of the rock. What spirit and what rock, he asked in a low voice. She who haunts Bambatse, she who my eyes have seen, answered the man, still staring at Benita. Benita heard the whispering and knew that it was about herself, though not one word of it did she catch. With a sigh she shook herself free from her visions and sat down in a chair close by. Then, one by one, the messengers drew near to her, and each, as he came, made a profound obeisance, touching the floor with his fingertips and staring at her face. But her father they only saluted with an uplifted hand. She looked at them with interest, and indeed they were interesting in their way. Tall, spare men, light-coloured with refined, mobile faces. Here was no negro blood, but rather that of some ancient people, such as Egyptians or Phoenicians, men whose forefathers had been wise and civilised thousands of years ago, and for chance had stood in the courts of Pharaoh or of Solomon. Their salutations finished, the three men squatted in a line upon the floor, drawing their fur-carosses or robes about them, and waited in silence. Jakob Meyer thought a while, then said, Clifford, will you translate to your daughter so that she may be sure she has told exactly what passes? Next he turned and addressed the natives. Your names are Tamas, Tamala and Hobba, and you, Tamas, are the son of the Molymore of Bambatse, who is called Bambo, and you, Tamala and Hobba, are his initiated counsellors, is it so? They bowed their heads. Good, you, Tamas, tell the story, and give again your message that this lady, the Lady Benita, may hear it, for she has a part in the matter. We understand that she has a part, answered Tamas. We read in her face that she has the greatest part. Doubtless it is of her that the spirit spoke to my father. These, spoken by my mouth, are the words of Molymore, my father, which we have travelled so far to deliver. When you two white men visited Bambatse four years ago, you asked of me, Mambo, to be admitted to the holy place, that you might look for the treasure there, which the Portuguese hid in the time of my ancestor in the sixth generation. I refuse to allow you to look, or even to enter the holy place, because I am by birth the guardian of that treasure, although I know not where it lies. But now I am in a great strait. I have news that Lobengula the usurper, who is king of the Matabele, has taken offence against me, for certain reasons among them that I did not send him a sufficient tribute. It is reported to me that he proposes next summer to dispatch an impi to wipe me and my people out, and to make my crowd black as the burnt welt. I have little strength to resist him, who is mighty, and my people are not warlike. From generation to generation they have been traders, cultivators of the land, workers in metals, and men of peace, who desire not to kill or be killed. Also they are few. Therefore I have no power to stand against Lobengula. I remember the guns that you and your companion brought with you, which can kill things from far away. If I had a supply of those guns from behind my walls, I might defy the impi of Lobengula, whose warriors used the Assagai. If you will bring me a hundred good guns, and plenty of powder and bullets for them, it is revealed to me that it will be lawful for me to admit you to the secret holy place, where you may look for the buried gold for as long as you wish, and if you can find it, take it all away without hindrance from me or my people. But I will be honest with you, that gold will never be found saved by the one appointed. The white lady said so in the time of my forefather. He heard it with his ears, and I have heard it from his descendants with my ears, and so it shall be. Still, if you bring the guns, you can come, and see if either of you is that one appointed. But I do not think that any man is so appointed, for the secret is hid in woman. But of this you can learn for yourselves. I do but speak as I am bidden. This is my message spoken by my mouth. Tamas, son of my body, and my counsellors who go with him, will bear witness that he speaks the truth. I, Mambo, the Molymore of Pambatse, send you greeting, and will give you good welcome and fulfil my promise, if you come with the far-shooting guns. Ten times ten of them, and the powder and the bullets were with, I may drive off the but not otherwise. My son, Tamas, and my counsellors will drive your wagon into my country, but you must bring no strange servants. The spirit of the white woman who killed herself before the eyes of my forefather has been seen of late, standing upon the point of rock. Also, she has visited me at night in my secret place, where her companions died. I do not know all that this portends, but I think that amongst other things, she wished to tell me that the matabile are about to attack us. I await the decree of the heavens. I send you two carosses as a gift, and a little ancient gold, since ivory is too heavy for my messengers to carry, and I have no wagon. Farewell. We have heard you, said Mayor, when Mr Clifford had finished translating, and we wish to ask you a question. What do you mean when you say that the spirit of the white woman has been seen? I mean what I say white man, answered Tamas. She was seen by all three of us, standing upon the pinnacle at the dawn. Also, my father saw and spoke with her alone in his sleep at night. This is the third time in my father's day that she has appeared thus, always before some great event. What would she like, asked Mayor? Like? Oh, like the lady who sits yonder. Yes, quite the same, or so it seemed to us, but who knows? We have seen no other white women, and we were not very near. Let the lady come and stand side by side with the spirit, so that we can examine them both, and we shall be able to answer better. Do you accept the offer of the moly moe? We will tell you tomorrow morning, replied Mayor. A hundred rifles are many to find, and will cost much money. Meanwhile, for you that is food and a sleeping place. The three men seemed disappointed at his answer, which they evidently believed to be a preliminary to a refusal. For a moment or two, they consulted together. Then Tamas put his hand into a pouch and drew from it something wrapped in dry leaves, which he undid, revealing a quaint and beautiful necklace, fashioned of twisted gold links, wherein were set white stones, that they had no difficulty in recognizing as uncut diamonds of considerable value. From this necklace also hung a crucifix moulded in gold. We offer this gift, he said, on behalf of Mambo, my father, to the lady yonder, to whom the carosses and the rough gold are of no use. The chain has a story. When the Portuguese lady hurled herself into the river, she wore it about her neck. As she fell into the river, she struck against a little point of rock, which tore the chain away from her. See where it is broken and mended with gold wire. It remained upon the point of rock, and my forefather took it thence. It is a gift to the lady, if she will promise to wear it. Accept it, muttered Mr Clifford, when he had finished translating this, or you will give a fence. So Benita said, I thank the molymo, and accept his gift. Then, Tamas rose and advancing cast the ancient, tragic thing over her head. As it fell upon her shoulders, Benita knew that it was a chain of destiny, drawing her she knew not to wear, this ornaments that had last been worn by that woman, bereaved and unhappy as herself, who could find no refuge from her sorrow except in death. Had she felt it torn from her breast, she wondered, as she, the living Benita of today, felt it fall upon her own. The three envoys rose, bowed and went, leaving them alone. Jacob Mayer lifted his head as though to address her. Then changed his mind and was silent. Both the men waited for her to speak, but she would not, and in the end it was her father who spoke first. What do you say, Benita? he asked anxiously. I? I have nothing to say, except that I have heard a very curious story. The priest's message is to you and Mr. Mayer father, and must be answered by you. What have I to do with it? A great deal, I think, my dear, or so those men seem to believe. At any rate, I cannot go up there without you, that I will not take you there against your wish, for it is a long way off and a queer business. The question is, will you go? She thought a space, while the two men watched her anxiously. Yes, yes, she answered a length, in a quiet voice. I will go if you wish to go, not because I want to find treasure, but because the story and the country where it happened interest me. Indeed, I don't believe much in the treasure. Even if they are superstitious and afraid to look for it themselves, I doubt whether they would allow you to look if they thought it could be found. To me, the journey does not seem a good business speculation. Also, there are risks. We think it's good enough, broke in Mayer decidedly, and one does not expect to get millions without trouble. Yes, yes, said her father, but she is right. There are risks, great risks, fever, wild beasts, savages, and others that one cannot foresee. Have I a right to expose her to them, ought we not to go alone? It would be useless, answered Mayer. Those messengers have seen your daughter, and mixed her up with the superstitious story of a ghost of which I, who know that there are no such things, believe nothing. Without her now we shall certainly fail. As for the risks, Father, said Benita, personally I take no account of them, for I am sure that what is to happen will happen, and if I knew that I was to die upon the Zambezi, it would make no difference to me, who do not care. But as it chances, I think, I cannot tell you why, that you and Mr. Mayer are in more danger than I am. It is for you to consider, whether you will take the risks. Mr. Clifford smiled. I am old, he said. That is my answer, and I am accustomed to such things, said Mayer, with a shrug of his shoulders. Who would not run a little danger for the sake of such a glorious chance? Wealth, wealth, more wealth than we can dream of, and with it power, power to avenge, to reward, to buy, position, and pleasure, and all beautiful things, which are the heritage of the very rich alone. He spread out his hands and looked upwards, as though in adoration of this golden god. Except such trifles as health and happiness, commented Benita, not without sarcasm, for this man and his material desires disgusted her somewhat, especially when she contrasted him with another man who was lost to her. Though it was true that his past had been idle and unproductive enough, yet they interested her also, for Benita had never met anyone like Mr. Mayer, so talented, so eager, and so soulless. Then I understand it is settled, she said. Mr. Clifford hesitated, but Mayer answered at once. Yes, settled as far as anything can be. She waited a moment for her father to speak, but he said nothing, his chance had gone by. Very well, now we shall not need to trouble ourselves with further doubts or argument. We are going to Bambatse on the Zimbizi, a distant place to look for buried gold, and I hope, Mr. Mayer, that if you find it, the results will come up to your expectations and bring you all sorts of good luck. Good night, father dear, good night. My daughter thinks it will bring us ill fortune, said Mr. Clifford when the door had closed behind her. That is her way of saying so. Yes, answered Mayer gloomily. She thinks that, and she is one of those who have vision. Well, she may be wrong. Also, the question is, shall we seize our opportunity and its dangers, or remain here and breed bad horses all our lives, while she who is not afraid laughs at us? I am going to Bambatse. Again Mr. Clifford made no direct answer, only asked the question, how long will it take to get the guns and ammunition, and what will they cost? About a week from Vacastrom, replied Mayer. Old Potgita, the trader there, has just imported a hundred martinis and a hundred Wesley Richards falling blocks. Fifty of each, with ten thousand rounds of cartridge, will cost about six hundred pound, and we have as much as that in the bank. Also, if we have the new wagon and plenty of good oxen and horses, we can take a dozen of the horses with us, and sell them in the north of the Transvaal for a fine price, before we get into the Tetsi Fly Belt. The oxen will probably carry us through, as they are most of them salted. You have thought it all out Jacob, I see, but it means a lot of money one way and another, to say nothing of other things. Yes, a lot of money, and those rifles are too good for cafes. Birmingham gas pipes would have done for them, but they are known to be had. But what is the money, and what are the guns, compared to all they will bring us? I think you'd better ask my daughter, Jacob. She seems to have her own ideas upon the subject. Miss Clifford has made up her mind, and it will not change. I shall ask her no more, replied Mayer. Then he too left the room, to give orders about the journey to Wackestrom, that he must take upon the morrow. But Mr Clifford sat there till past midnight, wondering whether he had done right, and if they would find the treasure of which he had dreamed for years, and what the future had in store for them, if only he could have seen. When Benita came to breakfast the next morning, she asked where Mr Mayer was, and learned that he had already departed for Wackestrom. Certainly he's in earnest, she said with a laugh. Yes, answered her father, Jacob is always in earnest, though somehow his earnestness has not brought him much good so far. If we fail, it will not be for want of thought and preparation on his part. Nearly a week went by before Mayer returned again, and meanwhile Benita made ready for her journey. In the intervals of her simple preparations, also she talked a good deal, with the help of her father, to the three stately looking bakalanga, who were resting thankfully after their long journey. Their conversation was general, since by tacit consent no further mention was made of the treasure or of anything to do with it, but it enabled her to form a fair opinion of them and their people. She gathered that although they spoke a dialect of Zulu, they had none of the bravery of the Zulus, and indeed lived in deadly terror of the Matabile, who abasted Zulus. Such terror in fact, that she greatly doubted whether the hundred rifles would be of much use to them, should they ever be attacked by that tribe. They were what their fathers had been before them, agriculturalists and workers in metals, not fighting men. Also she set herself to learn what she could of their tongue, but she did not find difficult, for Benita had a natural aptitude for languages, and had never forgotten the Dutch and Zulu she used to prattle as a child, which now came back to her very fast. Indeed she could already talk fairly in either of those languages, especially as she spent her spare hours in studying their grammar and reading them. So the days went on, till one evening, Jacob Meier appeared with two scotch carts, laden with ten long boxes that looked like coffins, and other smaller boxes which were very heavy, to say nothing of a multitude of stores. As Mr Clifford prophesied he had forgotten nothing, for he even brought Benita various articles of clothing, and a revolver for which she had not asked. Three days later they trekked away from Roy Krantz, upon a peculiarly beautiful Sunday morning in the early spring, giving it out that they were going upon a trading and shooting expedition in the north of the Transvaal. Benita looked back at the pretty little stead, and the wooded cloof behind it, over which she had nearly fallen, and the placid lake in front of it, where the nesting wildfowl wheeled and sighed. For to her, now that she was leaving it, the place seemed like home, and it came into her mind that she would never see it any more. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivoct recording is in the public domain. Bambatse Nearly four months had gone by, when, at length, the wagon with which were Mr Clifford, Benita, and Jakob Meir camped one night within the country of the Molimo of Bambatse, whose name was Mambo, or perhaps that was his title, since, according to Tamas' son, every chief in succession was called Mambo, though not all of them were Molimos, or representatives and prophets of God, or the great spirit whom they knew as Munwali. Thus, sometimes the Molimo, or priest of Munwali, and the Mambo or chief were different persons. For instance, he said that he, Tamas, would be Mambo on his father's death, but no visions were given to him, therefore as yet, at any rate, he was not called to be Molimo. In the course of this long journey, they had met with many adventures, such as were common to African travellers before the days of railroads, adventures with wild beasts and native tribes, adventures with swollen rivers also, and one that was worse was thirst, since for three days, owing to the failure of a pit or pan where they expected to find water, they were obliged to go without drink. Still, none of these were very serious, nor had any of the three of them ever been in better health than they were at this moment, for by good luck, they had escaped all fever. Indeed, their rough, wild life had agreed with Benita extraordinarily well. So well, as any who had known her in the streets of London, would have scarcely recognised her as the sunburned, active and well-formed young woman who sat that night by the campfire. All the horses they had brought with them had been sold, except some which had died, and three that were salted or proof against the deadly horse sickness which they took on with them. Their own servants also had been sent back to Roy Krantz, in charge of a scotch cart laden with ivory, purchased from boar hunters who had brought it down from the north of the transfer. Therefore, for this was part of the bargain, the three Macalanga were now their only attendants who drove and herded the cattle, while Benita cooked the food which the two white men shot, or sometimes bought from natives. For days they had been passing through a country that was practically deserted, having crossed a high neck, the same on which Robert Seymour had left his wagon. They were camped in low land, which, as they could see by the remains of walls that appeared everywhere, had once been extensively enclosed and cultivated. To their right was a rising mountainous ground, beyond which, said the Macalanga, ran the Zambezi, and in front of them, not more than ten miles away, a great isolated hill, none other than the place that they had journeyed so far to reach, Bambatse, round which flowed the great river. Indeed, Lither, one of the three Macalanga, he who was named Hobba, had gone on to announce their approach. They had outspanned amongst ruins, most of them circular in shape, and Benita, studying them in the bright moonlight, guessed that once these had been houses. That place now so solitary, hundreds or thousands of years ago, was undoubtedly the home of a great population. Thousands rather than hundreds she thought, since closer to hand in the middle of one of those round houses, grew a mighty Baobab tree, that could not have seen less than ten or fifteen centuries, since the seed, when it sprang, pierced the cement floor, which was still visible about its giant bowl. Tamas, the Mollimo's son, saw her studying these evidences of antiquity, and, approaching, saluted her. Lady, he said in his own language, which by now she spoke very well, Lady, and he waved his hand with a fine gesture, behold the city of my people. How do you know that it was their city? She asked. I do not know, Lady, stones cannot speak, the spirits are silent and we have forgotten. Still, I think so, and our fathers have told us that but six or eight generations ago, many folk lived here, though it was not they who built these walls. Even fifty years ago there were many, but now the Matebele have killed them, and we are few. Tomorrow you will see how few. Come here and look, and he led her through the entrance of a square cattle-cral, which stood close by. Within were tufts of rank grass, and a few bushes, and amongst these scores of skulls and other bones. The Matebele killed these in the time of Masili Katze, he said. Now do you wonder that we who remain fear the Matebele, and desire guns to defend ourselves from them, even if we must sell our secrets in order to buy those guns, who have no money to pay for them? No, she answered, looking at the tall dignified man, into whose souls the ions of fear and slavery had burnt so deep. Though I do not wonder. Next morning at daybreak they trekked on, always through these evidences of dead, forgotten peoples. They had not more than ten miles to cover to reach their long journey's end, but the road, if so it could be called, ran uphill, and the oxen, whereof only fourteen were now left to drag the heavy laden wagon, within and footsaw, so that their progress was very slow. Indeed it was past midday, when at length they began to enter what, by apology, might be called the town of Bambatze. Then we go away from this, it will have to be Vyvota, I think, unless we can buy trekked cattle, said the mayor, looking at the laboring oxen with a doubtful eye. Why? asked Mr Clifford anxiously, because several of those beasts have been bitten by Tetsi fly, like my horse, and the poison is beginning to work. I thought so last night, but now I am sure. Look at their eyes! It was down in that bit of bush felt, eight days ago. I said that we ought not to camp there. At this moment they came to the crest of the ridge, and on its further side, saw the wonderful ruins of Bambatze close at hand. In front of them stood a hill, jutting out as it were into the broad waters of the Zambezi River, which to a great extent protected it upon three sides. The fourth, that opposite to them, except at one place, where a kind of natural causeway led into the town, was also defended by nature. Since here, for more than 50 feet in height, the granite rock of the base of the hill rose sheer and unclimbable. On the mount itself, that in all may have covered eight or ten acres of ground and surrounded by a deep dunga or ditch, with three rings of fortifications, set one above the other, mighty walls, which, it was evident, had been built by no modern hand. Looking at them, Benita could well understand how it came about, that the poor fugitive Portuguese had chosen this as their last place of refuge, and were overcome at length, not by the thousands of savages who followed and surrounded them, but by hunger. Indeed, the place seemed impregnable to any force that was not armed with siege guns. On the hither side of this natural fos, which doubtless in ancient times had been filled with water, led from the Zambezi, stood the village of the Bambaça Macalanga, a collection of seventy or eighty wretched huts, round like those of their forefathers, but built of mud and thatch. About them lay the gardens or square fields that were well cultivated, and at this season rich with ripening corn. Benita, however, could see no cattle, and concluded, therefore, that these must be kept on the hill for safety, and within its walls. Down the rough road they lumbered, and through the village where the few women and children stared at them in a frightened way. Then they came to the causeway, which, on its further side, was blocked with thorns and rough stones taken from the ruins. While they waited for these to be removed by some men who now appeared, Benita looked at the massive circular wall, still thirty or forty feet in height, by perhaps twenty through its base, built of granite blocks without mortar, and ornamented with quaint patterns of other coloured stones. In its thickness she could see grooves, where evidently had once been portcullises, but these had disappeared a long ago. It is a wonderful place, she said to her father, I am glad that I came, have you been all over it? No, only between the first and second walls, and once between the second and third. The old temple, or whatever it is, is on the top, and into that they would never admit us. It is there that the treasure lies. That the treasure is supposed to lie, she answered with a smile. But father, what guarantee have you that they will do so now? Perhaps they will take the guns, and show us the door, or rather the gate. Your daughter is right, so is none, and before a box is taken off the wagon, we must get one, said Mayor. Oh, I know it is risky, and it would have been better to make sure first, but it is too late to talk of that now. Look, the stones are cleared, check on, trek! The long wagon whip cracked, the poor tired-out oxen strained at the yokes, and on they went through the entrance of that fateful fortress that was but just wide enough to admit them. Inside, they are great open space, which as they could see from the numerous ruins had once been filled with buildings that now were half hidden by grass, trees and creepers. This was the outer ring of the temple, where in ancient days the priests and captains had their home. Travelling across it for perhaps 150 yards, they came near the second wall, which was like the first, only not quite so solid, and saw that on a stretch of beaten ground, and seated in the shadow, for the day was hot, the people of Bambatse were gathered to greet them. When within 50 yards, they dismounted from the horses, which were left with the wagon in the charge of the Makalanga Tamala. Then Benita, taking her position between her father and Jacob Meir, they advanced towards the ring of natives, of whom there may have been nearly 200, all of them adult men. As they came, except one figure who remained seated with his back against the wall, the human circle stood up as a token of respect, and Benita saw that they were of the same stamp as the messengers, tall and good-looking, with melancholy eyes and a cowed expression, wearing the appearance of people who from day to day live in dread of slavery and death. Opposite to them was a break in the circle through which Tamas led them, and as they crossed it, Benita felt that all those people were staring at her with their sad eyes. A few paces from where the man crouched against the wall, his head hidden by a beautifully worked blanket that was thrown over it, were placed three well-carved stools. Upon these, as a motion from Tamas, they sat themselves down, and, as it was not dignified for them to speak first, remained silent. Be patient and forgive, said Tamas at length. My father, Mambo, praised to the Manwali and the spirits of his fathers that this coming of yours may be fortunate, and that a vision of those things that are to be may descend upon him. Benita, feeling nearly 200 pairs of eyes concentrated upon her, wished that the vision might come quickly, but after a minute or two, fell into tune with the thing, and almost enjoyed this strange experience. Those mighty ancient walls built by hands unknown, which had seen so much history and so much death, the silent triple ring of patient solemn men, the last descendants of a cultured race, the crouching figure hidden beneath the blanket who imagined himself to be communing with his god. It was all very strange, very well worth the seeing to one who had wearied of the monotony of civilisation. Luke, the man stirred and threw back his blanket, revealing ahead, white with age, a spiritual, ascetic face, so thin as every bone showed in it, and dark eyes which stared upwards unseeingly, like those of a person in a trance. Thrice, he sighed, while his tribesmen watched him. Then he let his eyes fall upon the three white people seated in front of him. First he looked at Mr Clifford, and his face grew troubled. Then at Jacob Meyer, and it was anxious and alarmed. Lastly he stared at Benita, and while he did so, the dark eyes became calm and happy. White made, and he said, in a soft low voice, for you at least I have good tidings. Though death come near to you, though you see him on your right hand at your left, and in front of you, and behind you, I say, fear not, hear you, who have known deep sorrow, shall find happiness and rest, O maiden, with whom goes the spirit of one pure and fair as you, who died so long ago, Then, while Benita wondered at his words, spoken with such sweet earnestness, that although she believed nothing of them, they brought a kind of comfort to her. He looked once more at her father, and Jacob Meyer, and as it were with an effort, with silence. Have you no pleasant prophecy for me, old friend, said Jacob, who have come so far to hear it? At once the aged face grew inscrutable, all expression vanished behind a hundred wrinkles, and he answered, non-white man, none that I am charged to deliver, search the skies for yourself, you who are so wise, and read them if you can. Lord, he went on in another voice, I greet you in the name and the presence of my children. Son, Thomas, I greet you also, you have done your mission well. Listen now, you are weary, and would rest and eat. Still, bear with me, for I have a word to say. Look behind you, you see all my tribe, not twenty times ten above the age of boys. We, who once were countless as the leaves on yonder trees in spring, why are we dead? Because of the Amanda Mealy, those fierce dogs, whom two generations ago, most silly catse, the general of Shaka, brought up to the south of us, who ravish us and kill us year by year. We are not warlike, we who have outlived war and the lust of slaying. We are men of peace who desire to cultivate the land and to follow our arts which have descended to us from our forefathers, and to worship the heavens above us, wither we depart to join the spirits of our forefathers. But they are fierce and strong and savage, and they come up and murder our children and old people, and take away the young women and the maidens to be slaves, and with them all our cattle. Where are our cattle? Loengula, chief of the Amanda Mealy, has them. Scarce a cow is left to give milk to the sick, or the motherless babe, and yet he sends for cattle. Tribute, say his messengers, deliver tribute, for my impi will come and take it with your lives. But we have no cattle, all are gone. We have nothing left to us, but this ancient mountain and the works built thereon, and a little corn on which we live. Yes, I say it, I, the Molymo, whose ancestors were great kings, I who have still more wisdom in me than all the hosts of the Amanda Mealy, and as he spoke, the old man's gray head sank upon his breast, and the tears run down his withered cheeks, while his people answered, Bambu, it is true. Now listen again, he went on. Loengula threatens us, therefore I sent to these white men who were here before, saying that if they would bring me a hundred guns and powder and ball to enable us to beat off the Amanda Mealy from behind these strong walls of ours, I would take them into the secret holy place, where for six generations no white man has set afoot, and there suffer them to search for the treasure which is hid therein, no man knows where, that treasure which they asked leave to find for winter's gone, we refused it then and drove them hence, because of the curse laid upon us by the white maid who died, the last of the Portuguese who foretold her people's fate for us, if we gave up the buried gold saved to one appointed. My children, the spirit of Bambuase has visited me, I have seen her, and others have seen her, and in my sleep she said to me, suffer the men to come and search, for with them is one of the blood, to whom my people's wealth is given, and great is your danger, for many spears draw nigh. My children, I sent my son and other messengers on a far journey to where I knew the men dwelt, and they have returned, after many months, bringing those men with them, bringing with them also another, of whom I know nothing. Yes, her who is appointed, her of whom the spirit spoke. Then he lifted his withered hand and held it towards Benita, saying, I tell you that yonder she sits, for whom the generations have waited. It is so, answered the Macalanga, it is the white lady come again to take her own. Friends, asked the Molimo, while they wandered at his strange speech, tell me, have you brought the guns? Surely, answered Mr Clifford, they are there in the wagon, every one of them, the best that can be made, and with them ten thousand cartridges bought at a great cost. We have fulfilled our share of the bargain. Now, will you fulfill yours, or shall we go away again with the guns, and leave you to meet the Matabele with your Asagais? Say you the agreement, while we listen, answered the Molimo. Good, said Mr Clifford, it is this, that you shall find us food and shelter while we are with you, that you shall lead us into the secret place at the head of the hill, where the Portuguese died and the gold is hidden, that you shall allow us to search for that gold, when and where we will, that if we discover the gold, or anything else of value to us, you shall suffer us to take it away, and assist us upon our journey, either by giving us boats and banning them to travel down the Zambezi, or in whatever fashion may be most easy, that you shall permit none to hurt, molest, or annoy us during our sojourn among you. Is that our contract? Not quite all of it, said the Molimo. There is this to add. First, that you shall teach us how to use the guns. Secondly, that you shall search for and find the treasure, if so it is appointed without our help, since in this matter it is not lawful for us to meddle. Thirdly, that if the Amanda Beely should chance to attack us while you are here, you shall do your best to assist us against their power. Do you then expect attack, ass mayor, suspiciously? Why, it's man, we always expect attack. Is it a bargain? Yes, answered Mr Clifford and Jacob Mayer in one voice, the latter adding, Ziggons and the cartridges are yours, lead us now to the hidden place. We have fulfilled our part, we trust to the honour of you and all your people to fulfil yours. White maiden, asked the Molimo, addressing Benita, do you also say that it is a bargain? What my father says, I say, good, said the Molimo, then in the presence of my people, and in the name of the Monwally, I, Mambo, who am his prophet, declare that it is so agreed between us and may the vengeance of their heavens fall upon those who break our pact. Let the oxen of the white men be outspanned, their horses fed, their wagon unloaded, that we may count the guns, let food be brought into the guesthouse also, and after they have eaten, I, who alone of all of you have ever entered it, will lead them to the holy place, that there they may begin to search for that which the white men desire from age to age, to find it if they can, if not to depart satisfied and at peace. End of chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This LibriVox recording is in the public domain The Oath of Maduna Mr. Clifford and Mayor rose to return to the wagon in order to superintend the unyoking of the oxen and to give directions as to their herding and the off-saddling of the horses. Benita rose also, wondering when the food that had been promised would be ready, for she was hungry. Meanwhile the molymo was greeting his son Tamas, patting his hand affectionately and talking to him, when suddenly Benita, who watched this domestic scene with interest, heard a commotion behind her. Turning to discover its cause, she perceived three great men clad in full war panoply, shields on their left arms, spears in their right hands, black ostrich plumes rising from the polished rings woven in their hair, black moochers about their middles, and black oxtails tied beneath their knees, who marched through the throng of Makalanga as though they saw them not. The matabili, the matabili are on us, cried a voice, while other voices shouted, fly to your walls, and yet others kill them, they are few. But the three men marched on on heeding till they stood before Mambo. Who are you and what do you seek? The old man asked boldly, though the fear that had taken hold of him at the sight of these strangers was evident enough, for his whole body shook. Surely you should know, chief of Bambatse, answered their spokesman with a laugh, for you have seen the like of us before. We are the children of Lobengula, the great elephant, the king, the black bull, the father of the amandabili, and we have a message for your ear, little old man, which, finding that you leave your gate open, we have walked in to deliver. Speak your message then, envoys of Lobengula, in my ear and in those of my people, said the mollimo. Your people, are these all your people? The spokesman replied contemptuously. Why then, what need was there for the indonis of the king to send so large an impi under a great general against you, when a company of lads armed with sticks would have served the turn? We thought that these were but the sons of your house, the men of your own family, whom you had called together to eat with the white strangers. Close the entrance in the wall, cried the mollimo, stung to fury by the insult, and a voice answered, Father, it is already done. But the amandabili, who should have been frightened, only laughed again, and their spokesman said, See my brothers, he thinks to trap us, who are but three. Well, kill on, old wizard, if you will, but know that if a hand is lifted, this spear of mine goes through your heart, and that the children of Lobengula die hard. Though also that then the impi, which waits not far away, will destroy you, every one, man and woman, youth and maiden, little ones who hold the hand and infants at the breast, none shall be left, none at all to say, Here once lived the cowardly Magalanga of Bambaxi. Nay, be not foolish, but talk softly with us, so that perhaps we may spare your lives. Then the three men placed themselves back to back, in such a fashion that they faced every way, and could not be smitten down from behind, and waited. I do not kill envoys, said the mollimo, but if they are foul-mouthed, I throw them out of my walls. Your message, men of the Amandabile. I hear you, harken now to the word of Lobengula. Then the envoy began to speak, using the pronoun I, as though it were the Matabile king himself who spoke to his vassal, the Magalanga chief. I sent you last year, you slave, who dare to call yourself Mambo of the Magalanga, demanding a tribute of cattle and women, and warning you, that if they did not come, I would take them. They did not come, but that time I spared you. Now I send again, hand over to my messengers fifty cows and fifty oxen, with hers to drive them, and twelve maidens to be approved by them, or I wipe you out who have troubled the earth too long, and that before another moon has waned. Those are the words of Lobengula, he concluded, and taking the horn snuff-box from the slit in his ear, helped himself, then insolently passed it to the molymoor. So great was the old chief's rage, that, forgetting his self-control, he struck the box from the hand of his tormentor to the ground, where the snuff lay spilled. Just so shall the blood of your people be spilled, through your rash foolishness, said the messenger calmly, as he picked up the box, and as much of the snuff as he could save. How can, said the molymoor, in a thin trembling voice, your king demands cattle, knowing that all the cattle are gone, that scarce a cow is left to give drink to our motherless babe. He asks for maidens also, but if he took those he seeks, we should have none left for our young men to marry. And why is this so? It is because the vulture Lobengula has picked us to the bone. Yes, while we are yet alive, he has torn the flesh from us. Year by year, his soldiers have stolen and killed, so that last nothing is left of us. And now he seeks what we have not got to give, in order that he may force a quarrel upon us, and murder us. There is not left for us to give Lobengula. You have your answer. Indeed, replied the envoy with a sneer. How comes it then, that yonder I see a wagon laden with goods, and oxen in the yokes? Yes, he repeated with meaning, with goods whereof we have known the like at Bulawayo, but Lobengula also sometimes buys guns from white men, o little Macalanga. Come now, give us the wagon with its load, and the oxen and the horses, and though it be but a small gift, we will take it away, and ask nothing more this year. How can I give you the property of my guests, the white men? Ask the molymo, get you gone, and do your worst, or you shall be thrown from the walls of the fortress. Good, but know that very soon we shall return, and make an end of you, who are tired of these long and troublesome journeys to gather so little. Go, tend your corn, dwellers in Bambatse, but this I swear in the name of Lobengula, never shall you see it ripen more. Now the crowd of listening Macalanga trembled at his words, but in the old molymo they seemed only to rouse a storm of prophetic fury. For a moment he stood staring up at the blue sky, his arms outstretched as though in prayer. Then he spoke in a new voice, a clear, quiet voice that did not seem to be his own. Who am I? he said. I am the molymo of the Bambatse Macalanga. I am the ladder between them and heaven. I sit on the topmost bow of the tree, and at which they shelter, and there in the crest of the tree, Monwali speaks with me. What to you are wins? To me are voices whispering in my spirit's ears. Once my forefathers were great kings, they were mambos of all this land, and that is still my name and dignity. We lived in peace, we laboured, we did wrong to no man. Then you Zulu savages came upon us from the southeast, and your path was red with blood. Year after year you robbed and you destroyed, you raided our cattle, you murdered our men, you took our maidens and our children to be your women and your slaves, until at length of all this pit, filled with the corn of life, there is left but a little handful, and this you say you will eat up also, lest it should fall into good ground and grow again. I tell you that I think it will not be so, but whether or no that happens, I have words for the ear of your king, a message for a message, say to him that thus speaks the wise old mollimo of Bambatse. I see him hunted like a wounded hyena through the rivers in the deep bush and over the mountain. I see him die in pain and misery, but his grave I see not, for no man shall know it. I see the white men take his land and all his wealth. Yea, to them and to no son of his, shall his people give the bayete the royal salute. Of his greatness and his power, this alone shall remain to him, a name accursed from generation to generation, and last I see peace upon the land and upon my children's children. He paused, then added, for you cruel dog that you are, this message also from the Munwali, by the lips of his mollimo, I lift no hand against you, to shall not live to look again upon your king's face. Be gone now and do your worst. For a moment the three Matabele seemed to be frightened, and Benita heard one of them say to his companions, the wizard has bewitched us, he has bewitched the great elephant and all his people, shall we kill him? But quickly shaking off his fears, the spokesman laughed and answered, so that is what you have brought the white people here for, old traitor, to plot against the throne of Loengula. He wheeled round and stared at Mr Clifford and Jacob Mayer, then added, good greybeard and blackbeard, I myself will put you both to such a death as you have never heard of, and as for the girl, since she is well favoured, she shall brew the king's beer, and be numbered among the king's wives, unless indeed he is pleased to give her to me. In an instant the thing was done, at the man's words about Benita, Mayer, who had been listening to his threats and bombast unconcerned, suddenly seemed to awake, his dark eyes flashed, his pale face turned cruel, snatching the revolver from his belt, he seemed to point and fire it with one movement, and down, dead or dying, went the Matabele. Men did not stir, they only stared, accustomed as they were to death in that wild land, the suddenness of this deed surprised them. The contrast between the splendid brutal savage who had stood before them a moment ago, and the limp black thing going to sleep upon the ground, was strange enough to move their imaginations. There he lay, and there over him, the smoking pistol in his hand, Mayer stood and laughed. Benita felt that the act was just and the awful punishment deserved, yet that laugh of Jacob's jarred upon her, for in it she thought she heard the man's heart speaking, and oh, its voice was merciless. Surely justice should not laugh when her sword falls. Behold now, said the mullimo in his still voice, pointing at the dead Matabele with his finger. Do I speak lies, or is it true that this man shall not look more upon his king's face? Well, as it was with the servant, so it shall be with the Lord, only more slowly. It is the decree of the Munwali, spoken by the voice of his mouth, the mullimo of Ambatse. Go, children of Lobengula, and bear with you as an offering, this first fruit of the harvest that the white men shall reap among the warriors of his people. The thin voice died away, and there was silence so intense, that Benita thought she heard the scraping of the feet of a green lizard, which crept across a stone a yard or two away. Then, of a sudden, it ended. Of a sudden, the two remaining Matabele turned and fled for their lives, and as, when dogs run, a flock of sheep will wheel about and pursue them, so did the Makalanga. They grabbed at the messengers with their hands, tearing their finery from them. They struck them with sticks, they pounded them with stones, till at length, two bruised and bleeding men, finding all escape cut off, and led perhaps by some instinct, staggered back to where Benita stood, horrified at this dreadful scene, and throwing themselves upon the ground, clutched her dress and prayed for mercy. Move, a little Miss Clifford, said Mayor, three of those brutes will not weigh heavier than one upon my conscience. No, no, you shall not, she answered. Mambo, these men are messengers, spare them. Harken to the voice of pity, said the old prophet, spoken in a place where pity never was, and not in vain. Let them go, give mercy to the merciless, for she buys their lives with prayer. They will bring the others on us, muttered Thomas, and even old Mr Clifford shook his head sadly. But the mollimo only said, I have spoken, let them go. That which will befall must befall, and from this deed no ill shall come that would not have come otherwise. No, you here, depart swiftly, said Benita in Zulu. With difficulty the two men dragged themselves to their feet, and supporting each other stood before her. One of them, a clever, powerful-faced man, whose hair was tinged with grey, addressing himself to Benita, gasped, hear me, that fool there, and he pointed to his dead companion, whose boasting brought his death upon him, was but a low fellow. I, who kept silence and let him talk, a maduna, a prince of the royal house, who justly deserved to die, because I turned my back upon these dogs. Yet I, and my brother here, take life at your hands, lady, who, now that I have had time to think, would refuse it at theirs. For whether I stay or go does not matter. The impi waits, the slayers are beneath the walls. Those things which I decreed will happen. There, yonder old wizard speaks true. Listen, lady, should it chance that you have cause to demand two lives at the hands of Maduna? In his own name, and the name of his king, he promises them to you. In safety shall they pass, they and all that is theirs, without toll taken. Remember the oath of Maduna, lady, in the hour of your need. And do you, my brother, bear witness to it among our people? Then, straightening themselves as well as they were able, these two sorely hurt men lifted their right arms, and gave to Benita the salute due to a chieftainess. This done, taking no note of any other creature there, they limped away to the gates that had been opened for them, and vanished beyond the wall. All this, while Mayer had stood silent. Now he spoke with a bitter smile. Charity, Miss Clifford, said a certain Paul, as reported in your New Testament, covers a multitude of sins. I hope very much that it will serve to cover our remains from the ass-forgals, after we have met our death in some such fashion as that brute promised us. Pointed to the dead man, Benita looked at her father in question. Mr. Mayer means, my dear, that you have done a foolish thing in begging the lives of those Matabeely. It would have been safer for us all if they were dead. Who, as it is, have gone off burning for revenge? Of course, I understand it was natural enough, but—and he hesitated and stopped. The chief did not say so, broke in Benita with agitation. Besides, if he had, I should not have cared. It was bad enough to see one man killed like that. And she shivered. I could not bear any more. You should not be angry at the fellow's death, seeing that it was what he said of you which brought it upon him, Mayer replied with meaning. Otherwise, he might have gone unharmed so far as I was concerned. For the rest I did not interfere, because I saw it was useless. Also, I am a fatalist like our friend, the molymo, and believe in what is decreed. The truth is, he added sharply, among savages, ladies are not in place. Why did you not say that down at Roy Crans, Jacob? Asked Mr Clifford. You know I thought so all the while, but somehow I was overruled. Now, what I suggest is that we had better get out of this place as fast as we can, instantly, as soon as we have eaten, before our retreat is cut off. Mayer looked at the oxen which had been outspanned, nine were wondering about picking up what food they could, but the five which were supposed to have been bitten by Tetsi fly had lain down. Nine worn out and foot sore oxen will not draw the wagon, he said. Also, in all probability, the place is already surrounded by Matabele, who merely let us in to be sure of the guns which their spies must have told them we were carrying. Lastly, having spent so much and come so far, I do not mean to go without what we seek. Still, if you think that your daughter's danger is greater within these walls than outside of them, you might try if we can hire servants, which I doubt. Or possibly, if any rowers are to be had, you could go down the Zambezi in a canoe, risking the fever. You and she must settle it, Clifford. Difficulties and dangers every way one looks, Benita. What do you say? asked her father, distractedly. Benita thought a moment. She wished to escape from Mr. Mayor, of whom she was weary and afraid, and would have endured much to do so. On the other hand, her father was tired out and needed rest. Also, to turn his back on this venture now would have been a bitter blow to him. Moreover, lacking cattle and men, how was it to be done? Lastly, something within her, that same voice which had bidden her to come, seemed to bid her to stay. Very soon she had made up her mind. Father, dear, she said, thank you for thinking of me, but as far as I can see, we should run more risks, trying to get away than we do in stopping here. I wanted to come, though you warned me against it, and now I must take my chance and trust to God to bring her safe through them all. Surely, with all those rifles, the Makolanga ought to be able to hold such a place as this against the Matabele. I hope so, answered her father, but they are a timid folk. Still, though it would have been far better never to have come, I think with you that it is best to stay where we are and trust to God. End of chapter 9 Chapter 10 Of The Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The mountaintop If our adventurers, or any of them, hoped that they were going to be led to the secret places of the fortress that day, they were destined to disappointment. Indeed, the remainder of it was employed arduously enough in unpacking rifles and a supply of ammunition, also in giving to a few of the leading Makolanga preliminary lessons in the method of their use, a matter as to which their ideas were of the vaguest. The rest of the tribe, having brought their women and children into the outer enclosure of the ancient stronghold, and with them their sheep and goats, and the few cattle which remained to them, were employed in building up the entrance permanently with stones, a zigzag secret path upon the riverside that could be stopped in a few minutes, being now their only method of ingress and egress through the thickness of the walls. A certain number of men also were sent out as spies to discover, if possible, the whereabouts of the Matabili Impe, that there was some Impe they were almost sure, for a woman who had followed them reported that the injured captain Maduna and his companion had been met at a distance of about three miles from Bambatse by a small party of Matabili who were hiding in some bushes, and that these men had made litters for them and carried them away, with her she did not know, for she had not dared to pursue them further. That night Benita passed in the guesthouse, which was only a hut, rather larger than the others, while the two men slept in the wagon just outside. She was so tired that for a long while she could not rest. Her mind kept flying back to all the events of the day, the strange words of that mystic old Mollimo concerning herself, the arrival of the brutal messengers, and the endabba that followed, then the sudden and awful destruction of their spokesman at the hand of Yakob Meir. The scene would not leave her eyes, she saw it again and yet again, the quick transformation of Meir's indifferent face, when the soldier began to insult and threaten her, the lightning-like movement of his hand, the flash, the report, the change from life to death, and the slayer's cruel laugh. He could be very terrible Yakob Meir when his passions were roused. And what had aroused them then, she could not doubt that it was herself, not mere chivalry towards a woman, even if he were capable of chivalry, merely for that he would never have taken such a risk of future trouble and revenge. No, it was something deeper. He had never said anything or done anything, yet long ago instinct or insight had caused Benita to suspect the workings of his mind. And now she was sure of them. The thought was terrible, worse than all her other dangers put together. True, she had her father to rely on, but he had been somewhat ailing of late. Age and those arduous journeys and anxieties had told upon him, supposing that anything were to happen to him, if he died for instance, how dreadful her position might become, left alone, far from the reach of help, with savages, and Yakob Meir. Oh, if it had not been for that dreadful shipwreck, how different might be her lot today? Well, it was the thought of the shipwreck, and of him whom she had lost therein, which had driven her onto this adventure. That in it perhaps her suffering mind might be numb to rest, and now she must face its issues. God still remained above her, and she would put her trust in him. After all, if she died, what did it matter? But that old Molymo had promised her that she was safe from death, that she should find here happiness and rest, though not that of the grave. He promised this, speaking as one who knew of all her grief, and a very little while afterwards, in the case of the Matabili soldier, he had proved himself a prophet of awful power. Also, she knew not how, she knew not why. Now, as before, her innermost heart seemed to bear witness that this old dreamer's words were true, and that for her, in some strange manner unforeseen, there still remained a rest. Comforted by this intuition, her length Benita fell asleep. Next morning, when she came out of the hut, Benita was met by her father, who, with a cheerful countenance, informed her that at any rate as yet, there was no sign of the Matabili. A few hours later, too, some spies came in, who said that for miles around, nothing could be seen or heard of them. Still, the preparations for defence went on, and the hundred best men, having been furnished with the rifles, were being drilled in the use of them by Tamas and his two companions, Tamala and Oba, who had learned how to handle a gun very well in the course of their long journey. The shooting of these raw recruits, however, proved to be execrable. Indeed, so dangerous were they, that when one of them fired at a mark set upon the wall, it was found necessary to order all the rest to lie down. As it was, a poor trecox, luckily it was sick, and two sheep were killed. For seeing a scarcity of provisions in the event of a siege, mayor, Providence as ever, had already decreed the death of the Tetsibitan cattle. These were accordingly dispatched, and having been skinned and cut up, their flesh was severed into long strips to be dried in the burning sun as Biltong, which secretly, Benita hoped she might never be called upon to eat. Yet the time was to come when she would swallow that hard, tetsy-poisoned flesh with thankfulness. At midday, after they had eaten, Mr Clifford and Mayor went to the Mollimo, where he sat against the second wall, and pointing to the men armed with guns, said, We have fulfilled our bargain, now fulfil yours, lead us to the holy place that we may begin our search. So be it, he answered, follow me, white people. Then, quite unattended, he guided them round the inner wall, till they came to a path of rock not more than a yard wide, beneath which was a precipice fifty feet or so in depth, that almost overhung the river. The giddy path they followed for about twenty paces, to find that he's ended in a cleft in the wall, so narrow that only one person could walk through it at a time. That it must have been the approach to the second stronghold was evident, however, since it was faced on either side with dress stones, and even the foundation granite had been worn by the human feet which had passed here for ages upon ages. This path zigzag to and fro in the thickness of the wall, till it brought them finally within its circle, a broad belt of steeply rising ground covered like that below, with the tumbled ruins of buildings, amidst which grew bush and trees. Heaven send that the gold is not buried here, said Mr Clifford, surveying the scene. For if it is, we shall never find it. The mollimo seemed to guess the meaning of his words from his face, for he answered, I think not here. The besiegers won this place and camped in it for many weeks. I could show you where they built their fires, and tried to undermine the last wall within, which the Portuguese sat about until hunger killed them, for they could not eat their gold. Follow me again. So on they went up the slope, till they came to the base of the third wall, and as before passed round it, and reached a point above the river. But now there was no passage, only some shallow and almost precipitous steps cut from single stones, leading from the foot of the wall to its summit, more than thirty feet above. Really, said Benita, contemplating this perilous ascent with dismay, the ways of treasure seekers are hard, I don't think I can, while her father also looked at them and shook his head. We must get a rope, said Mayor to the mollimo angrily. How can we climb that place, without one, with such a gulf below? I am old, but I can climb it, answered the aged man in mild surprise. Since to him, who had trodden it all his life, it seemed not difficult. Still, he added, I have a rope above, which I use upon dark nights. I will ascend and let it down. Ascent he did accordingly. Indeed, it was a wondrous sight to see his withered legs scrambling from step to step, as unconcernedly as though he were going upstairs. No monkey could have been more agile, or more absolutely impervious to the effects of height. Soon he vanished in, or rather through the crest of the wall, and presently appeared again on the top step, whence he let down a stout hide rope, remarking that it was securely tied. So anxious was Mayor to enter the hidden place of which he had dreamed so long, that he scarcely waited for it to reach his hand, before he began the climb, which he accomplished safely. Then, sitting on the top of the wall, he directed Mr Clifford to fasten the end of the rope round Benita's waist, and her turn came. It was not so bad as she expected, for she was agile, and the knowledge that the rope would prevent disaster gave her confidence. In a very little while she had grasped Mayor's outstretched hand, and been drawn into safety through a kind of aperture above the top step. Then the rope was let down again for her father, who tied it about his middle. Well was it that he did so, since when he was about halfway up, awkwardness, or perhaps loss of nerve, neither of them wonderful in an old man, caused his foot to slip, and had it not been for the rope which Mayor and the Mollimo held, he would certainly have fallen into the river some hundreds of feet below. As it was he recovered himself, and presently arrived panting and very pale. In her relief Benita kissed him, and even as she did so, thought again that she had been very near to being left alone with Jacob, Mayor. All's well that ends well, my dear, he said, but upon my word I am beginning to wish that I had been content with the humble prophets of horse-breeding. Benita made no answer, it seemed too late for any useful consideration of the point. Clever men, those ancients, said Mayor, see, and he pointed out to her how, by drawing a heavy stone which still lay close by over the aperture through which they had crept, the ascent of the wall could be made absolutely impossible to any enemy, since at its crest it was battened outwards, not inwards, as is usual in those ancient ruins. Yes, she answered, we ought to be safe enough inside here, and that's as well, since I do not feel inclined to go out again at present. Then they paused to look about them, and this is what they saw. The wall, built like those below, of unmorted blocks of stone, remained in a wonderfully good state of preservation, for its only enemies had been time, the tropical rains, and the growth of shrubs and trees, which here and there had cracked and displaced the stones. It enclosed all the top of the hill, perhaps three acres of ground, and on it as intervals were planted soapstone pillars, each of them about 12 feet in height, and fashioned at the top to a rude resemblance of a vulture. Many of these columns however had been blown down, or perhaps struck by lightning, and lay broken upon the wall, or if they had fallen inward at its foot, but some, six or eight perhaps, were still standing. Benita learned afterwards that they must have been placed there by the ancient Phoenicians, or whatever people constructed this gigantic fortification, and had something to do with the exact recording of the different seasons of the year and their subdivisions by means of the shadows which they cast. As yet however she did not pay much attention to them, for she was engaged in considering a more remarkable relic of antiquity which stood upon the very verge of the precipice, the wall indeed being built up to its base on either side. It was the great cone of which Robert Seymour had told her, 50 feet high or more, such as once was found in the Phoenician temples, but in this case it was not built of masonry, but shaped by the hand of man, out of a single gigantic granite monolith of the sorts that are sometimes to be met within Africa, that thousands of millions of years ago had been left standing thus when the softer rock around it was worn away by time and weather. On the inner side of this cone were easy steps whereby it could be ascended, and its top, which might have been six feet in diameter, was fashioned to the shape of a cup, probably for the purposes of acts of worship and of sacrifice. This extraordinary monument, which except on the riverside could not be seen from below on account of the slope of the hill, leaned slightly outwards, so that a stone dropped from its crest would fall into the waters of the stream. Then sit was, said the mulimo, that my forefather saw the last of the Portuguese, the fair daughter of the great Captain Ferreira, hurl herself to death, after she had given the gold into our keeping, and laid the curse upon it until she came again. So in my dreams have I seen and heard her also, I and others have seen her, but these only from by the river far below. He paused a while, looking at Benita with his queer dreamy eyes, then said suddenly, Say, Lady, do you remember nothing of that matter? Now Benita grew vexed, the whole thing was uncanny and jarred upon her. How can I remember, she asked, who was born not five and twenty years ago? I do not know, he answered. How should I know, who am but an ignorant old black man, who was born not much more than eighty years ago? Yet Lady, tell me, for I seek your wisdom. Where were you born from, out of the earth or out of the heavens? What you shake your head, you who do not remember? Well, neither do I remember, yet it is true that all circles meet somewhere, and it is true that the Portuguese made and said she would come again. And lastly, it is true that she was such and one as you are, for she haunts this place, and I, who have seen her sitting yonder in the moonlight, know her beauty well. Yet may hap she comes no more in flesh, but still her spirit comes. For, Lady, out of those eyes of yours, I see it gaze at me. Come, he added abruptly, let us descend the wall, for, as you cannot remember, there is more to show you. Have no fear, the steps are easy. So they went down without much difficulty, since from the accumulation of rubbish and other causes, the wall was a great deal lower on this side, and found themselves in the usual dense growth of vegetation and brushwood through which ran a little path. It led them past the ruins of buildings, whereof the use and purpose were long since forgotten, for their roofs had fallen in hundreds of thousands of years ago, to the entrance of a cave which was placed almost at the foot of the monolithic cone, but thirty or forty yards further from the circle of the wall. Here he bade them stay while he lit the lamps within. Five minutes passed and he returned, saying that all was ready. Be not afraid of what you may see, he added, for no white people that save my forefathers and myself, none have entered this place since the Portuguese perished here, nor have we, who do but come hither to pray and receive the word of the Manwale, ever ventured to disturb it, as it was, so it is. Come, Lady, come, she whose spirit goes with you was the last of your white race to pass this door. It is therefore fitting that your feet and her spirit should be the first to enter it again. Benita hung back a little, for the adventure was eerie. Then, determined that she was show no fear in the presence of this old priest, took the thin hand he stretched out to her, and walked forward with head erect. The two men began to follow her, but the Mollymores stopped them, saying, not so. The maiden enters first alone with me. It is her house, and should it please her to ask you to dwell therein, so be it, but first she must visit her house alone. Nonsense, said Mr Clifford angrily, I will not have it, it will frighten her. Lady, do you trust me, asked the Mollymore. Yes, she answered, adding, Father, I think that you had better let me go alone. I'm not afraid now, and it may be wisest not to thwart him. This is a very strange business, not like anything else, and really I think that I had better go alone. If I do not come back presently, you can follow. Those who break in upon the sleep of the dead, should walk gently, gently, pipe the old Mollymore in a sing-song voice. The maiden's breath is pure, the maiden's foot is light. Her breath will not offend the dead, her step will not disturb the dead. White men, white men, anger not the dead, for the dead are mighty, and will be revenged upon you when you are dead. Soon, very soon, when you are dead, dead in your sorrows, dead in your sins, dead gathered to that company of the dead, who await us here. And still chanting his mystic song, he led Benita by the hand, out of the light, onward into darkness, away from life, onward into the place of death.