"Dog," said the Prince, "where is your assegai?" And as he spoke he
threw it from him into the river beneath, for he had picked it up while
we struggled, but, as I noted, retained his own. "Now, dog, why do I not
kill you, as would have been easy but now? I will tell you. Because I
will not mix the blood of a traitor with my own. See!" He set the haft
of his broad spear upon the rock and bent forward over the blade. "You
and your witch-wife have brought me to nothing, O Saduko. My blood, and
the blood of all who clung to me, is on your head. Your name shall
stink for ever in the nostrils of all true men, and I whom you have
betrayed--I, the Prince Umbelazi--will haunt you while you live; yes,
my spirit shall enter into you, and when you die--ah! then we'll meet
again. Tell this tale to the white men, Macumazahn, my friend, on whom
be honour and blessings."
He paused, and I saw the tears gush from his eyes--tears mingled
with blood from the wound in his head. Then suddenly he uttered the
battle-cry of "Laba! Laba!" and let his weight fall upon the point of
the spear.
It pierced him through and through. He fell on to his hands and knees.
He looked up at us--oh, the piteousness of that look!--and then rolled
sideways from the edge of the rock.
A heavy splash, and that was the end of Umbelazi the Fallen--Umbelazi,
about whom Mameena had cast her net.
A sad story in truth. Although it happened so many years ago I weep as I
write it--I weep as Umbelazi wept.