The covenant - James A. Michener [282]
In 1802 famine swept the valley of the Umfolozi, the only time that men could remember when the richest of rivers betrayed her children, but now the lack of food was so critical that the chief of the Langeni began to drive unwanted persons out of his kraals, and among those who had to leave were Nandi, mother of Shaka, and her son, who was liked by no one in the clan. As they were departing southward, using a ford that crossed the river, the outcast boy Nxumalo overtook them, saying that it could not be long before he, too, would be forced out and asking permission to join them in their exile. Nandi, a powerful woman who wasted little effort in sentiment, said, 'Stay behind.' But her son, remembering various behaviors of the younger boy, said, 'Let him come.' And the exiles moved south.
In time they straggled into the lands of Dingiswayo, most important of the southern chiefs, and when he saw the two stalwart fellows he wanted them for his regiment: 'You look like warriors. But can you fight?'
Long-shafted assegais were produced, but when Shaka hefted his he disliked its balance and demanded a replacement. 'Why?' asked the chief, and brusquely Shaka said, 'A warrior must have confidence.' And not until he had a spear he liked did he say, 'I'm ready.'
Dingiswayo laughed at his impudence, saying to his attendants, 'He looks like a warrior. He boasts like one. Now we'll see if he can fight.'
Hearing this implied insult, Shaka pointed to a distant tree: 'There is your enemy, Great Chief.' And with a short run he launched his assegai far and true, so that Dingiswayo laughed no more. 'He fights like a warrior, too.' To the young man he said, 'Welcome to my regiment.'
For the next years Shaka and Nxumalo shared a wild experience. As members of the region's greatest regiment, the iziCwe, they helped fortify their tribe's position, participating in the vast raids that kept the territory pacified and augmented. Nxumalo was content with his good fortune in gaining a position, however menial, in the land's finest fighting unit, but Shaka was as disconsolate and irritable as ever: 'There's a better way to fight. There's a much better way to organize a regiment than this. If they made me commander for one month . . .'
For example, in the great battle against the Mabuwane he was outraged, even though it was judged that he had been the foremost warrior. What happened was a standard battle, which, in Nxumalo's opinion, the iziCwe regiment had dominated.
Four hundred of Dingiswayo's troops marched north in noisy stages, announcing at every stop that they were about to engage the Mabuwane. Two hundred women, children and old men trailed behind, throwing a cloud of dust that could be seen for seven miles. In the meantime, the Mabuwane, who had known for two weeks that a battle was to be fought, had been scouting not the enemy, whose dispositions they always knew, but for a suitable spot on which to fight. One of the major considerations was that on the Mabuwane side at least, and on both sides if at all possible, there be commodious hills from which the audience could watch, and a comfortable and level place on which to place the chief's chair as he followed the ebb and flow of the battle.
The Mabuwane did their job well, and an ideal battleground was selected, a kind of pleasant amphitheater with exactly the kind of sloping sides the spectators preferred. When the two armies lined up, there were dances, formations, shouted insults and a good deal of foot-stamping. Then from each side four men moved forward, brandishing their shields and shouting fresh insults. The mothers of the opposing warriors were excoriated, the condition of their cattle, the poor quality of their food, and their known history for cowardice.
Each warrior carried three assegais, and at maximum distance each threw one that came so far in such good light that the big shields had ample time to deflect them. Unfortunately,