Nomvula

10 - The General

Dumani was waiting for her in the hallway, leaning against a pillar, the courtyard behind him. The waning light painted half of him in sunset shade; long shadows hid the other half. His beard was freshly braided to hide a bald patch that hadn't been there before. With his height and build, he looked more like a malevolent Old One, ready to pass judgement.

"I saw your boy fleeing just now," he said casually. "Tail tucked."

"My children don't have tails," Nomvula said, closing Asanda's door behind her.

Dumani's pendant strained against his thick neck when he shrugged. "No wonder you have to hold them by a short leash then."

Nomvula stopped a few steps short, so she wouldn't have to strain to look in his eyes. "Even our dogs don't have leashes."

"Spirits help the Hundred Hills," Dumani said, crossing his massive arms, "you'll spread your pacifist ways to anything breathing."

A fleeting hope. 

Nomvula flattened the creases in her grass-stained dress. "General, I apologise for what happened in the drinking yard. I was not myself."

He unfolded one arm to point a finger at her, his smile stretching over his canines. "Of course you were. Your husband was the real coward. You just picked up his mantle."

"You call him a coward but he never touched a drop of poison."

"Or a drop of blood. Your ancestors, on the other hand..."

"General,  coach me on my ancestry in your own time." Nomvula started walking around him. "I have things to do."

Dumani pushed himself off the wall and matched her stride with ease. "My nephew's in the guest house, praying for his uncle. That is where you're headed, no?"

"You're asking where I'm going in my own house?"

"Why ask what I know?" Dumani said. "I'll escort you. It'll give us time to talk."

"If your throat is up to the task, General."

"Ha! There is Lang'engatshoni's daughter speaking." His laugh was deep; he threaded his fingers through her own as they walked. "You're alive so my ancestors must like you too."

Nomvula had to raise her hand slightly for comfort. Dumani's fingers were thick, his palm rough and used to callouses. Still, it was a polite gesture for someone in the Hundred Hills, but not the Inner Plains.

"You know, Queen, today was an important lesson."

They left the hallway through a side doorway that led to the drinking yard, now quiet and desolate. The grass was brown with beer and wet ashes, pebbles scattered far from their arrangements, and the palm tree that had shaded Lifa was starting to wilt. There was a stain of blood by its roots, tinted green.

"And what would that lesson be?" Nomvula asked.

"Peace doesn't last," Dumani said. "It only passes the time between wars."

"Time can be stretched."

"The point, Mamkhonto, is that there's a time for the sun to set, and when it does, you want allies who aren't scared of the dark."

Nomvula shook her heads. "But you don't want an ally out of me, because I've been one to your king. You came to make an enemy out of me."

"I came to show you how easy it is to scatter all the chicks in your hen house," Dumani said, kicking a pebble aside. "I came to throw water on your paper shields and hold up a mirror so you can greet the demon over your shoulder." 

"Over my shoulder? I'm holding hands with it."

"Play all you like, Ndlovu will eventually find a way past your ships, and when he does, my cousin will lose his top supplier of grains and fruit. That's not a laughing matter to me."

"So what then?" Nomvula said bitterly. "You want me to cross the Wayfarer first and put Ndlovu to the spear?"

"My cousin -- my king -- has asked that of you before, but far too softly."

"No." Nomvula disentangled herself from him. "Leave the rule of my lands to me. We have a trade agreement and I've honoured it every year."

"No, we have a threat to our food supply. Remove it or we'll be proactive and make Ndlovu our supplier on this land."

"So you came here in service to the King and the Inner Plains?"

"Do I look like a selfish man or a pragmatist?" Dumani said as they left the yard.

"And what of killing your own brother? Would you call that selfish or practical?" 

That sharp-toothed smile again. "I'd call it irrelevant because he's alive, thanks to you."

Nomvula kept her feelings off her face. Something's not right here.

Dumani stopped at the edge of the guest quarters. "And oh, Jabulani was instructed by his father to ask after your daughter's hand. Someone changed his mind because your girl won't inherit this place, which is smart, but the boy's too scared to say who. Bring me back a name, Mamkhonto, and maybe I won't kill your son when he returns."