The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Only the goat bleats at the mouth of the leopard’s cave — the Isisi grow fat on strangers.”
He looked at her, his head cocked on one side.
“They say in the lower country that the Isisi sell men to the Arabi,” he said musingly. “That is bad talk; you may go.” With another jerk of his head he dismissed her.
She had gone some little distance when he called her back.
“Root-eater,” he said, “if men ask you who I be, you shall say that I am Imgani the Lonely One, who is a prince amongst the princes; also that I have killed many men in my day — so many that I cannot count them. Also say that from my house, which I have built by the river, to as far as a man can see in every way, is my kingdom, and let none stray therein, except to bring gifts in their hands, for I am very terrible and very jealous.”
“Lord,” said the girl, “I will say all this.” And she went, half running, in the direction of the village, leaving Imgani to continue on his way.
Now this village had many young men eager to please the girl, who carried manioc, for she was a chief’s daughter, and she was, moreover, fourteen, a marriageable age. So when she came flying along the village street, half hysterical in her fear, crying, babbling, incoherent, there was not wanting sympathy or knight valiant to wipe out the insult.
Six young men, with spears and short swords, danced before the chief and the chief’s daughter (how important she felt, any woman of any race will tell you), and one of them, E’kebi, a man gifted with language, described from sunset to moonrise, which is roughly four hours, exactly what would happen to Imgani when the men of the Isisi fell upon him; how his eyes would shrivel as before a great and terrible fire, and his limbs wither up, and divers other physiological changes which need not be particularized.
“That is good talk,” said the chief; “yet, since Sandi is our master and has spies everywhere, do not shed blood, for the smell of blood is carried farther than a man can see. And Sandi is very devilish on this question of killing. Moreover, this Lonely One is a stranger, and if we catch him we may sell him to the Arabi, who will give us cloth and gin for him.” Having heard all this, they sacrificed a young goat and marched. They came upon the house of Imgani, but the Lonely One was not there, for he was trapping beasts in the forest; so they burnt his house, uprooted his poor garden, and, being joined by many other Isisi people, who had followed at a respectful distance, lest Imgani’s estimate of his own prowess were justified by results, they held high revel, until of a sudden the sun came up over the middle island, and all the little stars in the sky went out.
Imgani saw all this, leaning on his spears in the shadow of the forest, but was content to be a spectator.
For, he reasoned, if he went out against them they would attempt to kill him or beat him with rods, and that his high spirit could not endure.
He saw the flames lick away the house he had built with such labour.
“They are foolish people,” he mused, “for they burn their own, and perhaps the spirits of the dead will be displeased and give them boils.” When all that was left of his habitation was a white heap of ash, a dark-red glow, and a hazy wisp of smoke, Imgani turned his face to the forest. All day long he walked, halting only to eat the fish he carried, and at night time he came upon another Isisi village, which was called O’Fasi.
He came through the village street with his shoulders squared, his head erect, swinging his spears famously. He looked neither to the left nor to the right; and the villagers, crowding to the doors of their huts, put their clenched knuckles to the mouths, and said; “O hoi” which means that they were impressed.
So he stalked through the entire length of the village, and was making for the forest-path beyond, when a messenger came pattering after him.
“Lord,” said the messenger, “the capita of this village, who is responsible to the Government for all people who pass, and especially for thieves who may have escaped from the Village of Irons, desires your presence, being sure that you are no thief, but a great one, and wishing to do honour to you.” Thus he recited, and being a peaceable man, who had been chosen for the part because he was related by marriage to the principal wife of the chief, he kept a cautious eye on the broad-headed spear, and determined the line of his flight.
“Go back to your master, slave,” said Imgani, “and say to him that I go to find a spot of sufficient loneliness, where I may sleep this night and occupy myself with high thoughts. When I have found such a place I will return. Say, also, that I am a prince of my own people, and that my father has legions of such quantity that if every fighting man of the legions were to take a handful of sand from the bottom of the river, the river would be bottomless; also say that I am named Imgani, and that I love myself better than any man has loved himself since the moon went white that it might not look like the sun.” He went on, leaving the messenger filled with thought.
True to his promise, Imgani returned.
He came back to find that there was a palaver in progress, the subject of the palaver being the unfortunate relative by marriage to the chief’s principal wife.
“Who,” the chief was saying, “has put shame upon me, being as great a fool as his cousin, my wife.”
“Master,” said the poor relation humbly, “I entreated him to return; but he was a man of great pride, and, moreover, impatient to go.”
“Your mother was a fool,” said the chief; “her mother also was a fool, and your father, whoever he was, and no man knows, was a great fool.” This interesting beginning to a crude address on hereditary folly was interrupted by the return of Imgani, and as he came slowly up the little hillock the assembly took stock of him, from the square, steel razor stuck in the tight-fitting leopard-skin cap to the thin bangles of brass about his ankles.
The chief, a portly man of no great courage, observed the spears, noting that the hafts were polished smooth by much handling.
“Lord,” said he mildly, “I am chief of this village, appointed by the Government, who gave me a medal to wear about my neck, bearing on one side the picture of a great man with a beard, and on the other side certain devil marks and writings of vast power. This was given to me that all people might know I was chief, but I have lost the medal. None the less, I am chief of this village, as this will show.” He fumbled in the bosom of his cloth and brought out a bag of snake skin, and from this he extracted a very soiled paper.
With tender care he unfolded it, and disclosed a sheet of official notepaper with a few scrawled words in the handwriting of Mr Commissioner Sanders. They ran; “To all Sub-Commissioners, Police Officers, and Commanders of Houssa Ports: Arrest and detain the bearer if found in any other territory than the Isisi.” There was a history attached to this singular document. It had to do with an unauthorized raid upon certain Ochori villages and a subsequent trial at headquarters, where a chief, all aquiver with apprehension, listened to a terse but knowledgeable prophecy as to what fate awaited him if he put foot out of his restricted dominion. Imgani took the paper in his hand and was interested. He turned it about, rubbed the writing lightly with his fingers to see whether it was permanent, and returned it to the chief.
“That is very wonderful, though I do not fear magic, except an especial kind such as is practised by a certain witchdoctor of my father’s,” he said; “nor do I know any government which can govern me.” After which he proceeded to tell them of his father, and of his legions and wives, and various other matters of equal interest.
“I do not doubt that you will understand me,” he said. “I am a Lonely One, hating the company of men, who are as changeable as the snow upon the mountains. Therefore, I have left my house with my wives, who were faithful as women go, and I have taken with me no legion, since they are my father’s.”
The chief was puzzled. “Why you are lonely, I cannot tell,” he said, “but certainly you did right to leave your father’s legions. This is a great matter, which needs a palaver of older men.” And he ordered the lo-koli to be sounded and the elders of the village to be assembled. They came, bringing