The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ clasping her knees, watching him with grave eyes.

      “M’ciba,” he gasped, and the sweat was standing on his forehead, “I have the sickness-mongo.”

      She said nothing and he did not speak again.

      An hour later she covered her body with dust and sitting down before the hut wailed her grief, and the awakened village hurried forth to find Likilivi near to death, with his face twisted painfully.

      By the aid of an extraordinary constitution and the employment of a drastic but effective native remedy the chief did not die. M’ciba had wailed too soon.

      It was many weeks before Likilivi recovered. He suspected nothing. As soon as he was well he took the pliant half of his hunting spear and thrashed her.

      “For you are a fool,” he said, “or you would have called for help sooner, and I should have recovered more quickly.”

      She took her beating meekly, knowing that she deserved more, but her hatred grew.

      Her treatment by her husband was scandal in the village, for native folk are kind, and it is not customary or good form to beat one’s womenkind.

      Then M’ciba committed her crowning indiscretion.

      Likilivi, his cousin and his sons, prepared to make one of their periodical visits to the marsh — a matter of some importance and considerable secrecy. There was to be a great netting of fish, and other high mysteries were to be enacted — foolish mysteries, you might think them, such as the sacrificing of chicken and the like, but which were very real and important to Likilivi and his kin. Also there were other matters to be seen to.

      By some means M’ciba came to know of the intended visit, and spoke to a woman about the event. It was unforgivable. It was against all tradition. Likilivi, for the honour of his house, ordered a public whipping.

      And at sunset one evening, before the assembled visitors, with the chief sitting on his stool, M’ciba was led forth, and whilst his sons held her the chief took the hide.

      “Woman,” he said, “I do this that all the world may know you as shameless and a destroyer of honour — behold…”

      So far he got, when the crowd opened to allow of the passage of a dapper man in white, a broad and spotless helmet on his head, an ebony stick in his hand.

      Likilivi was staggered.

      “Lord Sandi,” he said in confusion, “this woman is my wife, and I go to whip her because of certain abominations.” Sanders eyed him unpleasantly.

      “Release this woman,” he said, and the two sons obeyed instanter.

      “It seems,” he said to the embarrassed chief, “that you are old and evil. And when I place a man above others to be chief of those people, I desire that he shall so live that all common people shall say ‘Lo! as our lord lives, so shall we.’ And if he is evil, then all the village is evil. You are certainly no chief for me.”

      “Lord,” said the old man tremulously, “if you take from me my chieftainship I shall die of shame.”

      “That I shall certainly do,” said Sanders, “and whip you also if you injure this woman, your wife.” And Sanders meant it, for he respected only the law which has neither age nor sex.

      He took the girl apart.

      “As to you, M’ciba,” he said, “be pleasant to this man who is your husband, for he is old and will soon die.”

      “Lord, I pray for his death,” she said passionately.

      Sanders looked at her from under his brows.

      “Pray,” he said drily, “yet give him no glass in his food, or I shall come quickly, and then you will be sorry.”

      She shivered and a look of terror came into her eyes.

      “You know all things, master,” she gasped.

      Sanders did not attempt to disabuse her mind. The faith in his omnipotence was a healthy possession.

      “You shall be beaten no more,” he said, for she was in a state — being prepared for a further whipping — that revealed something of her husband’s previous ferocity.

      Sanders dismissed the people to their homes — some had departed quickly on his appearance, and he had a few words with Likilivi.

      “O chief,” he said softly, “I have a mind to take my stick to you.”

      “I am an old man,” quavered the other.

      “The greater evil,” said Sanders, “that you should beat this child.”

      “Lord, she spoke with women of our Marsh Mystery,” said the chief.

      “More of this mystery,” warned Sanders, “and I will bring my soldiers and we will clear the grass till your infernal mystery is a mystery no longer.”

      In all his long life Likilivi had never heard so terrible a threat, for the mystery of the Marsh was the most sacred of his possessions.

      Sanders was smiling to himself as the Zaire went speeding down the river. These childish mysteries amused him. They were part of the life of his people.

      Admitting the fact that the Marsh was an impenetrable buffer state between Isisi and Akasava, it was less a factor in the preservation of peace than it had been in the bad years of long ago.

      Sanders’ trip was in a sense a cruise of leisure. He was on his way to the N’Gombi to make an inquiry and to point a lesson.

      N’Gombi signifies forest. When Stanley first penetrated the interior of the great land, he was constantly hearing of a N’Gombi city of fabulous wealth. Not until he had made several ineffective expeditions did he discover the true significance of the name.

      Though of the forest, there are N’Gombi folk who live on the great river, and curiously enough whilst they preserve the characteristic which distinguishes them from the riverain people in that they cannot swim, are yet tolerable fishermen.

      Sanders was bound for the one N’Gombi town which stands on the river, and his palaver would be, as he knew, an unsatisfactory one.

      He saw the smoke of the N’Gombi fires — they are great iron workers hereabouts — long before he came in sight of the place.

      As he turned to give directions to the steersman, Abiboo, who stood on the further side of the helmsman, said something in Bomongo, and the man at the wheel laughed.

      “What was that?” asked Sanders.

      “Lord, it was a jest,” said Abiboo; “I spoke of the N’Gombi people, for there is a saying on the river that N’Gombi crocodiles are fat.”

      The subtlety of the jest may be lost to the reader, but to Sanders it was plain enough.

      The town is called Oulu, but the natives have christened it by a six-syllable word which СКАЧАТЬ