Allan and the Holy Flower by H. Rider Haggard (online e reader TXT) 📗

eye and my elbow! Those man-eating Johnnies have some game up their wide sleeves, and whatever it may be, it isn’t peace with the Mazitu.”

“I agree,” I said. “If the real object were peace they would have haggled more, stood out for better terms, or hostages, or something. Also they would have got the consent of this Motombo beforehand. Clearly he is the master of the situation, not the Kalubi, who is only his tool; if business were meant he should have spoken first, always supposing that he exists and isn’t a myth. However, if we live we shall learn, and if we don’t, it doesn’t matter, though personally I think we should be wise to leave Motombo alone and to clear out to Mazitu-land by the first canoe to-morrow morning.”

“I intend to visit this Motombo,” broke in Brother John with decision.

“Ditto, ditto,” exclaimed Stephen, “but it’s no use arguing that all over again.”

“No,” I replied with irritation. “It is, as you remark, of no use arguing with lunatics. So let’s go to bed, and as it will probably be our last, have a good night’s sleep.”

“Hear, hear!” said Stephen, taking off his coat and placing it doubled up on the bed to serve as a pillow. “I say,” he added, “stand clear a minute while I shake this blanket. It’s covered with bits of something,” and he suited the action to the word.

“Bits of something?” I said suspiciously. “Why didn’t you wait a minute to let me see them. I didn’t notice any bits before.”

“Rats running about the roof, I expect,” said Stephen carelessly.

Not being satisfied, I began to examine this roof and the clay walls, which I forgot to mention were painted over in a kind of pattern with whorls in it, by the feeble light of the primitive lamps. While I was thus engaged there was a knock on the door. Forgetting all about the dust, I opened it and Hans appeared.

“One of these man-eating devils wants to speak to you, Baas. Mavovo keeps him without.”

“Let him in,” I said, since in this place fearlessness seemed our best game, “but watch well while he is with us.”

Hans whispered a word over his shoulder, and next moment a tall man wrapped from head to foot in white cloth, so that he looked like a ghost, came or rather shot into the hut and closed the door behind him.

“Who are you?” I asked.

By way of answer he lifted or unwrapped the cloth from about his face, and I saw that the Kalubi himself stood before us.

“I wish to speak alone with the white lord, Dogeetah,” he said in a hoarse voice, “and it must be now, since afterwards it will be impossible.”

Brother John rose and looked at him.

“How are you, Kalubi, my friend?” he asked. “I see that your wound has healed well.”

“Yes, yes, but I would speak with you alone.”

“Not so,” replied Brother John. “If you have anything to say, you must say it to all of us, or leave it unsaid, since these lords and I are one, and that which I hear, they hear.”

“Can I trust them?” muttered the Kalubi.

“As you can trust me. Therefore speak, or go. Yet, first, can we be overheard in this hut?”

“No, Dogeetah. The walls are thick. There is no one on the roof, for I have looked all round, and if any strove to climb there, we should hear. Also your men who watch the door would see him. None can hear us save perhaps the gods.”

“Then we will risk the gods, Kalubi. Go on; my brothers know your story.”

“My lords,” he began, rolling his eyes about him like a hunted creature, “I am in a terrible pass. Once, since I saw you, Dogeetah, I should have visited the White God that dwells in the forest on the mountain yonder, to scatter the sacred seed. But I feigned to be sick, and Komba, the Kalubi-to-be, ‘who has passed the god,’ went in my place and returned unharmed. Now to-morrow, the night of the full moon, as Kalubi, I must visit the god again and once more scatter the seed and—Dogeetah, he will kill me whom he has once bitten. He will certainly kill me unless I can kill him. Then Komba will rule as Kalubi in my stead, and he will kill you in a way you can guess, by the ‘Hot death,’ as a sacrifice to the gods, that the women of the Pongo may once more become the mothers of many children. Yes, yes, unless we can kill the god who dwells in the forest, we all must die,” and he paused, trembling, while the sweat dropped from him to the floor.

“That’s pleasant,” said Brother John, “but supposing that we kill the god how would that help us or you to escape from the Motombo and these murdering people of yours? Surely they would slay us for the sacrilege.”

“Not so, Dogeetah. If the god dies, the Motombo dies. It is known from of old, and therefore the Motombo watches over the god as a mother over her child. Then, until a new god is found, the Mother of the Holy Flower rules, she who is merciful and will harm none, and I rule under her and will certainly put my enemies to death, especially that wizard Komba.”

Here I thought I heard a faint sound in the air like the hiss of a snake, but as it was not repeated and I could see nothing, concluded that I was mistaken.

“Moreover,” he went on, “I will load you with gold dust and any gifts you may desire, and set you safe across the water among your friends, the Mazitu.”

“Look here,” I broke in, “let us understand matters clearly, and, John, do you translate to Stephen. Now, friend Kalubi, first of all, who and what is this god you talk of?”

“Lord Macumazana, he is a huge ape white with age, or born white, I know not which. He is twice as big as any man, and stronger than twenty men, whom he can break in his hands, as I break a reed, or whose heads he can bite off in his mouth, as he bit off my finger for a warning. For that is how he treats the Kalubis when he wearies of them. First he bites off a finger and lets them go, and next he breaks them like a reed, as also he breaks those who are doomed to sacrifice before the fire.”

“Ah!” I said, “a great ape! I thought as much. Well, and how long has this brute been a god among you?”

“I do not know how long. From the beginning. He was always there, as the Motombo was always there, for they are one.”

“That’s a lie any way,” I said in English, then went on. “And who is this Mother of the Holy Flower? Is she also always there, and does she live in the same place as the ape god?”

“Not so, lord Macumazana. She dies like other