The oldest and ugliest of the wizards sprang to his feet and began a wild gyrating, whirling dance. He shrieked and leaped high in the air, shaking the rattle in his hand. "Treason!" he screamed, and frothy spittle splattered from his lips. "Sacrilege! Who dares claim blood ties with the Son of the Heavens?" He pranced in front of Aboli like a wizened ape on skinny shanks. "I smell the stink of treachery!"
He hurled his rattle at Aboli's feet and snatched a cows-tail whisk from his belt. "I smell sedition!" He brandished the whisk, and began to tremble in every muscle. "What devil is this who dares to imitate the sacred Tattoo?" His eyes rolled back in his skull until only the whites showed. "Beware! For the ghost of your father, the great Holomima, demands the blood sacrifice!" he shrieked, and gathered himself to spring full at Aboli's face to strike him with the magician's whisk.
Aboli was faster. The cutlass sprang from the scabbard on his belt as though it were a living thing. It flashed in the sunlight as he cut back-handed. The wizard's head was severed cleanly from his trunk and rolled down his back. It lay on the polished clay gazing with wide astonished eyes at the sky, and the lips writhing and twitching as they tried to utter the next wild denunciation.
The headless body stood, for a moment, on trembling legs. A fountain of blood from the severed neck spouted high in the air, the whisk fell from the hand and the body collapsed slowly on top of its own head.
"The ghost of our father Holomima demands the blood sacrifice," said Aboli softly. "And lo! Aboli his son, have given it to him."
No person in the royal enclosure spoke or moved for what seemed half a lifetime to Hal. Then the Monomatapa began to shake all over. His belly began to wobble and his tattooed jowls danced and shook. His face contorted in what seemed a berserker's fury.
Hal placed his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. "If he is truly your brother, then I will kill him for you," he whispered to Aboli. "You cover my back and we will fight our way out of here."
But the Monomatapa opened his mouth wide and let fly a huge shout of laughter. "The tattooed one has made the blood sacrifice that Sweswe demanded! "he bellowed. Then mirth overcame him and for a long while he could not speak again. He shook with laughter, gasped for breath, hugged himself then hooted again.
"Did you see him stand there with no head while his mouth tried still to speak?" he roared, and tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks.
The grovelling band of magicians burst out in squeaks and shrieks of sympathetic glee. "The heavens laugh!" they whined. "And all men are happy."
Suddenly the Monomatapa stopped laughing. "Bring me Sweswe's stupid head!" he commanded, and the councillor who had led them here bounded forward to obey. He retrieved it and knelt before the king to hand it to him.
The Monomatapa held the head by its matted plaits of kinky hair and stared into the wide blank eyes. He began to laugh again. "What stupidity not to recognize the blood of kings. How could you not know my brother Aboli by his majestic bearing and the fury of his temper?"
He flung the dripping head at the other magicians, who scattered. "Learn from the stupidity of Sweswel" he admonished them. "Make no more false prophecy! Tell me no more falsehoods! Begone, all of you! Or I will ask my brother to make another blood sacrifice."
They fled in pandemonium, and the Monomatapa rose from his live throne and advanced upon Aboli, a huge and happy grin splitting his fat, tattooed face. "Aboli," he said, "my brother who was long dead and who now lives!" and he embraced him.
One of the elaborately thatched huts on the perimeter of the courtyard was placed at their disposal, and a procession of maidens was sent to them, bearing clay pots of hot water balanced upon their heads for the two men to bathe. Still other girls carried trays on which was piled fine raiment to replace their travel-stained clothing, beaded loincloths of tanned leather and cloaks of fur and feathers.
When they had washed and changed into this finery, another file of girls came bearing gourds of beer, a type of mead fermented from wild honey, and the blended blood and milk. Others brought platters of hot food.
When they had eaten, the silver-headed councillor who had taken them into the presence of the Monomatapa came to them. With great civility and every mark of respect he squatted at Aboli's feet. "Though you were far too young when last you saw me to remember me now, my name is Zama. I was the Induna of your father, the great Monomatapa Holomima."
"It grieves me, Zama, but I remember almost nothing of those days.
I remember my brother N'Pofho. I remember the pain of the tattoo knife and the cut of our circumcision that we underwent together. I remember that he squealed louder than U Zama looked worried and shook his head as if to warn Aboli against such levity when speaking of the King, but his voice was level and calm. "All this is true, except only that the Monomatapa never squealed. I was present at the ceremony of the knife, and it was I who held your head while the hot iron seared your cheeks and trimmed the hood from your penis."
"Dimly now I think that I can remember your hands and your words of comfort. I thank you for them, Zama."
"You and N'Pofho were twins, born in the same hour. Thus it was that your father commanded that both of you were to bear the royal tattoo. It was new to custom. Never before had two royal sons been tattooed in the same ceremony."
"I remember little of my father, except how tall he was and strong. I remember how afraid I was at first of the tattoos on his face."
"He was a mighty man and fearsome," Zama agreed.
"I remember the night he died. I remember the shouting and the firing of muskets and the terrible flames in the night."
"I was there when the slavemasters came with their chains of sorrow. "Tears filled the old man's eyes. "You were so young, Aboli. I marvel that you remember these things." "Tell me about that night."