Excerpt

PROLOGUE

First Battle

Standing on a mound, Shaka, the Zulu chief, surveyed his warriors. They are not many, but they are mine, he thought.

Six-foot-three, and broad-shouldered, Shaka held a cowhide shield loosely in his left hand. The shield was white with a large black blotch at the center. His right hand gripped a four-foot spear whose wide, polished blade flashed the morning sun; the blood of dozens of men stained its hardwood haft. A short kilt of fur strips was all that covered his burnished, muscular body. A necklace of large wood beads interspersed with leopard claws crossed his pectorals. Thick brushes of white cow-tail hair hung over his forearms and calves. The brilliant red feathers in his headdress fluttered in the gentle breeze, while a long blue plume in the front swayed from side to side.

Children of the Zulu! Shakas voice boomed over the yellow grass. Today we avenge the defeats of my father, Senzangakona. Today we show the peoples of the Nguni that the Zulu name is to be spoken with respect!

Ba-ye-te! roared 750 voices in unison, and their right feet crashed down.

The sudden thunder reverberated off the surrounding hills. It loosed a cloud of quelea birds from a stand of nearby trees, an insect-like blur that swirled and screeched.

Four regiments stood before the chief in four rectangles forming an arc around the mound shields erect, ranks straight, men fit. Shaka stared at the faces of his warriors, his gaze moving from one to another. The men looked straight ahead, faces drawn, jaws set. Each was armed with just a cowhide shield and single short Ixwa spear, modeled on that of their chief. Each was bare other than coverings similar to those of Shaka, but their crown feathers were black.

The hint of a smile crossed Shayimpis face. The burly, medium-height man stood in the first row. Noduze, next to Shayimpi, detected the smile from the corner of his eye and he beamed back.

Tall and muscled, Noduze had been a fighter since he was a boy a veteran of many conventional assegai, or light spear, throwing battles. Noduze, Shayimpi, and many other young warriors looking for adventure had flocked to the Zulu tribe. It was the revolutionary close combat of the Zulus that fired their blood.

We use the Horns of the Bull attack! Shaka ordered. Then his face relaxed. You remember the lessons taught to you, by the son of Msane? The chief smiled down at Mgobozi, who stood at the foot of the mound.

Yebo, inkosi! shouted the men and laughter rippled down the ranks.

Mgobozis round face lit up in a grin. A barrel of a man, he was the head drill instructor and there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good fight.

Remember! Shaka thrust his spear up into the air. To fight as a hero is the food of legends, to fight as a team is the food of victory.

He lowered his spear. Form your lines! he yelled. We attack!

* * * * *

The year was 1817 and the new Zulu army was about to face its first battle. The Zulus would settle an old score with the Buthelezis.

The Buthelezi clan lived to the west of the tiny Zulu chiefdom, in the southeast of Africa. Pungashe, their chief, had defeated Shakas father every time they fought. His victories were so easy that he regarded fighting the Zulu as a days sport. The Buthelezi chief had even found it indecent to demand cattle from the Zulus when they lost.

Shakas four regiments approached the Buthelezis as a single block, 8 ranks deep, across about 200 yards. The Zulus came on at a steady jog. In the lead was the Zulu chief; behind him was the uFasimba regiment, some 300 youths in their late teens. They were eager, with no preconceptions of battle. Behind them came the amaWombe around 200 men, married and over 30. These older warriors were Shakas anchor, stoic and stalwart. They had seen men die, many by their own hand. The last two regiments, the uDlambedlu and Jubingqwanga, were teamed as one, the Bachelors Brigade. They were the reserve.

In straight rows the Zulus advanced as their lusty war chants echoed off the hills. Each man carried his shield under his left arm; his spear was horizontal in his right hand.

Sweat trickled down Shayimpis face, dripping off his nose onto his chest. His bare feet trampled the grass in a steady cadence; his tough soles barely felt the sharp stones. Battle at last, Shayimpis hand tightened on the haft of his Ixwa spear enough of mock fighting. This is why I joined the Zulu.

Soon our spears will go to work! he shouted to Noduze.

Ahead of the Zulus was an army of 600 Buthelezis on a gentle slope. At ease behind their cowhide shields, they all but covered the base of the hill. Each balanced an assegai in his right hand, ready to launch into the oncoming Zulus.

The Buthelezi warriors were combat-hardened veterans; many showed the scars of a dozen battles. They regularly raided the surrounding clans and their corrals were teeming with cattle they had seized. These raiders were feared far and wide, challenging them risked a massacre. But Shaka lived to take risks.

* * * * *

Pungashe, the Buthelezi chief, lounged in a chair of rolled reeds covered by a huge kudu skin, near the top of the hill. Squatting around him were his councilors.

Pungashe gave a deep laugh that made his rolls of fat shake. Look at them, he said as he pointed his short, ornate spear at the approaching Zulus. My eyes see no assegais. Our warriors will be hunting cattle.

The men gazed with interest at the Zulus. One shaded his eyes with his hand and said, Yebo, inkosi, I do not understand these Zulus. To attack an enemy who throws spears without any spears to throw back, it it is suicide!

The bastard son of Senzangakona thinks he can run faster than our assegais, Pungashe retorted. But we have a surprise for him.

The councilors smiled back. They could not wait to see Pungashes surprise in action.