Trojian Horse

“Your children are all beautiful,” a voice said announcing the presence of an unexpected visitor.

She turned to face it, and her hand went to cover her eyes as the early morning sun greeted her, obscuring the stranger who was standing over her.

“Ngiyabonga.” (Thank you)

A moment’s silence followed her reply. She was crouching over her baby boy at the entrance to their cave, or more appropriately their new home, when she stood up to address the visitor. The settlement was relatively quiet with a few children playing some distance off, a few women were gathered around the fires while the rest had gone to scour the forest for berries and catch whatever meat they could, and the rest had gone in search of water.

“You still remember me?” the voice asked.

Cebisa squinted to see his features before replying.

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Cetshwayo,” was the quick reply.

“And where have we met?”

“You are the lovely wife of Magwegwe right?”

“Yes. I am. I don’t think we have met though, I would remember a name like yours,” she said wondering at his unnaturally red eyes. They were the most overpowering feature of his face. If she had met him in the dark, alone, she had no doubt she would have been very afraid. The man had a painfully forced smile on his face as if he were trying to smile for the first time.

“He has been gone a long time. I can only hope he is well wherever he is and that he will find his way back to you,” he said hanging his head then standing in silence for a few moments, seemingly affected.

“Those are kind words…”

“Cetshwayo,” he supplied.

She nodded and hung her head trying her best to fight back the tears that threatened to break their restraints.

“Dark times lie ahead. But what is this?” Cetshwayo asked stretching his hands to pick up Zibulo behind Cebisa. She reluctantly allowed him to take Zibulo into his arms but keeping a vigilant eye on him. It was hard enough getting the fathers in their community to pay any kind of attention to their children but for one to show so much interest in her son when they had just met seemed beyond strange especially when all she had to go on was the stranger’s name. His accent seemed a little strange as if he had only begun speaking isiNdebele recently.

“He’s growing up fast,” Cetshwayo said clutching Zibulo in his arms. He lifted Zibulo’s left leg and seemed intrigued by the birth mark on the inner part of his thigh. He was very absorbed in studying Zibulo, turning him this way and that before eventually handing him back to her, mumbling something about going to prepare for the day’s battle then just as quickly scurrying off in the direction of the main battlefront. Was that a hiss she heard as he walked off?

It was a very strange encounter.

“A-ya,” Zibulo said looking deeply into her eyes with a look beyond his year and some months, and yet again she was not sure how to feel about it. At these times, she often wondered if her son was possessed of something. The looks never lasted long and the instances of these looks were becoming more frequent. He had an uncanny resolve in his expression as he said the word. Whatever it meant he was clearly trying to tell her something which she wasn’t getting because she had never heard him say that word. A moment later he was back to being a child.

“Who was that?” a croaky voice asked from within the cave.

“I don’t really know,” she replied.

“Well, what did he want?” Khulu Zwangedwa asked shuffling forward into the light. She had almost forgotten he was sleeping off his hangover in there.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, is there something you are sure of?” the old man said, doing little to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

“It’s because I don’t know the answer,” she replied displaying her own annoyance at his line of questioning. She whipped her head in the direction of the old man, who knew better than to keep asking any more questions.

“Well, he seemed interested in Zibulo, for some reason,” the old man said stroking his grey knotted beard. He shuffled to Cebisa’s side and he too stared in the direction in which Cetshwayo had disappeared.

“You better not be suggesting what I think you are!” she said her nostrils flaring as she glared at the old man. “This is Magwegwe’s baby, I assure you.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t suggest that nkosazana,” Khulu Zwangedwa replied, laughing nervously. “Maybe he’s just interested in you.”

“I’ve never met him. I’m sure of it. I don’t forget a face. And what red eyes,” she said choosing to ignore the comment she had just heard.

“Well, last night as we were sitting and telling stories by the fire with the other old men someone did mention that a young man had been going around asking about a woman with a baby about a year old, a boy with a strange birth mark. Didn’t really give it much mind then but perhaps we just met him.”

“You mean you were too happy to give it any thought,” she replied, sticking her tongue out. “But why would anyone be looking for me and Zibulo? Especially someone I’ve never met before.”

“It would certainly be unusual if he were looking to marry a woman with a young child,” he answered before quickly adding, “Not that there is anything wrong with you my daughter being so beautiful as you are.” He stroked his beard then began to wobble off in the direction he had come from the previous night.

“And where are you going?”

“Bhabhalazi nkosazana (hangover, my daughter),” was the reply.

“Of course,” she said giggling to herself.

She watched him hobble behind some shrubs knowing he would not be back till the very late hours of the night or perhaps not till tomorrow morning. Her thoughts then turned back to the meeting which had just taken place. If indeed Cetshwayo was looking for her, what were his intentions? He could not possibly want to marry her because he had told her he hoped Magwegwe would return unharmed. And why was he so interested in Zibulo? His birth mark was peculiar but it had never elicited the kind of interest Cetshwayo had.

Something was a little off about him, she was sure of it, she could feel it. She felt unsafe around the stranger, unsure what his agenda was but it seemed to centre very much on her son. Enquiries would have to be made about the stranger and find who else he had spoken to before he found her.

Zibulo just stared at her as her thoughts bounced from one idea to the other. He seemed entranced by whatever machinations were going on in her head. He lifted his hand and softly stroked her cheek, once again with the same strange look she had seen a few times now.

“A-ya,” he said.

She did not know why but she felt she had a reason to be worried. Something about the way he said that word made her feel uneasy, as if he were trying to warn her about something.