And now the armed warriors clustered round the white men. Some were chatting with Christian Sybrandt as they moved upward to the great kraal, for they had insisted on forming a sort of escort for their visitors; or, as these far more resembled, their prisoners. They were in better humour now, after their late diversion, but still there were plenty who shook their assegais towards the latter, growling out threats. And as they approached the vast enclosure, the same thought was foremost in the minds of all four. Something had gone wrong. They could only hope it was not as they suspected. They were absolutely at the mercy of a suspicious barbarian despot, the objects of the fanatical hate of his people. What that "mercy" might mean they had just had a grimly convincing object lesson. CHAPTER THREE. WHAT HAPPENED AT BULAWAYO. As they entered the outer enclosure, a deep humming roar vibrated upon the air. Two regiments, fully armed, were squatted in a great crescent, facing the King's private quarters, and were beguiling the time with a very energetic war-song--while half a dozen warriors, at intervals of space apart, were indulging in the performance of _gwaza_, stabbing furiously in the air, right and left, bellowing forth their deeds of "dering-do" and pantomiming how they had done them--leaping high off the ground or spinning round on one leg. The while, the great crescent of dark bodies, and particoloured shields, and fantastic headgear, swaying to the rhythmic chant; the sparkle and gleam of assegais; the entirely savage note of anticipation conveyed by nearly two thousand excited voices, constituted a spectacle as imposing as it was indisputably awe-inspiring. "The Imbizo and Induba regiments," said Sybrandt, with a glance at this martial array. But with their appearance the song ceased, and the warriors composing this end of the crescent jumped up, and came crowding around, in much the same rowdy and threatening fashion which had distinguished the execution party down in the valley. "Lay down your arms, Amakiwa!" they shouted. "_Au_! it is death to come armed within the gates of the Ruler of the World." "It has never been death before--not for us," replied Sybrandt. "At the inner gate, yes--we disarm; not at the outer." The answer only served to redouble the uproar. Assegais were flourished in the faces of the four white men--for they had already dismounted-- accompanied by blood-curdling threats, in such wise as would surely have tried the nerves of any one less seasoned. The while Sybrandt had been looking round for some one in authority. "Greeting, Sikombo," he cried, as his glance met that of a tall head-ringed man, who was strolling leisurely towards the racket. "These boys of thine are in high spirits," he added good-humouredly. The crowd parted to make way for the new arrival, as in duty bound, for he was an induna of no small importance, and related to the King by marriage.