Do you not say so, O Dust ?" "Izwa!" (emphatically).
"A common child?
A bastard?
The son of nobody ?" "Izwa!" (very low).
"A well-born child?
One who would have been great?
O Dust, I hear, I hear; a royal child, a child in whom ran the blood of the Father of the Zulus, he who was my friend?
The blood of Senzangakona, the blood of the 'Black One,' the blood of Panda." He stopped, while both from the chorus and from the thousands of the circle gathered around went up one roar of "Izwa!" emphasised by a mighty movement of outstretched arms and down-pointing thumbs.
Then silence, during which Zikali stamped upon all the remaining markings, saying: "I thank you, O Dust, though I am sorry to have troubled you for so small a matter.

So, so," he went on presently, "a royal boy-child is dead, and you think by witchcraft.

Let us find out if he died by witchcraft or as others die, by command of the Heavens that need them.
What! Here is one mark which I have left.

Look! It grows red, it is full of spots! The child died with a twisted face." "Izwa! Izwa! Izwa!" (crescendo).
"This death was not natural.

Now, was it witchcraft or was it poison?
Both, I think, both.