On the particular day of Owen's arrival it was crowded with regiments,
twelve of them, all dressed in their different uniforms and bearing
shields to match, not one of which was less than 2500 strong. At this
moment the regiments were massed in deep lines, each battalion by
itself, on either side of the broad roadway that ran straight up the
kraal to where the king, his sons, his advisers and guards, together
with the company of wizards, were placed in front of the royal house.

There they stood in absolute silence, like tens of thousands of bronze
statues, and Owen perceived that either they were resting or that they
were gathered thus to receive him. That the latter was the case soon
became evident, for as he appeared, a white spot at the foot of the
slope, countless heads turned and myriads of eyes fastened themselves
upon him. For an instant he was dismayed; there was something terrifying
in this numberless multitude of warriors, and the thought of the task
that he had undertaken crushed his spirit. Then he remembered, and
shaking off his fear and doubt, alone, save for his disciple John,
holding the crucifix aloft, he walked slowly up the wide road towards
the place where he guessed that the king must be. His arm was weary ere
ever he reached it, but at length he found himself standing before a
thickset old man, who was clad in leopard skins and seated upon a stool
of polished wood.

"It is the king," whispered John behind him.

"Peace be to you," said Owen, breaking the silence.

"The wish is good, may it be fulfilled," answered the king in a deep
voice, sighing as he said the words. "Yet yours is a strange greeting,"