“Yes,” Ganne said. “They must be. Men fight for land, or honor, or gold. Women fight only for their children.”
“And these bodyguards? They were mothers?”
The King is the life of the country,” Yala explained. “Without him there is war, and the children die.”
Kai shadowed his mouth with his hand, pleased with Yala’s answer, but unwilling to reveal it. In her pride, beauty, and physicality, she reminded him of …
Nandi.
Once begun their ruminative journey, it took a powerful effort to tear his thoughts from that path. “More of your history, please.”
Pleased with his interest, Ganne continued for her sister. “Of course. These first became the seed of a great army, an army of women who marched, trained, and fought beside the men, and often outperformed them.”
So Kai had heard, although he had to confess that he had assumed the stories to be mere fables. Politely, he kept that assumption to himself.
“Time passed,” Yala said, “and the monarchy gave way to a parliament. The women’s army became more, hmmm … symbolic than practical. First we were allowed to marry—then encouraged, and finally ordered to do so. It became illegal to practice our martial arts, or pass them on to our daughters.”
“Although you did, behind closed doors.”
“Of course.”
Kai could no longer repress his mirth, and laughed openly. “Do continue.”
Encouraged by his reaction, Ganne continued. “At that point, many of us immigrated to Bilalistan, where we might be free to raise our families and conduct our lives as we saw fit. For two generations we have been farmers—”
“But we continue to teach the skills of archery, spear, and rifle to our girls.”
Kai raised one dark eyebrow. “Not your boys?”
“No.”
In all his young life, he had never heard anything so absurd! “A world upside down, indeed. I would not care to be one of your sons.”
Yala’s answering smile was shaded with mischief. “Perhaps we could adopt you as a daughter.”
“Yes!” Kai roared, and slapped his hands upon his desk. “Stay on my land a time. Seek employment as you will, but I must have you as my guests.”
“Will you commend us to your friends?” Ganne asked eagerly.
Kai glanced at Kebwe, who shook his head. “I cannot—” he answered.
The sisters grimaced, but held their tongues.
Kai continued on. “—without testing. Perhaps we can arrange a demonstration of your skills. If they are as you say, I might write a letter in your behalf.” He was delighted to hear Kebwe’s soft, sincere groan of protest.
The sisters bowed. “We could ask for no more.”
“Well then,” he said, blood quickening. “Let us retire to the field.” He turned to Kebwe, and noted how his sergeant ground his teeth in irritation. Delightful. “It seems this day holds greater promise than I anticipated!”
With a general murmur of pleasure the court adjourned.
Kai’s training dome and outdoor training arena lay a few hundred cubits southwest, between the great house and the lake. Drum servants had summoned Kai’s personal guard, a rough-and-ready lot, battle-hardened all. They seemed almost offended to be asked to contest in such a fashion.
What began as a great joke evolved into something considerably more serious and fascinating as Yala and Ganne chose five of their followers to compete with five of Kai’s. While not as tall and strong as the sisters, all five Dahomans possessed that oddly appealing combination of strength and allure.
From the first engagement, the Dahomy performed well beyond his expectations. Their archery rivaled Kebwe’s, and as horsewomen they might have tested Fodjour’s mettle. With musket, their speed of reload was slightly below his standard, but their aim at the midrange was superb.
Only at swordplay was there a gap in skills. Here, his men’s superior strength exerted itself, and one after another of the Dahomy were disarmed or touched upon the armor. Only Yala and Ganne held their own at blades, with sufficient blend of litheness and speed to counteract strength of arm.
Kebwe had watched it all, declining to participate in the impromptu matches. Kai could sympathize.
“I see skill here,” he was finally forced to admit.
“Will you write a letter of recommendation for us?” Yala asked eagerly.
“Well … we will see. I have my own curiosity.”
“About?”
“Never have I crossed blades with a woman,” he confessed. Kai drew his shamsir. Its forty digits were but ceremonial steel, hardly the superb Benin man-killer he had carried during the Aztec wars. And his father’s blade Ruh Riyȃh, Soul Wind, would be the master of either, or both. Lighter than either of those swords, the ceremonial blade was more comfortable to carry. No weapon to protect home and heart, its very inferiority made the coming bout more exciting. He would have to be careful to keep single-scarred Yala from finding effective leverage….
Yala took a step back. “And if I win?”
“I will hire you myself.”
“Sayyid!” she screamed in delight, and slid steel from scabbard.
Kai advanced half a measure, saluted with guard to forehead, and extended his arm. Their swords crossed. Her initial touch was feather-light; then metal rang sharply upon metal once, twice, three times—high, low, and then slightly off-center—Kai deliberately creating an opening to test Yala’s reflexes and aggression. She was quicksilver itself, a woman in visage but a hawk in combat, of superior will and keen mind. But, thought Kai as he countered a lovely quarter-beat attack, she was entirely too eager to prove herself. He deliberately blocked too widely. When Yala went for the bait, Kai dropped his elbow to increase leverage, corkscrewed his blade, catching hers against the pommel; and disarmed her.
Yala lowered her head in shame. “I … I have failed. May my sisters forgive me.”
Kai chuckled, happy with what he had learned in their brief exchange. “Not at all. You lasted twelve seconds.” He paused, then added, “I can disarm the sergeant of my guard in ten.” Kebwe clenched his teeth and looked away. Life was good! “I think I can find work for you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
With servants coaxing song from fiddle and pipe for their masters, the owners of Dar Kush savored a leisurely dinner of Doro Wate chicken and lentils. Even in months other than Ramadan, Kai generally fasted during the day and then ate massively in the evening. His custom was to begin with vegetables and salad, then to gorge on meat, and lastly satisfying his appetite with all the rice or bread he could eat. When he felt more thirst than hunger, he would stop, drink a glass or two of water, and relax. If and when hunger called again, he would eat another meal.
Because they had fasted all day, for once Lamiya and Elenya wolfed their food as avidly as he. As Kai dismembered and devoured his second chicken, Elenya was cutting the first strips from her third. “And what do you hear of war?” he asked her.
“There is talk and talk,” she said between mouthfuls. “The boys of how brave they will be, the girls of how canny the Empress has been.”
“Canny?”
Elenya spread her hands. “The thought is that the Pharaoh hopes to lure the Empress into rash action: violation of treaties with Persia, interference with Egyptian colonies in Europe, threats to blockade the Nile. So far, she has succumbed to none of his provocations.”
“Bravo,” Kai said in a soft voice.
Lamiya dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then leaned forward. “And how is my aunt herself?” Kai was surprised she had waited so long to ask that question. Marrying Kai had placed Lamiya in the Empress’s ill graces. She was feder näfs, a “soul mate,” promised to Kai’s older brother Ali. The exquisite Lamiya was one of those girls whom the Empress, in dream, might declare the perfect partner for this or that wealthy and powerful merchant or potentate, thereby strengthening and enriching her empire. Governor Pili himself had married one of the Empress’s nieces.
“I hear she is well,” said Elenya. “I was presented to her, of course, and have been to court twice, but we have never really conversed.”
Lamiya nodded understanding. “What hear you from her courtiers?”
Elenya pondered. “It is said that she lacks materiel, but her position is strong. She controls the sea routes to India and China, and could defeat Egypt in a naval war … at least that is the talk.”
Kai nodded. “‘Egyptian blood has no salt,’” he said, quoting the ancient Abyssinian mariner who had taught him to hoist the Sea Horse’s sails. There was truth to the saying. The very Nile that had made Egypt the world’s first nation also prevented her from ever becoming a true thalassocracy. Early Egyptian mariners had had it too easy: Traveling north, one merely rode the current. Travel south, and use the prevailing winds. With such advantages, why learn true sail craft?
Kai pulled his mind out of those speculations. “And on land?”
“Again, strong. She controls the center of the board. But the Pharaoh has powerful allies among the Masai, making the Empress vulnerable to envelopment, I think.”
“Thus speaks the satranj wizard.” Kai paused for a moment, considering. “Tell me, have you played at court?”
“Yes, a challenge match with one of the junior officers.” She brightened a bit at the subject.
“And?”
“I won three of five, but his endgame might have been stronger than mine, had I not outpositioned him in the midrange.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Kai said. “Play many games. If possible, play them with Egyptian officers. You may learn interesting things.”
“They rarely speak of politics.”
“No, that is not my meaning. Men reveal themselves in game,” Kai said. “Their courage, intelligence, gift for strategy … satranj is not a game of ivory pieces. It is a game of war. In playing with Egypt’s warriors, you may well gain insight into her plans.”
“Brother!” Elenya exclaimed. “Dwelling on worldly matters in such a fashion. Shall I be shocked or pleased?” Her teeth worried a fleck of chicken away from the bone. “Perhaps both.”
War was no idle threat. For hundreds of years, Europe and Bilalistan had been carved into colonial fiefdoms, looted for land, slaves, and raw materials. Over ten million European men, women, and children had been carried off, east or west across the seas, sold to China and India. European slaves toiled in Bilalistan and northern Africa, in Egyptian, Abyssinian, and Zulu mines in South and Central Bilalistan. Bilalian natives had traveled east to labor in Africa’s warmer, wetter climes: Europeans had proven too frail for the work.
Uncounted tons of minerals and precious goods had been stripped away, carted by the boatload back to African conquerors, fattening their coffers and children as Europe starved and the Aztecs transformed into the last viable resistance to the armies of Egypt, Mali, and Abyssinia.
In Europe, whites who fled to cooler climes were often savaged by eastern barbarians, and often captured and sold into slavery by the Northmen, whose trade with the Africans brought them guns, medicine, and steel.
The two most ardent competitors were Egypt and Abyssinia. Once upon a time these colossi had contested for influence in Africa. Egypt had had the best of it until the fabled Black Barges ferried disease and death to her royal house, twelve hundred years ago. As Alexander’s bloodline withered, the Empress gathered the reins into Her immortal hand. For a time, Mali and Benin had successfully challenged Abyssinia, buoyed by Bilalian gold. Other coastal nations tried European and Bilalian colonies as well, with varying degrees of success. The cycle had turned again, however. Now, as in the beginning, Pharaoh and Empress stood supreme.
The Nasab Setepenamen, “The blood of the Pharaoh Alexander,” was a spiritual/political commitment between the Twin Thrones. It had led to a thousand years of educational, economic, and technological development in sub-Saharan Africa, resulting in unparalleled wealth and opportunity, and the rise of advanced nation-states all along the coast.
But truly, it was the New World’s promise of limitless riches that provided the truest test for the bonds of blood.
It was customary for Bilalistan’s noble daughters to return to Africa for education and presentation at one or both thrones. In a month, Elenya would return to complete her education, and in all probability, find a husband.
“Enough of this talk!” his sister cried. “That is all far away from us.”
“Not so far as you might think,” Kai said.
“Well, far from me right now.” She sniffed. “You haven’t asked about my social life. I begin to think my brother cares for nothing but politics these days.”
Lamiya laughed, happy that the conversation had lightened. “Well, then—what of your social life?”
Elenya leaned forward eagerly. “I think … I really think that I may have met someone. An officer—”
“Of the Royal Marine?” Kai finished for her. An excellent candidate, if he was of good blood, and that was a given, if one of the Empress’s Royals …
“Yes!”
“That satranj-player, perhaps?” said Lamiya, while Kai mused.
Again, Elenya flushed, and glanced away. “Perhaps.”
Lamiya pretended to busy herself with her veal. “Ah. Well. You may well have the stronger endgame, but watch your opening as well.”
Elenya started, eyes wide, outraged and delighted. “Lamiya!”
Kai’s mind had wandered, lost in thoughts of a possible future wedding. “What? Did you say something?”
The two women giggled and looked as innocent as newborns. Lamiya donned her gravest expression. “I merely reminded Elenya that at court, every game is played for higher stakes.”
After their meal Kai and Elenya adjourned to the mansion’s central courtyard, amid the fragrant leaves and blossoms of Dar Kush’s largest private garden, to enjoy a game of satranj. As usual, she spotted her brother Sultana’s knight. As usual, it affected the outcome not a jot.
“I notice you are spending more time with Fodjour,” she said as he studied the board.
“He is a good friend.” Hmmm … did he detect a weakness in her mamluk formation?
“Even more now that Aidan is gone, eh?”
Kai looked at her sharply. “Not a thing to say publicly.” Damn! It was true: he had sought out Fodjour more frequently in the three years since Aidan O’Dere, his former slave and best friend, had left Dar Kush to seek his fortune to the north. And Kai was certain that that was a sore point with Fodjour. Even worse, as his mind wandered, he found it difficult to remember the exact weakness he had seen in her position.
Ah. Wait. There it was. Not now, but in two moves …
“And how go things with Lamiya?” she asked innocently, and Kai’s vision of the board blurred. Cursing under his breath, he moved Sultana’s knight, hoping that he had not blundered.
Elenya nonchalantly moved a mamluk toward the center of the board.
“We are happy,” he finally answered.
“When we were children,” she said, “I think you imagined that her love would make you the happiest man in the world.”
“I remember.”
“Well?”
“I have her hand. More than that no man could ask.”
“And her heart?”
“You have grown talkative since last we met,” he said in irritation. “What have they been teaching you, beside the technique of tobacco inhalation?”
“A great many t
hings,” Elenya said, refusing even to protest her innocence. “The Academy is quite progressive. But it is philosophical as well. We are told to listen to the silences.”
“Indeed? And what do these silences tell you?”
“That your heart is happy, but not entirely full.”
Kai was taken aback: only the most acute ear could find silence so instructive. The house is mine,” he said, “but is so empty now.”
It was Elenya’s turn to smile. “Remember how vast it all seemed when we were children?”
“Yes,” Kai said. “But in an odd way, it is even larger now.…”
She studied the board, then reached out to take his hand affectionately in hers. “You still play hesitantly, Brother,” she said. They are mere pieces of ivory!”
He laughed at himself. “To you. To me, they are men on the field. I hate to see a mamluk die.”
“Then you will continually fall prey to Fazul’s Gambit. When I know what you hold dear, it is easy to threaten you.” She put action to her words, moving her Sultana’s vizier on its diagonal to threaten his Sultan. “Check?”
He studied the board dourly. “Well, it may be that, and it may be that my sister is simply brilliant. I concede.”
Already, Kai ached with Elenya’s absence. The memory of the time when she used to follow him about like a kitten made their inevitable separation rankle all the more.
There was something poignant about the effort that they put into having fun together, as if each understood that childhood was far behind them, and that nothing could ever truly be the same if an Abyssinian won her hand. Yearly letters could not compare to daily hugs.
“I don’t know about this officer,” Kai said, “but I know Father always thought that you’d find a husband there. And if that happened, you would be Abyssinian, not Bilalian.”
“You’ll always be my brother,” she said, comforting him as if she were the elder.
“I know.” He gestured vaguely. “There are just ways that I feel … disconnected from the world. As if very little bonds me here. I miss you.”
“You have your daughter. Both daughters.”
Zulu Heart Page 5
