Zulu Heart

by Steven Barnes

  “Your men asked for five hundred head of cattle,” said Kai. “I thought this an insult.”

  There was a great intake of breath. Cetshwayo’s eyes narrowed. “So…?”

  “Your daughter is of such beauty, such intelligence, such fire that no man could offer less than a thousand head for her hand.”

  Cetshwayo’s eyes widened, and Kai was gratified to see his mouth open slightly in surprise. He offered the Zulu prince a scroll.

  Nandi’s father relaxed visibly. “Ah.”

  “Title to the herd in the western pasture,” said Kai. “Twelve hundred head of the finest Kikuyu cattle, for your daughter’s hand. Other gifts are mentioned, of gold and silver and land. But I know that your people hold the living wealth of cattle most dear.”

  “You speak truth,” said Cetshwayo, nodding in satisfaction.

  “And so this is the lion’s share of my payment to you. I pray that it meets your approval.”

  Cetshwayo smiled expansively, white teeth gleaming against black skin. “It does. “You have my blessing. May our families be one, from now until the end of time.”

  Her father extracted a knife from his belt. After a brief pause, he handed it to Nandi.

  Nandi accepted the blade as if she had slept with one in her cradle, flipping it this way and that with dexterous twists of her wrist, a juggler’s trick adapted to steel and ceremony. Then with a flick she cut the strap to the mask, and handed it to her father.

  Of all her splendors, to Kai, Nandi’s eyes were her most striking trait. They were so direct and piercing that it was almost like facing a male adversary. So different from Muslim women! She gazed upon him as if in judgmental evaluation. Her full lips, which once had kissed his with shameless passion, her skin, so finely grained that she seemed to have no pores at all …

  All of it combined to overwhelming effect, and Kai’s heart raced.

  The Zulu princess left her father’s group and went to stand with Kai among his warriors.

  She still, he noticed, carried the knife. Even now, Nandi’s hand might be tightening upon the blade …

  But instead of a lethal thrust or slash, with another fluid flourish, she reversed the knife in her hand. She sheathed it and extended the sheathed blade, hilt-first, to Kai, her eyes lowered respectfully.

  And he understood the message: I am a woman of the Zulu, she said. I conceal or reveal what I wish. No man can touch me without my permission. And I hand this, my only weapon, to you. I am yours now—but yours to protect and love. Misuse me, and I take my blade back again. Misuse me sorely, and I may give this blade another, warmer sheath.

  He accepted it, and bowed. This was as close to a formal ceremony as existed among the Zulu—the cutting of the veil, and the handing of the knife to Kai. It was in this fashion that Nandi’s Zulu ancestors came to smile upon their union.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Zulus seemed tireless in their celebration of a royal wedding, providing one elaborate display after another. There were more giya as warrior after warrior showed his prowess, strength, and masculinity. More dance, more song, and the arrival of yet more dignitaries and common celebrants.

  Kai, Fodjour, and Mada joined with the other drummers in a spontaneous concert.

  As the sun sank low on the western horizon, the gathering began to quiet. Older men sat in the shade, drinking traditional beer from clay izinkhamba. Married women, noble and dignified, laughed and joked together. The atmosphere built until another song and dance burst from the assembled.

  Toward the end of the celebrations, young warriors and girls gradually drifted off in pairs.

  Kai smiled. “It seems to be a night for romance among your people.”

  “The celebration is far from ended, my husband,” said Nandi.

  On a clearing north of the platform where the wedding had taken place, another gathering was under way. To the uninitiated, what one saw here appeared to be rampant violence as men yelled and charged, as sticks and shields whirled. In reality, it was yet merely another entertainment.

  At first, great lines of warriors formed and began sparring against one another. It was extremely disciplined, ordered, and controlled by the great charisma and exceptional leadership of the battle-scarred warrior captains. Zulus were often squared off with Kai’s men, an ostensibly friendly contest that all understood to have more serious undertones.

  It was at this point that the real challenges started, with young warriors attempting to move up the ranks. A sudden hush, a circle of men, and two young gladiators become framed by the blurring of whistling sticks.

  “Nayi inkunzi!” a young warrior cried.

  “What does that mean?” Kai asked.

  “‘Here is the bull!’” said Nandi, smiling in pride. “They will challenge each other now, like young bulls challenging the leader of the herd.”

  Nandi’s mother grinned at Kai’s apparent unease. “Should one man fall or falter, ordinarily the warrior captains immediately stop the fight. But since this is a friendly match between our two families, perhaps you should allow the men themselves to decide the point of yielding.”

  This inevitably meant bruises and perhaps even broken bones, but Kai could only nod, and wonder in his heart exactly what the game might be. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we should.”

  Cetshwayo spanked his hands together. “Excellent!”

  The night rang with shouts and crashes as Cetshwayo’s men dueled with Kai’s guard. It was customary, once the tension had subsided after the brawl, for the victor to bathe and bind his opponent’s wounds, openly demonstrating that he held no malice.

  However, every fight was a fight, and the outcome would be remembered in the victor’s praise poem. Each fight, through its very greatness, would increase the isithunzi, the status, of these men.

  And despite the general celebratory air, Kai was feeling a bit prickly. Contributing to his irritation was the unavoidable fact that his warriors weren’t doing well. Bluntly put, the Zulus were thrashing them. Kebwe himself challenged a Zulu and actually won a match, only to be driven to his knees by the man called Chalo. Despite their lumps and limps, Kai’s men, especially noble Kebwe, wanted to fight on, but Kai saw no point in it.

  “Hold!” cried Kai. “Our great guests are indeed the matchless warriors of repute. I implore you to spare further injury to the good and faithful men in my service.”

  Cetshwayo seemed satisfied with the plea. “Hold indeed. And you need have no shame—this is our game, not yours. Had we not taken the measure of your battlefield skills and courage, there would have been no alliance twixt Shaka and your father.”

  Kai paused, trying to read the meaning behind those words. When it came to interpreting Zulu communication, he felt as if he were eternally playing catch-up. No wonder they made such barristers! “Well spoken,” he said finally.

  It was this entire complicated ritual of celebration that comprised the Zulu wedding ceremony. At no point had vows, in the Abyssinian sense, been exchanged.

  And yet he wasn’t fooled. All of the critical points had been negotiated twice, first by Kai and Cetshwayo, and then by Babatunde and the lawyers sent to represent the family interests. Once those contracts were fully in operation, the rest was mere formality.

  “Keep my daughter well,” said Cetshwayo formally. “Return her if she causes any trouble, or if you tire of her.”

  “I have never tired of the dawn,” Kai replied with equal formality. “Nor shall her spirit ever fail to enchant me.”

  To Kai’s surprise, Cetshwayo’s eyes softened. For a moment, he could see a touch of confusion in the older man’s eyes, as if he was uncertain of his next action.

  “Good luck to you,” the prince said finally. Was that a catch in his voice? “Both.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  As the air cooled and the guests began to drift away, Kai and his bride returned to the house. Demurely, Nandi excused herself and went to her chambers, while Kai retreated to his own rooms, there to gr
oom and prepare himself for the evening.

  Aidan joined him there. His former servant had remained on the outskirts of the ceremony, watching from Ghost Town, or in the company of the servants, in respect to the Zulu attitudes toward whites. Nonetheless, he was in a high mood. “You have waited three years for this night. Your loins must burn.”

  “In truth,” Kai said frankly, “never in all my life have I desired a woman as I crave Nandi.”

  “May she surpass your dreams.”

  “Insh’allah,” Kai said automatically, then the two friends laughed, holding each other’s shoulders.

  “I don’t know how you Muslims do it,” Aidan said. “One to one, our women are more than enough to handle. I’m not sure if Allah made your men stronger, or your women weaker.”

  Kai smiled. “The former, old friend. Wish me luck.”

  Aidan nodded. “Luck, Kai.”

  And Kai left.

  “Luck of the Irish,” Aidan murmured.

  As Kai stalked the hallways, the servants deferred to him, bowing, lowering their eyes. Nandi’s room was on the second floor, as was Lamiya’s, but discretion suggested he take a separate hallway to her door.

  He knocked, and heard nothing from within. Another knock, and Munji finally opened the door.

  “I wish to see my wife,” he said.

  “Nandi requests the boon you promised her,” her mother said.

  “Of course. And that is?”

  So fleet as to be barely glimpsed, a triumphant smile flashed across the Zulu woman’s face. “That you wait one-hundredth as long for her as she waited for you. Ten days.”

  Kai felt his knees weaken. “But … I …”

  “You promised, Sidi,” she said.

  “Very well,” he snarled, angrier with himself, and his childish reaction, than he was with his new wife. “Ask your daughter if she would do her husband the honor of accompanying him on a ride in the morning.” He paused, and could not stop himself from adding, “If that would not be too much.”

  “I will indeed, Wakil. And anything else?” Munji’s tone was so utterly polite and formal, that it was almost possible to overlook the mockery beneath the words. Almost.

  “Yes.” Kai ground his teeth until he feared they might splinter. “Bid her a very pleasant evening.” Then, pivoting toe-heel, he stalked away.

  In her bedroom, Nandi heard the terse words as well as the heavy tread of retreating feet.

  She lay in her bed, lazily scratching IziLomo’s ear as the ridgeback lay curled on the floor at her side. “And what did he say?” Her eyes were alight with mischief.

  “I believe that you heard it, Daughter.”

  Nandi twinkled. “And is that all?”

  “No,” said Munji. “Not all. He asked if you would ride with him on the morrow.”

  “I’ll give him my answer … in the morning.”

  “A woman cannot exert her power directly before she has entrapped her husband’s heart.”

  “Oh,” said Nandi. “Have no fear. I will do you proud, Mother.”

  The older woman beamed. “I know you will. And now, my daughter, I return to my tent. This is your house now, not mine. I must not remain beneath your roof until you have truly become this man’s wife.”

  A glimmer of sadness crossed Nandi’s face. “But when I am truly his wife, you will return home, leaving me here.”

  “You are a woman,” said Munji, “and cannot build your home while I am here, telling you to do this and that thing. You must find your own way, but your attendants will take good care of you.”

  “Will you always love me, Mother?”

  Munji enfolded Nandi in her vast and beautiful arms. “Before your father gave me his seed, I loved you. After the earth has embraced my bones, I will love you. Do you not know these things to be true?”

  Nandi gazed into the face of the first human being she had seen in this world, and nodded slowly. “Good night, Mother.”

  After Munji left, Nandi pushed back luxuriantly into her pillows, yawning, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

  Her right hand slipped beneath the covers, beginning the slow, circular massage that would shortly send alternating chills of heat and cold through her body.

  Soon, Kai.

  Not now. Not yet.

  But soon.

  The erotic chill was balanced by fear. Soon, a barrier would be crossed. On the other side of it, no matter how much she thought she knew herself, a different woman lived. What would she be like? What would her life be?

  Nandi smiled, that smile melting into a grimace of pleasure as waves of fire and ice wracked her body, and she screamed her joy into the pillow that smelled of cedar, and wool, and home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  In the morning Kai dragged himself from his restless, lonely bed, threw water on his face, and performed his prayers and meditations, the hour of breathing, flexion, and visualization with which he invariably began the day. Then washing, he dressed and without breakfasting headed for the barn.

  He pulled on his riding boots, pausing to scent at the leather. What is that smell? It was faint, but distinctive. Urine? Kai beetled his brow. Where…?

  He quelled the speculation, wiped his boots clean, and equipped both horses. He sat astride his own when Nandi appeared, fresh and beautiful in her riding togs, IziLomo trotting at her side. “Good morning, my husband.”

  “Good morning, Wife,” he said, as casually as possible, keeping a keen eye on the hound. He could not read dog emotions. But if he could, he would have sworn the hound was smirking.

  “What a fine day it is!”

  Kai’s smile stretched a bit tight. “One might have expected the night to have been more incandescent than the dawn, but yes, it is a great day.”

  Unexpectedly, her face softened, and she reached out a warm hand to touch his arm. “My husband. All good things to those who wait.”

  He glared at her. “I believe that it is time I met your champion.”

  She scratched the dog’s thick neck. “IziLomo,” she said, “please give courtesy to the master of the house, my husband Kai.”

  The dog looked at his mistress, and then at Kai, and walked forward. Kai tightened.

  “Hold still and he will not tear your hand off,” she said.

  “Hah hah,” he replied. Kai had seen dogs before, of course, and occasionally even interacted with them. Dogs were not common pets among the upper class, although the slaves in Ghost Town had several such animals, and some of the poorer blacks kept them as well. This was reportedly not the case in Alexandria, though. There, it was said, dogs were quite popular.

  Nonetheless, Kai kept quiet and still, extending his hand. IziLomo sniffed at it, and then backed away, eyeing his putative new master warily. “Well trained,” Kai said, hoping that his slight unease would not weaken his voice.

  The dog returned to his mistress and sat, awaiting her next command with infinite patience. With huge, dark eyes it watched Kai.

  “I have energy to bum off,” Kai said impatiently.

  Nandi clucked. “My poor husband.”

  “I seem to remember that you can ride. Come with me!”

  As lightly as any boy Nandi seated herself, and the two of them dashed off, IziLomo loping along behind them.

  Nandi, now one of the ladies of the household, explored her new holdings with Kai. In a strange way, she was more reserved than the girl who had offered him her honor those years ago. Because of Shaka? Or because she felt spurned? Or was it the fact that she was away from her home territory, and therefore treading cautiously?

  Perhaps because mother and sisters were watching them, wondering how long it would take for her husband to prove himself a man.

  For every conceivable reason, Kai was eager to bid them good-bye.

  He was motivated to try to crack Nandi’s reserve, and realized that her temporary power over his libido was simultaneously frustrating and inflaming. The situation was both repulsive and attractive. This was loss of c
ontrol. Loss of control meant danger … and to the part of Kai’s mind that belonged to his uncle Malik, danger was an intoxicant.

  Lake A’zam’s waters were warm and calm, sparkling in the afternoon sun as Kai showed Nandi his father’s boat-building facility. He had taken the opportunity of their coerced celibacy to familiarize his Zulu wife with Dar Kush in all of its aspects. After all, she and Lamiya would be responsible for running the household, the servants, and conducting much of its business.

  As interested as she was in these details, she was even more fascinated by the social differences between Bilalians and Zulus.

  “I have my own room, yes,” he said in answer to her query.

  “Strange to me,” replied Nandi.

  “In what way?”

  “Among my people, the umnumzana, the head of the household, has no home. His women’s home is his home.”

  She paused, looking into the boat dock. “And what is this?”

  “My father’s fortune was made in shipping, and he retained an interest in it throughout his life. He enjoyed the water, and actually worked with Kokossa to design a few vessels.”

  “He was a great man,” she said. “I am saddened that he did not live to see us wed.”

  That statement, and the moment containing it, seemed to Kai unusually frank. I wish this as well. In such a case, my brother might still live.

  “Come,” Kai said.

  They dismounted, and entered the facility where Kai’s pleasure dhow Sea Horse had been constructed. Within rested the bones and hide of another, half-finished ship.

  “Incomplete,” Nandi said.

  “Yes. It was my father’s, commissioned but uncompleted after his death.”

  “Will we sail?” she asked.

  “Wherever you like.”

  “I have never been on a ship,” she said.

  That took Kai by surprise. “Never?”

  “What is it like?”

  “Do you swim?”

  “Yes.” She paused, then added, “A little.”

  “I will teach you,” Kai said.

  “You will?”

  He nodded. “We have a whole life, a whole world together. If you have patience, you can learn.”