by Marc Secchia
“She’s as clumsy as she is ugly,” said Captain Dabir. “Who trained this one?”
“She belongs to my sister,” said Prince Bekele. “I should speak to her about the girl’s training. It is obviously lacking.”
Shioni’s ears were burning. She spooned the ground coffee into the long neck of the jebena with great care, hoping the men would return to their conversation.
“Slave! Come to me,” ordered the Captain. When Shioni was kneeling before him, he said, “You have offended our Prince, slave. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, sir. Have you neither respect nor manners?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Her misery was clear; the Prince was chuckling behind her. “You have a fine way with dumb slaves, Captain Dabir!”
“And you’re filthy,” the Captain went on. “When last did you bathe, girl? This dry straw on your head is matted with dirt, just look, there’s a twig caught in the knots.”
“Obviously, my little sister doesn’t know how treat her possessions.”
“Indeed, Bekele. What a disgrace! Although it leaves a sour taste in my mouth even to talk about washing this ferengi filth. How does your sister tolerate such ugliness, day after day?”
The Prince affected a lazy drawl. “Oh, out of spite–the better to show off her own beauty, I suppose. I’ll grant Annakiya’s a pretty little thing, but like all girls, she’s a vain and silly creature.”
Captain Dabir’s answering laugh sounded much like a hyena’s cackle. “But this one is proud, my Prince. She once dared speak back to me. As if a stupid slave-girl could know anything about honour! I told my men to leave her in the well for a few hours. But the lesson didn’t stick.”
Shioni bit her lip hard to keep her self-pitying tears from welling up. So he had arranged for her to be trapped in the well! Rotten bully…
Prince Bekele laughed again. He had travelled up from Takazze for the King’s lavish birthday festivities. He had probably been acting for the King while the King was here, overseeing the castle works, she thought. This really was too dreadful. Not just the Captain, but the Prince as well! Did they all hate her? Was it what they thought–every time people saw her in the courtyard, or at work, or training–did they all think she was repulsive?
Annakiya wouldn’t see her like that–would she? The thought curdled her stomach.
“Girl!” The Captain’s foot prodded her arm. “Are you deaf as well as an idiot? I said, clean my boots!”
“At once, sir,” she whispered, making to untie the laces.
“Stop! I said, use your hair! Are you completely witless?”
A hideous chill seized Shioni, followed by a rush of heat pounding in her ears. No! He couldn’t mean it… there was mud and dung encrusted on the sides, so much of it… he was repeating the command, louder this time. She couldn’t bring herself to move. His shoes stank! Her whole body shuddered like a wind-swept leaf.
A boot scraped along her spine. “There, ferengi, I’ve started for you.”
It seemed that another person drew her long hair over her shoulder, that it was another who began to wipe the Captain’s boots; but she knew it was her own hot tears splashing down, and her stomach clenching at the stench of fresh manure so close to her bowed head.
But Captain Dabir was not finished yet.
Winking in the lantern light, a slim, cool dagger blade toyed with her cheek. “How sweet of you to use your tears to clean my boots,” he said. “Maybe we should just chop this straw off your head, eh? You’d look better shaven. The Prince would not have to be so offended by the sight of you.”
The Prince was laughing. “Oh stop, Dabir, have pity! You’re a cruel man.”
“Tough, my Prince, and loyal,” he said, and then turned his attention to Shioni, who was trying desperately not to flinch. “But that would still leave your ugliness, and that would offend me. A little slice here, a little slice there–what difference would it make?” The blade moved to her mouth. “I could cut off these lips and you’d be no uglier than–”
“Having a pleasant evening, Prince Bekele?”
A curt greeting, a heavy tread. The Prince and the Captain both sprang to their feet. Only fast reflexes saved Shioni from being tipped onto her nose. As it was, she found herself trapped like a bird in a cage of feet. She dared not move, nor could she have moved. Her worst nightmares could not have conceived of this humiliation. It was General Getu!
Chapter 12: A Different Lesson
For an unbearable moment, nobody breathed.
But then a strong hand raised her to her feet. “Good evening, Shioni. I will be joining these gentlemen for coffee. Would you prepare for a third? Thank you.”
Having almost floated over to the corner, where the jebena was bubbling away, Shioni suddenly paused, thunderstruck: Getu had not called her ‘girl’ or ‘slave’! He had greeted her before Captain Dabir! While her hands jerked back to their task with a mind of their own–preparing the tray of cups, spoons and honey–she risked a glance beneath her eyelashes at the men.
The General was acting as if the Captain didn’t exist. A gross insult to any Sheban! Wars had been fought over lesser offences. Captain Dabir’s face had turned pasty, as though he had eaten something rotten and had only just realised it.
Her hair smelled like a cowshed. How would she ever wash out this stench?
“Sit down,” General Getu said. “I’ll have that coffee now, Shioni.” Then, without further ado, he said: “Prince Bekele, you were not yet born when your grandfather was buried in the Church of the Holy Mother in Ma’rib. But I remember that day well. I was just a young man myself, not yet married, nor full of battles and years. When the King was killed, he left a big problem. Your father has a twin brother, and the King had not named which of the twin Princes was to be his successor.”
Shioni brought out the jebena and, kneeling before the General, spooned honey into the three tiny cups set out on the tray. Then she began to pour. The correct way was to pour from a height, so that the hot coffee burbled in the cup. Relief washed through her as she completed this task without spilling too much.
“Here, you’ve something caught in your hair, Shioni,” said the General, reaching out. She stiffened. He plucked something from her hair, and then, quite deliberately, dropped it into Captain Dabir’s cup! “There. Serve us.”
Shioni blinked. But nothing had fallen into the coffee! From her position, she could not have missed even the tiniest splash. Stars in heaven, the General had just pretended to drop horse manure into the Captain’s drink! She could barely contain the quivering of her hands as she passed the cups out. The evening was growing more bizarre by the second!
Not for the first time since she had come to Castle Asmat, she wondered if she wasn’t caught up in some strange dream.
“In those days the court was full of plotting and trickery,” the General continued, behaving as if nothing had happened. “So, years before, the King determined to keep secret which twin was firstborn. But then, your grandmother was poisoned. Of the midwives who delivered the twins, one died in old age and the other two met with strange and ill-timed accidents. Not long after, your grandfather died suddenly too. Which of the twins was the true King? Which should be crowned?”
“It was a crisis. The nobles and the generals began to take sides. Soon, there was talk of civil war within Sheba, of brother fighting brother. That would have torn the kingdom apart. Nations prey like lions upon those who show weakness. And the proud, noble Kings of Arabia made no secret of their jealousy at Sheba’s riches of gold, precious stones and incense, casting greedy eyes to the south of their desert kingdoms and sharpening their scimitars as they did so.”
“That was when your father, Prince Bekele, made a courageous decision. An amazing decision. He chose to leave all that he knew, and carve out for himself a kingdom on the western side of the Red Sea. He overthrew the weak, decadent King of Axum. He seized Axum’s trade and
ports and ships and warriors. Now that–that is a story! Out of the ashes of the Axumite Kingdom, West Sheba was born.”
The General clapped his hands softly. “Another cup!”
“My Lord.” Shioni moved into the lamplight and began to serve the traditional second cup.
“Coffee is a blessing for the soul, not so, Bekele?” The General again leaned over to pick an imaginary speck out of her hair!
Captain Dabir’s voice sounded choked as he accepted his cup with a trembling hand. Shioni’s shoulders were trembling too as she struggled to bite down on a bubble of hysterical laughter. She scurried back to her place. Beneath her matted hair, her eyes rose to fix upon the spectacle playing out before her. When the Captain raised the cup to his lips he spilled coffee on his trousers, and his colour was taking on a definite greenish cast now.
“It’s hard to believe your father started with just three hundred warriors,” General Getu noted. Prince Bekele was so astonished by proceedings that his mouth was catching flies. “Now, his legacy stretches from the Red Sea to the Takazze River, and beyond. There are trade pacts from East Sheba to Kush, a growing capital city, silver flowing into the treasury, and the King rides an elephant into battle. It’s a great legacy he will leave to you one day, young man. The question is–what will you make of it?”
Bekele shifted as uncomfortably on his seat as Shioni thought he must feel.
“What kind of King would you like to be?”
“Strong,” said Bekele. “Strong, like my father. I will seek new conquests, and put these Wasabi unbelievers to the sword.”
“And what is a King’s strength?”
“He may measure his possessions, or warriors, or cities and castles, or the depth of his treasury,” the Prince replied, sounding as though he were reading off a scroll. “He might surround himself with good advisors, with friends of good character and vision. Men with experience–like yourself, General Getu.”
Bekele tried to smile casually, but he managed to appear nervous instead. Getu was clearly unmoved by his flattery. If anything, the General only seemed to become stiffer as a result. “But the people see his justice. Just as a king leads men into battle, so he should lead his people–fearlessly, favouring none, with a strong and just right hand.”
“Justice?” said the General. “How do you see that?”
Shioni could often listen to conversations by making herself ‘small’, as she liked to think about it. No-one took much notice of a slave. But here, she had the luxury of watching from a shadowed corner as the General grilled the Prince. It was gripping. It was slow torture…
Bekele smiled smugly. “Being not easily swayed, General. Treating all, both slave and free, in a right and lawful way. Setting the example in just conduct, and punishing injustice.”
“Ah,” said the General, with a crafty curl of his lip. “So tell me, Prince, what kind of example were you setting when you stood by and let the Captain abandon a young slave-girl down a well for hours? What kind of justice would you recommend for the man who gave that order?”
Captain Dabir gave a strangled gasp of horror.
“And when you sit by and watch a man ill-use a slave–who is a child, moreover–is that right or fair? We can all read our lessons, my Lord Prince. And you have obviously studied what it means to be a King. But it is quite another thing to act like one.”
Shioni could hardly believe her ears. The General was sticking up for her! Not only that, he was hauling the Prince of Sheba over the coals, making him squirm like an earthworm freshly hauled from the soil by a snapping beak.
At his nod, she quickly approached him to serve the third, and final, cup of coffee. Thick, oily liquid spilled into the cups. She set the jebena down.
The General leaned forward again! “I think you’ve got lice, Shioni,” he said, pretending to catch one between his fingers. He flicked it into the cup he was holding and turned to the Captain. “Coffee?”
Captain Dabir’s stomach heaved. Clapping both hands to his mouth, the Captain leaped to his feet and fled the room! Gagging noises echoed down the corridor.
General Getu blew on his steaming coffee before taking an appreciative sip. “This is fine coffee, thank you, Shioni. Just the way I like it.”
She bowed, daring neither to meet his eyes nor to utter a sound.
“You are dismissed.”
Chapter 13: The King’s Horse
“It’s a mite late for a jaunt down-valley,” said the stable hand, scratching his scraggly goatee as he led Shioni down the picket line. He peered short-sightedly at her. “You works for the Princess, have I right?”
“I do,” said Shioni, carefully neglecting to mention that she was doing this entirely without permission for the second time within two weeks. How could he mistake her? His eyesight had to be terrible. “I’m just riding down to Ginab and back. Urgent message.”
It was the perfect opportunity too. Four solid days of feasting for the King’s birthday had ended, and today the guests had been leaving Castle Asmat in their droves. She could hide amidst all the traffic–or so she hoped.
Her eye was caught by a chestnut stallion which was roughly tied some distance from the others. Despite its splendid lines, the horse looked skittish and wild of eye, gaunt in the flanks, and its coat badly needed a good brushing. She raised her chin. “Whose horse is that?”
“Oh, miss, ‘e’s a mad one alright! Arabian. Cost a King’s ransom ‘e did. Don’t you be going near ‘im, ‘e’s a biter and a kicker.”
“Broken to the saddle?”
“Once, maybe. But no more.” The man crossed himself and spat on the ground, to invoke God and ward off evil just in case. “Was a gift from the King of East Sheba, y’know, our good King’s brother. But ‘e gone madder than a wasp since crossing the Red Sea. Nobody dare ride ‘im now. Barely feed ‘im, y’know, like I throw food to ‘im.”
They proceeded down the line. “You wanting Star again?”
“She’ll do nicely,” said Shioni, looking back wistfully. The stallion looked sad.
“Maybe you can cheer ‘im, miss,” said the stable hand. “You’s having such a fine touch with them animals and all. I fancies you talks to them sometimes, I does. That a ferengi skill or what?”
“Er,” Shioni stalled. “Well I–”
“Darn clever anyways,” he said. “Ferengi magic says I. Well, if you’s wanting to help with ‘im, I’d welcome it. If you’s right proper careful and such. Can’t bear to see such a noble animal suffering.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Whatever could have happened to a horse to make it look like that? She had to help him, and maybe with her newfound ability to understand animals she might be able to do just that... but later. Right now she had another hard night’s riding ahead of her. And she was already exhausted before starting out, having been put to hauling rocks that afternoon on the building site while Princess Annakiya assisted Hakim Isoke with taking an inventory of the newly cleared storage rooms beneath the east wing of the castle.
“You be wanting no tack, miss?”
“No, I like riding bareback and my knees are enough. I’ve a rope halter in my bag.”
“Fine. Picket ‘er later, I’ll be sleeping most like.”
Once the chatty stable hand let her go, Shioni breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t enjoy lying. She clucked to the pony. “Down to Ginab Village, girl. You can run if you like.”
Star gave a little nicker of delight. Shioni caught the image of a happy foal playing in a lush mountain pasture. Then–true to her sweet nature–there came a strong sense that the pony really liked her as a rider.
“I like you too.” Shioni patted her neck.
Great galumphing elephants, now she was imagining whole conversations with her pony. Next she would be dancing around trees like that crazy man the warriors had driven off yesterday.
Shioni gave the pony her head. As they trotted down the valley away from the golden rays of a lowering sunset, the
black basalt cliffs hugging the meadows seemed to draw back almost reluctantly. Star pushed along as eagerly as an animal half her age.
Lower down they entered a wood where the carpenters had been busy felling trees for the construction work at the castle. Beyond the wood, Shioni knew, the valley ended abruptly in a steep descent to the hills fringing the mountain. She would have to make that descent without the benefit of a full moon this time. The stream to her left was already burbling happily in anticipation of the downhill dash. Ginab Village was nestled in a loop of the stream, still a good height above the river plain.
The pony’s ears pricked up.
“What’s that?” Shioni turned, listening carefully. “What did you hear?”
She caught a picture of a person from the pony.
There were a few isolated huts along the valley, home to poor farmers and hunters Hakim Isoke referred to as ‘peasants’, spitting the ‘p’ as though she had tasted something sour. ‘Once they see the castle, they’ll multiply like fleas,’ Annakiya’s tutor had added. ‘Protection is valuable, as is the commerce the castle will bring.’ Shioni, silently kneeling in her corner, had not understood the entire lesson she had overheard. Still, it was clear to her that Isoke had a high opinion of Sheban culture and not much of an opinion about anyone else’s.
Shioni directed Star through the trees toward the stream. “This way.”
“Help me!”
Pushing her way through some low bushes, Shioni came across a girl of about her own age curled up at the base of pine tree. A pair of wide brown eyes stared uncertainly at her.
The girl rubbed her eyes. “I must be seeing angels… am I dead?”
“I’m as real as you are,” said Shioni, more crossly than she had intended. “I am called Shioni. What’s your name? What’s the matter?”
“A-Are you asmati?”
“No! I work up at Castle Asmat. Now tell me your name.”
