Kinguri now drew me onward toward the city of Dongo. I wondered if he meant to enter it, which would be sure death for us, I being as conspicuous in this land as a three-headed calf, and he with his Jaqqa stature and ornaments being scarce less visible.
But that was not his plan. When we neared the place where the path to Dongo turned upward into the mountain, he gestured to the left and said, “In that meadow live the sacred peacocks of King Ngola, that he prizes above all else. To take a single feather from one is to forfeit your life, if you are seen. Let us enter that meadow, Andubatil, and gather us some feathers.”
“And if we are caught?”
“Then we will die. But we will do it bravely.”
I could not see the sense of this effort. I had had one touch of death’s wings already this week, and the soreness of my struggle with Machimba-lombo was still upon my limbs. But it seemed most urgent to Kinguri to enter here, and having come so far with him I would not turn away now.
So we did steal into the meadow, which was moist and bordered by thick-columned plants of a bluish hue in stem and leaf. Before us lay the royal birds, flying up and down the trees, and spreading their tremendous tails and making wild shrieking sounds. The place seemed to be unguarded, which was strange to me, these birds being so precious to the king. But Kinguri said there were guards hidden about, and charged me to stand watch for them.
From his pouch he drew a strip of leather with two round stones attached to its ends. Most warily he walked toward the peacocks, meaning to cast this thing at them and entangle the legs of one. On his first two casts he failed, the birds being faster-moving than they appeared; but on the third he did snare one, that set up a vast squawking and rioting as the leather wrapped itself by the deftness of Kinguri’s throw about its body. “Come!” he cried, and we rushed forward, and with our knives we cut the beautiful bird’s throat, that gleamed with many colors.
Then he caught me by the upper arm, and did make a deep but narrow slit in my flesh, very swiftly, before I could pull back, and the same to himself. And took the throat of the peacock and let its blood run over his wound, and put his arm against mine, rubbing it so that our three bloods did mix, his and mine and the bird’s, and as he did this he glared into my eyes with wild savage glee, behind which I saw his subtle intelligence burning brightly.
“We are brothers now, you and I, Andubatil Jaqqa!” he said in a hoarse thick voice.
“Brothers of the blood, is it?”
“Yea. And if we had done this earlier, Machimba-lombo would have feared to touch you, knowing your mokisso and mine were joined. But this will guard you now against other such enemies, for I think you do have some yet, Andubatil.”
“And who do those be?” I asked, staring in wonder at the bleeding place on my arm.
“Ah, we can talk of that another time. Come, now.”
In haste we did gather tail-feathers of the peacock, and thrust them into the bands of beads we wore, and cast aside the carcass of the bird and made ready to go. Just then the sentry of the place, making his early rounds, came upon us, and stood in surprise, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish on land, at the sight of a white man and a Jaqqa looting together one of the holy peacocks. He was a short blackamoor, past middle years, in a brocaded green robe and a high turreted hat, and he pointed at us and made a little choking sound without voice to it, so great was his amaze. At once Kinguri sprang toward him, knife in hand.
The guard took a heavy breath, as though at last preparing himself to utter a great outcry: and the Jaqqa slipped his blade very easily into the man’s throat, so that all he let forth was a tiny bubbling sound, and went to his knees, gushing blood like a fountain. And had he walked first to the other side of the meadow that morning, he would on this day yet be alive, I think.
“We must hurry, brother,” said Kinguri.
Through the dawn mists we fled that place, clutching our brave peacock feathers in both our hands, and my arm did throb and tingle where the alien bloods had entered it.
On the return journey to the Jaqqa camp Kinguri was most animated and alive. He walked with such bounds that I could scarce keep pace with his long-legged stride, and he overflowed with new questions for me, asking, What is the color of the sky over England, and, How big is the Queen’s palace at London, and, Does God ever visit the kings of Europe, and more like that. And he demanded also to know who it was that decided how much grain a piece of gold would buy, and why it was that God had let His only Son be slain by men, and was it true that English were born black and turned white upon exposure to the cold air of our land, and such. I could hardly finish the answer to one question when he was upon me with the next, or two or three others, like a man in fever of knowledge: and this the man who had grown furious when I made objection to the killing of babies, and told me I was a fool for not seeing the obvious wisdom of the custom, this who now interrogated me like a hungry scholar. Only as we reached the camp did he grow more quiet; and at the end he turned to me and looked me close in the eye and said, “This is no small thing, what you and I have done. A Jaqqa takes a brother but once or twice in his life, and not without much considering of it first. And almost always it happens on the field of battle.”
“Why did you choose me, then, Kinguri?”
“Your blood has wisdom in it, Andubatil. And now we are sealed to one another, and the wisdom of the whites streams in my flesh. I tell you, I could not abide not having it within me!”
And therefore the ferocity of the Jaqqas now streamed in my own flesh, I thought, but did not say. I took their food in my gut and their blood in my veins, and step by step was my life flowing in the river of their life, and mingling indistinguishable.
I grinned at him and said, “I hope I am worthy of the choice, brother!”
“So will you prove to be,” said he. “Of that I am sure.”
We entered the camp together, bearing our dazzling feathers held high; and some boys of the Imbe-Jaqqa’s court saw us, each with our bloody slices on our arms. Within an hour every Jaqqa knew what had passed between Kinguri and me in the meadow under the city of Dongo. All that day long was there whispering, and furtive glances at me. Kulachinga herself, although my wife and a former wife of the Imbe-Jaqqa, looked upon me from afar, as if I had attained some sublime new ennoblement beyond what I already had, that made me awesome to her.
For this was one of the highest customs among the Jaqqas, that two men who respected and loved one another should go off in the night on some long journey that had an aspect of peril to it, and perform some unusual deed such as the stealing of King Ngola’s peacock, and celebrate the rite by a mixing of blood. And thenceforth were those two sealed to one another in a way that transcended the ordinary kind of kinship, since that in a tribe that got its members by stealing them, kinship of the ordinary kind meant very little, there being no descent from known mothers or sharing of a common father. I was bonded now to the second man of the realm, who was natural brother to Imbe Calandola himself, which made me in a way a member of the royal family.
Like all such honors this carried a heavy price; for it plunged me even deeper into the rivalries of the court, which already I knew to be strong and severe.
These Jaqqas, like the Turks or Tartars or anyone else, like even us English with our wars of York and Lancaster, are jealous of high rank, and do intrigue and maneuver mightily among themselves to surpass one another. That I perceived only slowly, for at first they were all alike to me, and all seemed united in a war against mankind that joined them into a single being. That was but an illusion, which the falling of Machimba-lombo’s sword upon my sleeping-mat had dispelled in me forever. United they might be, yet they had rivalries among themselves, and factions, like any other nation.
So my elevation to blood-brotherhood with Kinguri won me the safety of his own greatness, that extended over me like a glow, but it ran me the risk of gaining other foes such as my late enemy had been. When I pressed Kinguri to name those I
must be wary of, he slipped away from the theme like quicksilver, and said there was no one special. But yet he urged me to keep my eyes sharp for signs of resentment. I watched; and I saw that among the high Jaqqas, the three who were most loyal to Kinguri, that is, Kulambo and Ngonga and Kilombo, seemed to hold the same love for me. And those three who ever basked in the close favor of the Imbe-Jaqqa, that were Kasanje and Kaimba and Bangala, now gave me glances, and scowls, and sidewise glares, that made me uneasy. But though I thought often of it, I did not again ever awaken to find an assassin raising his sword above me.
I wondered, having mind of the witch Kakula-banga’s warnings, what Calandola’s feeling toward me would be, since my joining of blood with Kinguri. I did not think Kinguri would have dared do such a thing without the Imbe-Jaqqa’s consent, but I did not know. And because the essence of his nature was so unlike that of other men, never was I sure how he responded to what we had done. On the day of my bonding to Kinguri, the Imbe-Jaqqa did embrace me in that crushing way of his, causing my new-healed wound to open, and he cried most roaringly, “The brother of my brother is my brother!” And called for blooded wine, and had me share it with him. Yet afterward I saw his face most somber and thoughtful, as though he brooded upon this matter, and did not like the new union between Kinguri and me.
In the days that followed, Calandola often had me by his side hours on end, and would not let me go from him. Sometimes he did not speak a word, only stared and drank; and I was silent alongside him, feeling the powerful emanations of his presence, that worked secretly and silently upon my spirit. Other times was he most garrulous, and boasted endlessly of past conquests, saying he had ruined this city and that, and roasted this chief and that, and laid waste this province and that. And still other times did he speak in a more reflective way, almost as deep as the wise Kinguri, on the purpose of his wrath, and on the hope he had of ending wickedness on earth—by which he meant settled civilization, that is—and on the differences between Africa as he perceived it and Europe as I described it. I think he had no real understanding of such places as England and France and Spain, and thought of them just as somewhat more busy places much like Angola and the Kongo. For he could not easily grasp my talk of roads and highways, of great harbors, of cathedrals and palaces, and all such things unknown to this land. He imagined he saw them when I spoke of them, but his own vision of them, as I understood it from his words, was very much smaller than the reality. Or did I misjudge him? Never truly do we see what is in another’s mind, but we must stumble about, doing our best to make our thoughts known, and always failing, until we come to Heaven, where all is transparent.
Often now did I go hunting with certain princes of the tribe, most usually Kinguri, but also sometimes his comrades Kulambo and Ngonga. These men were valiant and fierce, and said little, but moved with the strong and lethal speed of huge deadly cats. We would go apart from the tribe, taking with us lances or bows or swords, and for our pleasure fall upon the beasts of the field, the gazelles and zevveras and antelopes, and now and again a leopard prowling the treetops by night, or a young lion. Never did I use my musket in these exploits, the powder and shot being too difficult of replacement. But there was one time when I did regret its absence, when I hunted alone with great wide-shouldered Ngonga.
We had gone into the thickets to the east, pursuing the track of some swift creature, and getting ever closer to it, for its scent grew greater. But then suddenly we made our way into an opening between two thick vines that twined like angry serpents, and there was our beast fallen, and five men of some inland tribe gathered round it, pulling from it their spears.
Upon the sight of us they pointed and shouted in unknown jabber. I think they came from so far away that they knew not what a Jaqqa was, for they showed no fright of Ngonga for all his size and majesty and his Jaqqa emblems and his Jaqqa teeth. But any forest folk who knew they were with a Jaqqa would have fled at once. As for me, they were more perturbed, I suppose thinking me a spirit from the next world; but they displayed no fear of me, neither, so either they were most mightily valiant or else more than passing silly.
Still crying out their garboiled noises, thick-tonguedly, “Yagh ghagh ghagh yagh,” or the like, they rushed toward us with their weapons drawn. But their valor was not matched by their skill. I parried a thrust with my spear, and pushed the man away to Ngonga, who sliced him lustily upon his shoulder with the edge of his sword and cut him downward in two. And in the same moment Ngonga did jostle an attacker toward me, within range of my own blade, and swiftly I took the man’s head from his shoulders. The three remaining would not flee, but stubbornly renewed the onslaught: to their great cost, for that we cut them to pieces. All was done in a moment. The clearing was a charnel shambles, with heads here and legs there and blood bubbling everywhere, and Ngonga’s body and mine soaked and crimsoned with it, though we had neither of us been injured.
We looked toward one another, breathing hard, but joyous in the fine heat that comes from fighting well accomplished.
“Who are these foolish folk?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “They are meat,” he said. “That is all they are, and nothing more than that.”
“Do you think there are more of them nearby?”
“Most certainly I do,” said he. “They hide behind every tree. Come, let us show them what we are!”
And to my amaze he did slash open the belly of one of the dead men, and forage most expertly into that tangle of glistening various-colored gewgaws that we all of us carry in our middles. From amongst those things he plucked forth the man’s liver, and held it high, so that any concealed onlooker might have a good look. And then most coolly this Ngonga did sever the raw red liver into some smaller pieces and hand me mine, and he began to devour the fresh meat, which I did also. Slippery was it on my tongue, and hot and strange, but I bolted it down as though it were breast of partridge, or something even finer.
I think we were a most terrible sight to the unseen watchers. For in a quick while we heard rustlings out there, and saw a swaying of some treetops, and then all was silent: they were fleeing those eaters of human gore that had fallen so fiercely upon their fellows. It would not astonish me to hear that they were fleeing even unto this day, not daring to look back behind them lest we be following in our monstrous hunger.
In such ways did I pass the time as we camped outside the land of Makellacolonge. We did not attack, neither did we depart, and the air was troubled among my Jaqqa brothers, who grew tense and suspicious. They did not understand why we waited so long. Nor did Calandola give any clue: he was guided by his witches, and by the stars and the things he saw upon the horizon, and he kept his own counsel in these matters. So we diverted ourselves in whatever ways we could. But the death of Machimba-lombo overhung our minds, and created much unrest.
In this uncertain time there was revived in the Jaqqa camp a practice of which I had heard much, but had not yet witnessed here, which was, the trial by ordeal. I had seen such things among the people of Mofarigosat, where trial by poison was the customary measure. But that was only one of the many devilish forms of this manner of justice that the Jaqqas favored.
Moreover, they did not hold their trials merely when some issue at law had to be decided. Nay, they did them as general signs of innocence, as a grand show of bravery, to prove their loyalty to Imbe Calandola.
Perhaps ten days after my brothering with Kinguri came the first of these events, when all the Jaqqa lords marched before Calandola as he sat upon his high throne. The Imbe-Jaqqa did demand of them a renewing of homage, by means of the ordeal called chilumbo, which was done with fire. In this, a red-hot iron was passed over the thigh of each man, the reasoning being that any who are faithful to the Imbe-Jaqqa will be unharmed, but those who harbor secret discontents will be blistered and injured, and thereby their treachery exposed.
Thereupon the old wizard Kakula-banga, wearing his finest feathers and paints, and a coat of shining grease over his whole sk
in, did take a kind of holy hatchet which he had, and laid it in the fire. Then one by one every great man of the tribe did step forward, while musicians did make a horrid drumming to excite everyone the further.
The first of these was Kinguri, who cried out, “By my mokisso, I do vow I love the Imbe-Jaqqa Calandola before all else in the world!” And the wizard did take the hot iron from the fire, and pass it across Kinguri’s leg, not touching the skin but coming close upon it. During this, Kinguri held high his head, and his arms outstretched, and he smiled broadly without the least show of fear or pain. And lo! when the wizard stepped back, there was not the merest blister upon Kinguri’s skin.
The trial of chilumbo proceeded now to examine the Jaqqa generals Kasanje and Kaimba, who came forth from it unscathed, which I could not comprehend, the fire being so hot and the head of the hatchet glowing full ruby red. After them came Kulambo, who was so dear to Kinguri, and he, too, was unharmed, smiling throughout his ordeal. The wizard now plunged his hatchet back into the flame to renew its heat, and I looked about to see who would be next, and was much surprised and amazed to see that Kinguri was beckoning to me that I should join the line.
I stood frozen a moment, not knowing what to do.
“Go, Andubatil!” Kinguri did command.
I had thought me exempt from these sports, being a foreigner and no native of the tribe. But that was folly: I was Andubatil Jaqqa, blood-brother to the great Kinguri, and the Imbe-Jaqqa had named me Kimana Kyeer, and had proclaimed me to be a true Jaqqa when he condemned Machimba-lombo. I could not have the high privilege of my rank without accepting its perils.
I would lie if I told you that great fear did not pass through my guts, at Kinguri’s command. For I knew not by what magic this ordeal was conducted. Nor did I think myself fully loyal to Calandola, as these men were: I still stood with one foot in Christendom and the other in the Jaqqa nation. When the hot metal came near to my skin, would it reveal the secret Englishness that I still held within, the part of me that was not yet wholly given up to revelry of the cannibal sort? And if I blistered, what then would befall me?