* * *
When Konadu Yaadom returned shortly before dawn, Esi and Ama had cleaned out their refuge and bathed.
They had hot water on the boil for their mistress’s ablutions.
“Where have you two been?” she asked and then continued at once, “Wake Opoku Fofie and bring him to me. While I am feeding him, get my bath ready. And prepare yourselves too. We shall be going out. Now get a move on: I’m in a hurry.”
Konadu Yaadom was clearly nervous. She found it difficult to decide how to split the forces at her command. Some must remain at home to guard her children: who could know what mischief Ntoo Boroko and his henchmen might get up to? At the same time she might herself be in great physical danger should the meeting turn nasty.
The Asanteman-hyiamu, the highest assembly of the Asante nation, was already in session when they arrived. Konadu Yaadom noticed the gross discourtesy done her by starting the meeting in her absence. At least, she thought, they had left a seat for her.
“Ama and Esi, go and sit where I can keep my eye on you. You, guards, keep close by, in case I need you. Amma Sewaa, bring a stool and sit just behind me. Listen well to what is said. Today history will be made.”
Ntoo Boroko was in full flight. As Konadu Yaadom took her seat he paused briefly and grudgingly acknowledged her arrival. Then he proceeded. He was setting out his view of Asante law.
Carefully disguising her unease, Konadu Yaadom looked around for Koranten Péte.
Ntoo Boroko drew attention to the absence of some person whose name had been expunged from the nation’s history.
“He is talking about Akyaamah,” Esi whispered.
It was Ntoo Boroko’s considered opinion that the offence that person had committed automatically debarred her children from any right to the succession.
Koranten Péte crept up behind Konadu Yaadom and whispered in her ear.
“Everything is in order. The Mamponhene will be here any moment now,” he told her.
“I have heard,” she replied.
“This debarment,” Ntoo Boroko was saying, “must include all descendants of the mother of the person whose name we may not . . .”
He paused without completing his sentence. Atakora Mensah, with the young Kwame Panin by his side, was leading in the ranks of his heavily armed Bron striking force. Immediately behind the Mamponhene, strode the tallest man Ama had ever seen.
“Konkonti,” Esi nudged Ama. “See his insignia: the Chief Executioner of Mampon.”
Ntoo Boroko retired to his seat without a word. Atakora Mensah, satisfied with the disposition of his forces, put his arm around Kwame Panin’s shoulder and led him to the centre of the Council. The Mamponhene’s seat was waiting for him and another was hurriedly provided for Kwame Panin. The man and the boy sat down without a word.
“Hasn’t he grown?” whispered Amma Sewaa into Konadu Yaadom’s ear. “He looks like a man.”
“Hush,” replied her aunt, secretly amused and pleased by her niece’s pride in her brother.
“He looks just like a man,” Ama whispered to Esi, “So handsome in his kente and sandals. And so haughty!”
Ntoo Boroko was bamboozled. He had been outflanked.
“Nana Bremanhene . . . ” said Atakora Mensah quietly, indicating with a wave of his hand that his adversary should continue his speech.
Ntoo Boroko decided that his only course of action was to brazen it out and mobilise, by skilful oratory, the support in the Council which he had long been so assiduously courting.
“Nananom, my fellow Kings and Queen Mothers,” he said, “This is unheard of. It seems that we are faced with a coup d’etat. Any decisions we make in the presence of these forces will be made under duress. I propose that we suspend immediately our discussion on the selection of the successor to our dearly beloved Osei Kwadwo. I propose that we discuss instead this invasion of our constitutional rights by Nana Mamponhene.”
Atakora Mensah sprang to his feet.
“Nananom,” he said, “We deeply mourn the passing of our revered and beloved Osei Kwadwo. By law and custom established since the time of Nana Osei Tutu and Okomfo Anokye of blessed memory, responsibility for the designation of the successor to Nana Osei Kwadwo lies with our beloved Asantehemaa Nana Konadu Yaadom. It is for us only to approve or dispute her nomination. The Asantehemaa has authorised me to announce that she nominates her son Kwame Panin as the next occupant of the Golden Stool. I propose that her nomination receive our unanimous approval.”
Konadu Yaadom sat impassively. She would intervene if she had to, but for the present she chose to permit the Mamponhene to act as her spokesman.
Before Atakora Mensah had finished, Ntoo Boroko was on his feet shouting, “I protest, I protest . . . ”
Ama did not fully understand the cause of the excitement but she could feel the tension in the air. She saw the Mamponhene make an almost imperceptible signal. Searching for its target, Ama saw Konkonti, the tall Chief Executioner of Mampon, dart away behind the seated Councillors. As she watched him, he came up behind Ntoo Boroko, immobilised his victim's arms with his own left arm and with his right hand drew a sharp knife across the Bremanhene’s throat. There was a sudden spurt of crimson blood. Ama clutched Esi in alarm and muffled a scream. Then she covered her eyes with her hands.
Esi’s attention had been diverted by the baby Opoku Fofie and she had not witnessed the assassination. She looked up in time to see Konkonti release his victim. Ntoo Boroko’s partly severed head fell backwards as his body fell forwards. As the body hit the ground the head bounced forward again. Then she heard the sound of retching. Ama was down on her knees and Esi went to her. A man tripped over her foot and almost fell. He swore at her as he rushed away. She thought she recognised the Kokofuhene, Kyei Kwame, preferred candidate of the assassinated Ntoo Boroko.
For a moment there was utter silence in the assembly; then uproar. In the confusion, Konkonti’s assistants dragged away the corpse of their master’s victim. Konadu Yaadom sat immobile, dumbfounded by the murder which had taken place not a stride away from where she sat. This was not what she had intended, not what she had discussed with Koranten Péte. She would have to take charge of the situation. That was her constitutional duty. But how?
Koranten Péte saved the day for her. He strode across and took Kwame Panin by the hand. The boy was confused, uncertain what he should do.
“Wofa?” he queried Koranten Péte. His voice was breaking.
“Kwame,” said the boy's hero, “Just do exactly what I say. Now stand here by your mother. Keep cool. Show a straight face, as if nothing has happened.”
“Nana,” he said to Konadu Yaadom, “You must act at once. Otherwise things might get out of hand.”
“Yes, but how?” she asked him.
“Disassociate yourself from this cold-blooded murder. State your determination that whosoever proves to be responsible, not only the one who carried out the act, but also whoever gave him his orders, will face the full force of Asante law. Say that the confederacy is in danger. Tell them that the only way to avoid widespread fratricidal strife is to elect Kwame Panin as Asantehene immediately. Demand a vote at once. When you win, and you cannot lose, insist that the Golden Stool be brought out and that Kwame be enstooled without further delay. Do all this in the name of Osei Tutu, Opoku Ware, Kusi Obodum and Osei Kwadwo.”
He turned to Kwame.
“My boy,” he said, “It is time for you to become a man. Are you ready? Then stand by your mother as she speaks. Stand straight and tall. Remember all you have been taught. You are about to be called to a great office.”
CHAPTER 11
Pity the adolescent King! Kwame Panin was plain Kwame no more.
Even his aunt, Konadu Yaadom, whom Osei Kwadwo’s royal edict had made his mother, could no longer address him as ‘Kwame’, at least not in public. Now he was Nana Osei Kwame, fifth Asantehene, successor of four illustrious forebears, whose feats in war and peace he was bound by duty and tradition to emulate
. He was no longer free to wrestle and tumble and roam the palace with his cronies; to speak his mind to commoners and slaves; to jest with fools; to throw a tantrum.
He strained at the leash, impatient at the restrictions placed upon the freedoms he had so recently enjoyed. He was bored by the lessons in history, language and custom, law and public administration which aged men with grey stubbly beards imparted to him each day in Osei Kwadwo’s old quarters. They taught him that as ruler of the Asante empire he might wage war but yet must never strike another human being; nor must he allow himself to be struck, for that would be an abomination. Neither must he ever walk barefooted, not even in the privacy of his own bedchamber. Like it or not his person was now sacred. He must spend his life in frequent communion with the spirits of Osei Tutu, of Opoku Ware, of Kusi Obodum and of his beloved Osei Kwadwo; and in return the heroic ancestral spirits would guide him in the exercise of the heavy responsibilities he now bore.
He invented a nickname for each of the old fogies who were his teachers: the one who was forever scratching his balls; and the other who picked his nose in public. But now there was no one to share an innocent malicious chuckle with him. He much preferred the Muslim clerics to whom he gave weekly audience. They told him gripping stories from their Holy Book and the Tales of a Thousand and One Nights, preparing the ground for ambitious future projects which they discussed amongst themselves only in whispers.
He appointed Koranten Péte to act as chairman of the Regency Council. This was one man he could admire and respect, a welcome substitute for his natural father, Mamponhene Safo Kantanka, whom he had hardly known. Koranten Péte called on him every day to brief him fully on the affairs of state and the decisions which had been taken in his name. He heard in this way of the removal of his erstwhile sponsor, Atakora Mensah, from the stool of Mampon and learned that at times high office demands the renunciation of such qualities as loyalty and gratitude, prized by men of humbler origin.
He was eager to prove himself in war. Koranten Péte had great difficulty in persuading him that he was not yet ready to lead his forces in person. On his Regent’s advice he appointed Osei Kwadwo’s young protégé, Opoku Frede-Frede, Opoku the Swift, to lead an Asante force which he sent to chastise the Asens for their impudent rebellion against his ailing predecessor. He celebrated Opoku’s resounding victory with generous gifts and a lavish public celebration over which he presided in person.
Koranten Péte and Konadu Yaadom advised him to court popularity amongst the common people as a counterweight to the schemes of ambitious enemies who might seek to take advantage of his youth. So he decreed that only convicted criminals would henceforth be killed at public executions; and that only once a year, on the occasion of the Great Adae.
For a while he shunned female company. He hardly noticed Esi and Ama, who had helped to raise him and had sometimes joined his boisterous childhood games. When he did deign to acknowledge their respectful greetings, he did so with haughty indifference. He stopped bullying his elder sister Amma Sewaa and now ignored her completely. He kept his distance, too, from Konadu Yaadom. The Queen Mother was the only person with the constitutional right to scold him in public, and although she wisely held this privilege in reserve, he feared her zeal and her acid tongue.
He continued to live in Konadu Yaadom’s quarters but he now had a bedroom of his own.
It was one of Esi’s duties to tidy his room each day, but whenever she was menstruating, Ama took over this task. Esi generally waited until he had left the courtyard before she entered his room, so that he hardly knew who it was that cleaned up the mess he often left in his wake.
One day Ama, it being her turn and thinking him absent, entered Osei Kwame’s bedroom, humming to herself, thinking of her little brother Nowu and how big he must now be. She was already halfway across the room when she realised that Osei Kwame was there. He was lying on his bed, face down, and sobbing. Ama stopped dead in her tracks. Becoming aware of a presence in his room, Osei Kwame turned. Before she averted her eyes, Ama saw the tear stains on his cheeks.
“What do you want,” he snapped at her.
She fell to her knees.
“Please, Nana, I didn't know Nana was here. I only came to tidy Nana’s room.”
He stared at her but said nothing so she rose and started to back out of the room.
“Wait,” he said.
Then, “Latch the door.”
She was not sure if she had heard right.
“Latch the door, I said.”
He was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come,” he said.
She approached him slowly, hardly knowing what to expect, until she stood before him.
He wiped his eyes. Then he looked up at her. Ama wondered if it were not improper for the King to be raising his eyes to a slave and whether she should not perhaps sink to her knees before him. But this was only Kwame Panin, whom she had known as a boy, who had patiently taught her the rules of oware. And he was still a boy, she saw.
“Ama,” he said, “Ama.”
And then the flood burst. Sobbing uncontrollably, he sank his face into her breast. Suddenly she remembered Suba and how they had cried together after he had helped her to bury Itsho. She held the boy's head to her and caressed him.
“I don’t want to be Asantehene,” he said through the sobs.
“There now, don’t talk,” she said, holding him tight and comforting him, though unsure how she should address him.
After a while the sobbing subsided. He kept holding her though, his head between her breasts, afraid to show his face. Then she became aware of the pressure of his erect penis. All of a sudden her mind was in a turmoil. She was consumed by a deep, almost maternal, compassion for the boy. She was sure he had never before been with a woman. Then she struggled to impose her will upon her own rising desire. What would be the consequences? Was she condemning herself to a wasted life in the royal harems like the old women she had heard talk of? What if Konadu Yaadom or Koranten Péte should come to the door?
Itsho. She tried desperately to conjure up Itsho’s presence, but he did not respond.
Since Abdulai had raped her, she had never felt any desire for a man. Now she was overwhelmed. She pushed him gently from her.
“Lie down,” she said.
She pulled his cloth away from under him. He lay naked; she was aware of his rigid organ, but, knowing that he would be shy, she did not look at it. Instead she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand and looked straight into his eyes. He returned her look, his mind confused by strange emotions. She let her cloth drop to the floor and unfastened her beads. Then she climbed onto the bed and, taking him in her hand, lowered herself onto him.
She played him like a sanko. She let him move a while and then she pinned him down, holding him immobile.
“Ama, Ama,” he begged her.
When she felt he could hold it no more, she held him tight to her and rolled them both over so that he could ride her to the finish like a man.
When they had rested, he said, “Ama, you will be my first wife.”
“No, Nana, no,” she replied, suddenly terrified at what she had done.
“Why ‘no’?” he asked. “I will command you. It is my right.”
“Nana,” she said, “I beg you. I will make love to you whenever you desire it, but please do not force me to be your wife.”
“You should be honoured,” he said, sulking, “It is not every woman who gets to marry the King of Asante.”
She looked at him, wondering whether she might risk a cheeky reply.
“Only three thousand, three hundred and thirty three,” she said.
“Oh, that’s what it is, is it? Anyway, there is no hurry.”
She rose.
“Nana,” she said, “I must go. My absence will be noticed. Nana Asantehemaa will be calling for me.”
He pulled her back and put his moist lips to a nipple. She saw another erection coming and pulled away.
&nb
sp; “Where did you learn that?” she said and then, “Not now. Keep it for another time.”
“When?” he said, “Tonight?”
“No,” Ama replied, “I will tell you when.”
She went out and busied herself in the courtyard. Soon he followed and called his personal bodyguard. He paid no attention to her but she noticed a new jauntiness in his step as he passed through the gate.
* * *
Osei Kwame soon found an excuse to quarrel with Esi.
He demanded that she should no longer clean his room. Ama alone was now to do so and she was to do so only in his presence, before he left for his classes each morning. She was to report to him every day at dawn.
The boy’s lust for Ama was insatiable. Sometimes he would have her twice in quick succession, before he took his breakfast. He was barely willing to abstain during her periods. She could only hold him off by threatening him with the wrath of his ancestors for breaking the customary taboo.
And then he would pester her every day: “Haven’t you stopped bleeding yet?”
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