The Blood-stained Belt

by Brian H Jones

  'Let me guess -- trouble with Roda?' Sharma nodded morosely and I said, 'I'm not surprised.'

  'Man, Jina, don't take that tone with me! I'm sick and tired of hearing it.'

  'Then maybe you'd better explain what's going on.'

  I had good reason for saying that I wasn't surprised. Roda had turned into a robust and shapely young woman with hips that swayed more extravagantly than was required for ordinary forward motion and eyes that roved more than was necessary for plain eyesight. With her vitality, flashing glances, bubbly laugh, and low-cut gowns, Roda could make any man itch with desire. Furthermore, to add to her charms, as the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Osicedi she was quite a catch. However, people observed knowingly that, fast as a man would have to be to catch Roda, he would have to be super-alert to keep her. They also said that Roda was the sort of young woman who could have just about any man that she wanted. Then they winked and added that in fact that was exactly what happened.

  Sharma's story was simple and predictable. As everyone knew, he got involved with Roda about four months earlier. I saw it happening and, like a lot of people, I never could understand why he took up with her. Sharma was good looking and well built, with quick intelligence and an easy manner. His generosity and easy-going nature blunted the envy even of those who resented the fact that they weren't as gifted as he was. Men respected Sharma and women liked him. In short, Sharma didn't have to compromise his reputation and peace of mind by taking up with a flighty woman like Roda. He could have had just about any eligible woman that he wanted and, what was more, he could have had her in the honourable way.

  Sharma hesitated before he said, 'Roda's father is after my blood.'

  I grunted. It was too predictable. I said, 'Now you're going to tell me that Roda is pregnant?'

  'No. Not that I know of, anyway.'

  'Ah! That's a relief! But the fact is that she could well have been. Not so?'

  Sharma said sulkily, 'That's no business of yours.'

  'You make your trouble my business but I shouldn't ask for details, eh? Is that how it is?'

  Sharma couldn't meet my eyes when I looked at him. After a while, head averted, he asked in the same sulky voice, 'Are you going to help me or not?'

  'Help you sight unseen? No ways!' I jumped down from the seat, walked to the rear of the wagon and took a drink from the water flask. Then I strolled beside the wagon, whistling. Damn Sharma! Did he think I was one of his household servants, to be used just as he desired? However, even as I affected nonchalance, I was curious. But I wasn't going to let Sharma think that he could rely on me for assistance while he told me only what suited him. He would have to address me openly and honestly, man to man, or he wouldn't have my co--operation.

  Sharma began to whistle as well, trying to out-nonchalance me. After a while, the oxen began to stray from the road and I had to climb back on the box to set them straight. Sharma and I sat there next to each other, whistling and affecting to ignore each other. The wagon lurched and Sharma bumped against me. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. Sharma did the same but more emphatically. I shoved him with my elbow and he reciprocated. After more elbowing and shoving, he caught my eye and grinned. Then we started laughing. I never could be angry with Sharma for long. It was always like that and, in spite of everything, it’s much the same even today.

  I said, 'Hey, I can't stand any more of your whistling. Just tell me whatever you want me to know and do it in your own way.'

  Sharma pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and muttered, 'You were right.'

  'About what could have been?'

  He nodded and continued, 'That's what caused the problem. She told her father that I had -- well, you know, that we had done what -- you know -- what you said --'

  'She told her father that you slept together?' Sharma nodded morosely. I asked, 'Why in the name of Zabrazal would she do a thing like that?'

  Sharma bit his lip and said in a thin voice, 'She wants to marry me.'

  'Ah! What a surprise! So, if I've got this right, she goes to her father and says, Papa, dear Papa, Sharma has slept with me. I'm a ruined woman. Now there's only one way for me to salvage what remains of my virtue and that's for Sharma to marry me. Am I right?'

  Sharma muttered, 'You've got it.'

  'Can't you just pay compensation and keep the whole thing quiet?'

  Sharma shook his head morosely and grunted, 'They won't accept it.'

  I sat back and thought about the matter. Right now, Sharma was completely in the hands of Roda's family. If they wouldn't accept compensation, then according to law he had to marry her. If he didn't do that, then he could be imprisoned or sent into exile. The law was pretty strict when it came to protecting the rights of violated women – or, perhaps more correctly, it was pretty strict when it came to the rights of violated fathers.

  While the oxen jogged along and the wagon creaked and swayed, I put my mind to the question of how to extricate Sharma from his predicament. After a while I asked, 'Are you the only man that she's slept with?' Sharma gave me a wondering look as if I had asked him if the sun rose in the east. I said, 'All right, I was just checking. But don’t you see -- that's the way out for you?’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It’s simple. You just have to get someone else to admit that they've done the same and you're off the hook.'

  Sharma replied despondently, 'More easily said than done.' I grunted, still thinking the matter through. Sharma continued, 'Do you think that someone will just step forward and say, Hey, here I am – I slept with Roda?’ Sharma snorted. ‘Anyway, I can't go back to Osicedi. Her father is a madman. He wants to beat me up and then haul me into the temple to marry Roda. He has his workers out looking for me right now.'

  I couldn't help grinning when I asked, 'Are you sure they aren't coming down the road after you?'

  Sharma looked around uneasily and said, 'No, I reckon I'm safe. No one saw me getting into the wagon.'

  We travelled in silence for a while before I said, ‘I think I can fix it for you.’

  Once back in Osicedi, after asking around I found someone who would admit to having slept with Roda, against payment of a reward for being prepared to make a sworn statement to that effect. At first, Sharma's father exploded with anger at the thought of parting with so much money. He roared that his damn-fool son could damn well find his own damn way out of the hole that he had dug for himself. However, after about ten minutes of roaring and raging, he calmed down and agreed that it was better to pay the money than have his son married to a woman of Roda's reputation and background. When that was settled, I had a word with Roda. I pointed out to her that if I took her former lover to a priest to make a statement, he would have to do so in the presence of two witnesses. Not surprisingly, her family abandoned its matrimonial claims on Sharma.

  Sharma stayed away from Osicedi for a month while things cooled down. When he returned, he said to me, 'You're a true friend. I'll never forget what you did for me.' In gratitude, he gave me a leather belt, broad and sturdy with a bronze buckle. Along the whole of its length, the belt was engraved with a wonderfully intricate pattern of mythical beasts intertwined in struggle. It wasn’t from Keirine; it had the character of something foreign and fantastical. Someone told me that the style of the belt showed that it was made in Bakuel, a country that lay on the Great Plains somewhere far to the south of Upper Keirine. Whatever the origin, it was the finest piece of apparel that I had ever possessed. As I stood there lost for words holding the belt to the light to view the craftsmanship, Sharma chuckled and asked, ‘Do you like it?’ I nodded dumbly. Sharma fitted the belt around my waist, stood back appraisingly, and said, ‘Always wear it as a sign of our friendship.’

  I murmured, 'I will.' And I did, for almost all of the rest of my life.

  CHAPTER FOUR: THE CRADLE OF CHAMPIONS

  Anyone who tried to rule the fractious, tribalistic Nation of Keirine needed to be both diplomatic and strong-minded. For instance, it
was commonly said in Keirine – and only partly with tongue in cheek – that if the Dornites would only leave us alone we could get down to the really serious business of falling out with each other. There were enough rivalries, feuds and ancient insults to keep the pot boiling interminably.

  Vaxili had enough sense to see that he had to put his stamp on the country as soon as possible so he began his reign by visiting the major towns of Keirine to introduce himself and his programmes. His style was unusual, in the sense that when he arrived somewhere he refused offers of accommodation and board for himself and his retinue. Instead, he set up camp just outside the town and requested the elders to provide him and his party with food and refreshments.

  To most people, this was a serious slighting of the hospitality that a visitor should accept graciously. For instance, after Vaxili arrived in Osicedi, my mother said disdainfully, ‘Is this the way for a king to behave? I ask you – a king! He arrives with hardly any advance notice, riding on a horse covered with ribbons. A horse! Since when did we have horses in Keirine, I ask you! What's more, he sets up camp outside town instead of staying in a decent house. Huh! Tell me -- is that any way for a king to behave?’

  My father chuckled and asked, ‘How do you know how a king should behave?’

  My mother replied heatedly, ‘Oh, don’t get smart with me! You know as well as I do that every dignitary who has ever visited Osicedi has arrived on a donkey. It's customary, isn't it? Even the High Priest rides a donkey when he enters a town. Not so? You think that a king should be different?'

  Vaxili’s behaviour seemed to be paradoxical. On the one hand, he paraded himself on a beribboned horse. On the other hand, he stayed in a modest tent when he could have enjoyed the comforts of any one of the finest houses in town. Later, when I gained better insights into Vaxili's thinking, I saw that there was no contradiction. He arrived on a fine horse because he wanted to impress people and he stayed within his own encampment because he didn't trust anyone outside of his own circle of officials and advisers, all of whom came from his home region of Orifinre.

  My mother flapped a dishcloth dismissively and cried, ‘Well, he might think just because he's king that he can act like Vaxili the High and Mighty but he'll find that people in Osicedi aren't impressed by his manners or his upbringing.’

  My father just sighed and shrugged.

  Later Sharma observed, ‘Vaxili should have become the guest of the town. As it is, he’s confusing people and putting their backs up. What’s the sense of doing that when he hasn't got any weight in his belly?’

  ‘No weight? He’s the king, man!’

  ‘He's a king without a treasury, without an army, and without many supporters outside his home base – don’t forget that.’ Sharma whirled his sling, let fly and smiled in satisfaction as he hit his target. He picked up a pebble, fitted it into the sling and said, 'If Vaxili gets money, an army, and a lot more support then he can behave as he chooses.’ Sharma stood back, eyed his target, and let fly again. Plink! He smiled in satisfaction and offered the sling to me.

  On the morning after his arrival, Vaxili caused more dissatisfaction by demanding that the elders should come to his quarters for an audience instead of him going to them as was customary for a visitor. That afternoon, he addressed the people of Osicedi in the town square. Izebol, who was a member of the royal entourage, introduced Vaxili and outlined the circumstances that had led to Vaxili being anointed as king. He concluded his speech by saying that now that Keirine had a king, the priests would no longer provide military and political leadership. He said, ‘Zabrazal the Defender will act through his anointed king.’ Then he added pointedly, 'But Zabrazal the Righteous will speak through his priests as always.'

  Vaxili stepped forward, looking nervous and stroking his chin with one hand while the other hand fiddled with the hilt of his sword. However, he started well enough by praising Osicedi as the cradle that had produced great men who had served Keirine well. After thanking the town for its hospitality, he said, ‘Let me get down to business. You all want to know what my program is and how it’s going to affect you. Well, my program starts with two major tasks. The first is to build up a sense of nationhood. Soon I will appoint a royal advisory council that will represent all the tribes and regions of Keirine.’

  There was a buzz of both interest and scepticism. Someone shouted, ‘We want a council of the people!'

  Someone else bellowed, 'They'll just be a gang of arselickers.'

  Vaxili ignored the hecklers and continued, 'My second task is to defend Keirine’ He paused, took a step forward, and said firmly, ‘To do that, I will create a standing army.’

  Someone called out, ‘Are you going to abolish the militias?’

  Vaxili replied, ‘The militia system has served Keirine well but it’s too cumbersome to be the first line of defence.’

  Someone else called out, ‘There you are. You heard him – away with the militias!’

  The muttering and heckling increased to an uproar when Vaxili announced that he would introduce taxation to pay for the costs of the army and the monarchy. Keirineians had never paid taxes and the people of Osicedi didn't like the idea any more than did people anywhere else in the country. The hecklers redoubled their verbal assault on Vaxili.

  ‘If a tax collector knocks on my door, I’ll put a boot up his backside.’

  ‘We already tithe to Zabrazal. Do you think we’ll also pay taxes to a king? Forget it!’

  ‘Hey, Vaxili! Go back to Upper Keirine and tax them! We’ll take care of ourselves like we always did.’

  ‘Are the rich going to fix it so that they don’t have to pay, as usual?’

  Listening to the protests, Sharma said disdainfully, ‘Ha! Listen to them talk! Oh, sure, they don’t like the idea of taxation. But either they pay tax and have an army or they don’t pay tax and they don’t have an army. No army, no chance of defeating the Dornites! It’s simple.’ Sharma snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Talk, talk, talk! They think they can wriggle out if they carry on talking long enough.’

  I couldn’t help grinning. Sharma was right. Whenever the debate lurched a few paces towards accepting the inevitable someone would intervene with a remark that would take the matter back to an earlier stage. It was like trying to get a flock of sheep through a gate – a few animals would pass through while the rest balked and scattered in all directions. Then, while the shepherd raced after the escaping animals, some of the corralled sheep would slip out through the gate and the whole thing would start over again.

  However, the atmosphere had changed by the time the meeting drew towards an end. The crowd had hurled their verbal missiles at Vaxili but had achieved nothing. Now they were weary, like workmen who have shoveled for hours to shift a rock and have at last realised that their labours have been in vain. Vaxili had got what he wanted; a wise man would have left it at that. Instead, as the saying goes, he snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Perhaps it was weariness, perhaps it was the strain of having to deal with the same old predictable arguments wherever he went ---- I really don't know. Suddenly, in response to a provocation by a lone heckler, he retorted vehemently, 'I'm king over all of Keirine -- remember that! I'm the king! Oppose me and you will regret it!'

  Vaxili’s outburst had the effect of oil thrown onto smouldering coals. The crowd swayed and surged forward, shouting, while the people standing next to the platform began to shake it. It was a precarious base, fashioned from tables lashed together and it looked like the whole contraption was going to collapse taking Vaxili and his party with it.

  Vaxili stepped back in alarm and half drew his sword. The noise increased and the platform swayed and trembled as more people took hold of it. Suddenly a member of Vaxili's entourage stepped forward. He was a middle-aged man with a stocky, powerful build, long hair tied behind his head, and a square face. This was the same Jainar who had spoken so forcefully at the meeting of the Assembly and had recently been appointed as commander of the army. He advanced to
the front of the platform, stood there with his hands on his hips and his feet apart like a sailor on a rolling deck, and bellowed, 'Quiet! Quiet, I say!' His voice was so deep and powerful that it transcended the noise of the crowd. Everything stopped as if the town square had suddenly been frozen in time. Then Jainar began to sing. He had a good baritone voice that rang out with power and confidence and he sang 'The Rose of the Hills', the ancient battle song of the north. Soon the whole assembly was singing along with him.

  When the song ended, Jainar put up his hands and declared, 'We are all one in Keirine!' He looked over his shoulder and nodded briefly. Vaxili and his entourage mustered their dignity and walked off the stage while Jainar stood there foursquare holding up his hands. Then, when the stage was empty, he cried, 'Osicedi is the cradle of champions! I salute Lower Keirine!' He stretched his arms upwards and cried, 'Honour to Osicedi! Honour to Lower Keirine!' In the silence that followed, Jainar raised his hands in greeting, turned, and left the stage.

  In spite of the near-debacle, everyone agreed, more or less grudgingly, that they would have to pay taxes. Vaxili got what he wanted. However, on the point of achieving success, he came within a whisker of throwing it away. It was a foretaste of what was to come.

  Within a month, the call went out for recruits for the army and the elders of Osicedi selected Sharma and me to join the squad that marched southwards to join Vaxili's new army. Perhaps the elders thought that our youthful escapade with the Dornite rustlers was proof of our warlike dispositions or perhaps they thought that it would be prudent to get rid of hotheads like us before we caused more trouble. Whatever the case, we didn’t complain at the prospect of military service. Life in the army promised to be a lot more exciting than raising sheep, shearing sheep, and taking bales of wool to market.

  As we marched southwards trying to look disciplined and soldierly, Sharma looked at my waist and remarked approvingly, ‘I see that you’re still wearing the belt.’