by Gene Wolfe
In truth I have little to fight with. His warriors have big swords, shields, spears, and bows. I have a club carved with two words, and a dagger better suited to murder than to war. My club is heavy and well shaped, but it is only a club. I HAVE BLOOD guilt, of which I shall tell the king in the morning. Myt-ser'eu says we often stop at villages like this. I hope the rest will be more fortunate than this one for me. The king and queen took the best hut, as is fitting. Myt-ser'eu and I were to be given another, but the woman and children who sleep in it now would have had to sleep outside. I saw how frightened the woman was, and said I would sleep outside if they would permit Myt-ser'eu to sleep in the hut, if the man slept outside with me. This was agreed.
Now I sit by the fire, read, and write. He is dead. I have blood guilt of which I must speak here and to the king, but first I must say that there is a barrier of thornbushes around the village. We are within it, and for that reason I felt there was nothing to fear. When the sun set, the gate was shut by dragging a mass of thornbushes into the opening. I asked how we were to leave in the morning, and the man who is dead now showed me the poles that would be used to push it aside.
As I sat reading by firelight, a ship glided past, some distance away, toward the middle of the channel. The current here is slow, although this scroll says it was swift in certain places to the north.
I felt that the ship was certainly the one of which Myt-ser'eu spoke. Since we had seen no such ship all day, there could not be many such ships here. I ran to the gate, but could not find the poles in the dark. Very eager to stop the ship if I could, I pushed the gate to one side with my club, moving it only a little and tearing the skin of both arms.
By the time I was through the gate, the ship was out of sight. I pursued it, running as fast as I could. There were crocodiles on the bank not far from this village; thus I could not run there. I turned inland but was soon stopped by thornbushes and trees. I turned aside, but found only a swamp in which were many crocodiles, and returned to the village.
An animal like a big dog-though a dog of no breed I know-stood over the man who had slept at our fire. Thinking it only a village dog, I kicked it. It bit my foot, and I struck it with my club-twice, though the second time its jaws were at my throat. It fled, and I found the ropes and pulled the thornbushes to close the gate.
Now I have washed my leg and foot, though I can clean nothing well and they still bleed, soaking the strips I tore from my tunic. The man who slept beside me is dead and his face torn away. Laid bare, his skull grins at me as I write this. THE WOMEN SAW the dead man. They screamed, as was to be expected. I went to the king as soon as I could gain an audience with him and explained everything that had taken place. I spoke only the truth. He said that the man's family-in this case the whole village, for they are all related-would choose. If they wished, they might seek vengeance, choosing one of their number to fight me. Otherwise, I would be left to the king's judgment. I said of course that I would accept whatever punishment he chose to give me.
Now my wife (her name is Myt-ser'eu, as she has told me) and I are outside the village. She has washed my leg, and will salve it with medicines an old man (a friend of the king's) has given her. When it is salved, she will bandage it with clean cloths the queen provided. I have told her of the dog, and how I struck it to make it release its hold. She feels sure that it was the sacred beetle I wear that saved me. She once had an amulet that protected her always against crocodiles, but it was cast away. She laments its absence.
She asked whether she had been a good wife to me. She was weeping when she asked, so I swore that she had, and comforted her. The truth is that I do not remember. Yet I know I love her. Any wife who is loved has been good enough. SOON I AM to fight a man of the village, a relative of the man who died. I will have my club, he whatever weapons he brings. I asked whether he would be permitted to shoot me with a bow. I was told that he might bring a bow, but we would stand close and he would not be allowed to take an arrow from his quiver until the signal was given.
He will have a spear and shield. Unguja says this.
My foot is still swollen, tender, and red. WE STAYED HERE many days, Myt-ser'eu says, so I might fight about a death. Now the fight is over. This dead man's wife and children are mine now. So are his hut and boat. I have two wives, which the king says is common among his people. He himself has more than twenty, the queen being his chief wife. My old wife, the slender brown woman: Myt-ser'eu. My new one, the large black woman: Cheche. There are three children, two boys and a girl. I do not know their names.
Nor do I know the name of the man who fought me. I felt no enmity toward him, but he would have killed me if he could. We fought outside the village, in a pasture in which the villagers keep a few wild-looking cattle. The king called us before him and had us turn to face each other. We were five steps apart, perhaps. We were to fight, he said, when he clapped his hands. His warriors would keep the dead man's other relatives from interfering.
When he clapped I flung my club at my foe's face. He jerked his head away, and I think brought up his big shield. I cannot be certain of that, only that I dived at his legs and brought him down. He was a strong man, but not a good wrestler. I stabbed him with the knife he wore, and the fight was over very quickly.
I had my little dagger, too, but did not use it.
There was a small man in the crowd who seemed familiar, an older man than I. His face is brown, like Myt-ser'eu's. He says he is my slave, and she says this too. I offered to free him-am I not myself a free man, though she says I was the king's slave once? He would not take his freedom, saying that he wishes only to free me. He was on a ship, he says, but dove from it when he heard my voice. He swam to the wrong bank of the river, and thus it was some time before he found this village. I must ask Myt-ser'eu more about this man, and she must teach Cheche to remember for me as she does.
I have said I am free; but surely no man is free who does not know how he came to be so.
30
RICH IN GAME
DRY AND WET together. That is how I would describe this beautiful country. There are steaming marshes near the river, vast fields of reeds. Cheche says these are full of crocodiles, but that no crocodile inflicted the wounds she has just re-wrapped for me. There are river-horses in the river itself, some very large, black where they are wet and gray where the sun has dried them. Our king's warriors are eager to hunt them, and our king has promised such a hunt when we halt tonight. The river-horses will come out of the water to crop grass when the sun is low, and are best hunted at that time. The king has lions trained for the hunt, but they are far from us and we must do without them.
Beyond the marshes there are many trees. Most are not large, and lush grass sprouts between them. Antelope of many kinds are plentiful, some having long horns. (There are wild goats, too, some with horns of enormous length.) One of the smaller kinds seems to stay near the water. I see them running on the riverbank as I write, and wading in the river. No doubt many are killed by crocodiles; they may be the crocodiles' chief food. If a man so much as lifts his spear, they whistle and flee.
My wives are in this boat with me, Cheche's children in the one that follows ours, watched by my slave. Not long ago she pointed with her chin to show me a wild dog of the kind that killed their father. It was spotted and dotted with black and seemed crippled, its hind legs too short; but it trotted easily and swiftly, keeping pace with our boat until it took some scent and turned aside. I thought it ugly, but its shoulders seemed strong indeed. Few dogs, I think, would fight as well.
Such a wild dog bit Cheche's first husband while he slept, she says. This was said with her hands as well as her mouth, since neither Myt-ser'eu nor I understand much of her speech. We speak as the people of Kemet do, and she as the king speaks. Some words are the same, I think, but not many. In time, we will learn her speech, and she ours. I know a few words already.
There are many lions-simba-here, she says. Also many leopards-chui. With so much game that mu
st surely be true. WE HAVE STOPPED at a place that will be good for river-horses, building our fires some distance inland so as not to alarm them. While we waited for them to come out of the water, I spoke with my slave. His name is Uraeus. We have been together a long time, he says, but were separated when I went ashore to fight, taking Myt-ser'eu with me. I said I could not believe that I would take her if I were going to fight, but he swears I did. I have thought on this. Surely I did not trust her to be faithful, and here there are many strong men with whom she might betray me. The king has eunuchs to watch the queen; they are never far from her.
My sons wished to hunt with us, flourishing their spears. We made them stay with their mother. They are Vinjari and Utundu, and will be tall and strong soon.
We crept upwind with our spears, looking for a big bull. This kind of hunting is dangerous, as I had been told and soon learned for myself. One must keep the wind in one's face, stay down, and move quietly. I think I might have said that I could hunt as quietly as any other man, but it is not true. I know our king and the warriors with him stalked more quietly than I, though I did my best.
We had agreed that the king would stand first and throw his spear. As soon as he did, we would stand and throw too, at the same animal. We were very near a big bull. I waited for the king to throw, wondering what was wrong. When he stood, I saw he had crept very near. The river-horse roared, a terrible sound! We rose as one, and our spears rained upon it.
Then everyone was shouting and scattering. A second river-horse, one farther inland that we had failed to see, was charging toward us, not actually charging us but dashing back to the river. No one, seeing these huge creatures for the first time, would believe how swift they are. I think I might have been trampled if our king had not pulled me out of its path. Its side brushed me, and I felt that I had been struck; a bull river-horse must outweigh three or four ordinary horses.
The river-horse that so many spears had pierced reached water, but it soon died there and floated to the surface. By then we had gotten torches from the camp. My sons and I went out in a boat with a man of this place and tied a line to its foot. Now we have feasted. The skin has been awarded to men who wish to make shields of it. Myt-ser'eu says I had a shield; our king did not like it, so I left it behind when we left Cheche's village. I asked for a piece of hide with which to make myself a new shield. He would not give me one, saying I would have another soon, one chosen for me by a god. I wish I knew more of this, but he will not speak further. WE ARE STAYING in the king's city, Mji Mkubwa. There are hundreds of huts, all on stout poles. I asked Unguja about this. He says that the river floods once a year, so that all this level land is under water. I said it must be inconvenient. He laughed. Everyone has a boat, the water sweeps the away all filth, and the people of the city can fish out of their doors.
Myt-ser'eu was with us when we spoke. She says that this flood occurs in Kemet, too. It is then that great blocks of stone are taken up from the quarries, set upon rafts of countless reeds, and floated to the sites at which tombs, temples, and fortresses are being built. The floodwater soaks their fields, too, and leaves a gift of rich black mud. There is a river god, a very great god. He is blue, and friendly to men. Each year the flood is decreed by a goddess. We asked Unguja whether these gods were worshipped here, but he would tell us nothing, only saying that we must speak of other things.
The king's people have no temples. They go to sacred places immemorially old and worship there. That seemed very strange to both Myt-ser'eu and me, but the more I think on it the wiser I think it. Temples are like the images they contain, things made by men. Gods shape trees and caves, and smile down on us when we stand upon the tops of hills.
Myt-ser'eu says that Alala's people worship as the king's people do. I asked her about this Alala and her people, but she would tell me only a little, saying I had written about them and should read what I wrote. After that, I read much in this scroll, finding it interesting indeed.
When my eyes were sore, I returned to Unguja to ask whether he knew of a cure for men like me, who forget very quickly. He said only that I had been blessed, and that he longs to forget all he knows and be a child again. He has been promised this, and expects it in a few years; still, I wish to be as other men. I HAVE BEEN talking with Binti-talking with my hands as much as my mouth. She is my youngest, and a brave girl who will not permit her brothers to bully her. I applauded her, teaching her that it is better to fight and lose than not to fight. No one bullies anyone who fights and fights hard, although he is defeated. Such a person must be respected, and is. She said that women did not fight men-that they do not have to. If a man bullies a woman, all the women turn against him. Then the other men mock him because he sleeps alone. Women fight other women, however. She says that Cheche has fought others often, and won. I wondered then whether she would fight Myt-ser'eu. She is larger and stronger.
Binti said that Cheche would not, because Myt-ser'eu is my senior wife. I had known that, having read of her many times in this scroll; but I had not known Cheche would respect it. Two lesser wives may fight for precedence, Binti says, but more often it is the wives of different men who fight. Quarrels between lesser wives are judged by the senior wife.
Binti wanted to know which I would lie with tonight. I said I would lie with the wife who wished me to do so. She predicted that both would wish it. I told her I would never lie with her, but that I would protect her as well as I could. She sat close after that, and smiled so as to melt the hardest heart. Can a man who has no daughter be happy? It seems to me it must be difficult.
The king has many daughters and many sons, too. His palace is ten times larger than the other huts, a whole series of huts in which one opens into another. His children play everywhere in it, laughing and shouting. ANOTHER DAY. NOW the sun is setting, and the wind grows cool. I do not know how many days have passed since the last on which I wrote, only that my ink was dry and hard.
Myt-ser'eu and I have been speaking with the queen. She told us how much she wishes to return to her native city, if only for half a year. She made us promise to help her in this. Myt-ser'eu sounded much the same. She is from a place called Sais, and begged me to return her there. She had jewelry and money, she says, and gained more on the voyage south; but she lost everything when we were enslaved. She does not understand how I kept the gold beetle. She wept, and embraced the queen, and swore that she would rather be penniless in Sais than a queen here. I had to translate all this for the queen, which I did badly.
Earlier I attended the king's court. I do not speak his tongue well, and I often found it hard to understand what was being said. Many of these cases concerned witchcraft. One accuses another of being a witch and laying a curse. The accused denies it. In each case the king asked again and again how the accuser knew that the person he had brought to court was the witch, but he seldom got a satisfactory answer.
A young girl came. She testified that she was oppressed by a demon, accusing no one of having cursed her, only asking that the king order the demon to quit her. He did, and the demon laughed and mocked him.
It angered me. I came forward and asked the king's permission to attack it. I speak the tongue these people use only a little, but I managed to make my meaning clear, and the king consented.
I struck at the demon, but it dodged the blow and closed with me, clawing me as it had clawed the girl. Many people screamed and ran. It was smooth and oily, but I jammed my thumb into the yellow flame that was its only eye and bent it across my knee. There was too much noise for me to hear its spine snap, but I felt it. At once it was gone.
The king had left his throne. There was fear in his face, but his spear was ready. Most of the others had fled, knocking down children and old people. We spoke as friends, the king and I, when we had helped the old to rise and comforted the children. There is a greater king here whom his people never see, a kind old man fond of music. I touched him once, the king said, then everyone saw him. So it was with the demon. When it clos
ed with me, all could see it. This is very strange. I wish Myt-ser'eu had been with me. She might explain more.
The girl the demon clawed will not leave me. When I tell her she must go home to her mother, she insists she has none. She is afraid her demon will return to her, but that will pass. Myt-ser'eu calls it a xu, though Myt-ser'eu did not see it. MY SENIOR WIFE says I must write on this scroll every day, and read it, too. Otherwise I forget. The light is fading, and I know it is not good to write by firelight. I will write first, telling all I know, and read much afterward while a little light remains.
There are five boats. The first is the king's, with twenty-six warriors, the queen, and others. The second is Unguja's, with fourteen warriors, some women, and many children. The third is mine, with twenty warriors, myself, my chief wife, my second wife, and our warriors' women. The fourth is my children's, with ten or twelve warriors, my servant, my chief wife's maidservant, and more women as well as many children. The fifth is the boat of the king's servants, with sixteen warriors and their women, the servants, and our supplies. It is larger than the king's, but is the slowest.
Our boats are hollowed from logs, which seems strange to me. The tree from which the king's was made must have been very large. Fires are laid on the log and carefully tended. When they go out, the charred wood beneath them is chipped away. Making a good boat takes great skill and many days of careful work. Boats are made of reeds as well. These can be built quickly and easily, but soon rot.