Zulu Heart Read online

  “And considerably more presentable.”

  “A thousand noses thank you.”

  Kai closed the door, leaving Babatunde chuckling behind him.

  However cavalierly he might have presented himself to his tutor, Kai allowed his genuine emotions to emerge only when locked in the quarters he shared with Fodjour. There, he paced anxiously and related the day’s events, glancing at the clock every few seconds.

  “Cetshwayo wants to see me privately in his suite,” Kai said. “Hah! I can imagine why.”

  “His purpose?” asked his friend.

  “Most likely strangulation.”

  Fodjour managed a wan smile. “If he had wished you dead, he would have sent assassins to Dar Kush.”

  “Perhaps it is a Zulu custom of some kind: the death of a brother must be personally avenged. Damn! You are probably right, but I just don’t know!”

  “Guilt clouds your logic. Seek counsel. Ask Babatunde.”

  “I cannot,” Kai said, throwing his arms up in despair. “I have never been able to tell him the truth of that day.”

  “Not even the Cricket?” Fodjour asked, incredulous. “I did not know.”

  “In the end,” Kai said, standing, “a man is alone with his fate. I go.”

  Fodjour gripped his shoulder urgently. “Allow me to accompany you. Two blades are better than one,” he said.

  “I believe the intention is clear: I am to go alone.” Kai swirled his cloak around his shoulder.

  “I don’t understand. As your friend and second I could champion you in a duel, but cannot accompany you on a social visit?”

  “The invitation was for one. To do otherwise is insult.” Kai did not deny his anxiety, but remained insistent. “I am the holder of my father’s seat. In my role as Wakil there are things more important than my own safety.”

  “But—”

  Voice kind but firm, Kai said, “This time, I go alone.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It took a quarter hour for Kai to reach the luxurious hotel suites occupied by Cetshwayo and his men. With every step in that direction his anxiety flared to new and higher peaks, and he began to resent his own mind for the manner in which it nattered, throwing one disastrous scenario after another up to plague and torment him.

  He stood before the ornately carved door with hand raised, suddenly wary of knocking.

  What should he do? Of course, in all probability this was a trap. It was far more difficult to determine what in the world he should do with that knowledge. Complain to Cetshwayo that the Zulus had abandoned the Shrine of the Fathers? The Zulus had been questioned on this very topic. They had calmly explained how, upon Colonel Shaka’s death, battlefield command had reverted to another officer, who had chosen to deploy forces more dynamically until support for the mosque could be guaranteed. They claimed to know it could not be held, and that the only outcome of a sustained battle would be the mosque’s destruction, which had indeed occurred.

  Technically speaking, the Zulu had been allies, not subordinates. The Bilalian high command had been forced to accept this answer. Three years later, it remained a sore point.

  Should he even mention the past at all? Cetshwayo was the most powerful political leader among Bilalian Zulus, even if he hadn’t Shaka’s military authority. If Kai did not speak with clarity regarding crucial topics, mightn’t Cetshwayo consider this evidence of cowardice or guilt? But if he did, mightn’t he be thrusting his sword into a hornet’s nest?

  Wiser to choose a middle course, finding ways to praise Zulu courage in battle, and to offer further condolences for the death of Shaka, without accepting or implying personal responsibility.

  After all, Shaka had struck Ali first, and from a familial point of view Kai’s actions might be considered justifiable. From a military standpoint, on the other hand, they had been within Shaka’s chain of command at the time, and Kai’s actions might well merit execution.

  Things were equally confusing from a political perspective. The Zulus owned much of Azania as private or corporate holdings, but had the legal responsibilities of any other Bilalians. Owing fealty to any but their own rankled the intensely proud Zulus, who wanted little other than their own homeland. They enjoyed living in their own way and had little respect for external protocol. While they would wish to avenge Shaka’s death, they stood to gain more by affirming their connection with the wealth, power, and prestige of Dar Kush.

  Might Cetshwayo know exactly what happened at the mosque, and expect Kai to intuit that the subject must not be mentioned? Or might that merely be what he wanted Kai to think, while his actual intent remained murderous?

  But how could Cetshwayo know with any certainty what had happened? There were no witnesses save Kebwe and Fodjour, and surely neither of them …

  The door opened, and all conjecture ceased. He steeled himself, but much to his surprise, Cetshwayo’s massive arms enfolded him heartily.

  “Kai!” he roared, boisterously enough to rattle the windows. “It is good to see you, out of the sight of the others. There is much for us to speak of.”

  Kai was taken aback. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “Of course there is.…”

  Cetshwayo bared his teeth in a grin. “And life has been good for you? Sweet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enjoy it.” The Zulu beamed. “There are so many things in life that cannot be anticipated. This leg!” He slapped his damaged right limb. “I never dreamed that I would lose a part of my body! But so life goes. Things we hold dear can vanish in a twinkling.”

  “Yes.” Ar-Rahman preserve him! What manner of game was this?

  “But enough of this talk. We have both lost, but now we must put mourning behind us, and move forward with life.”

  “Move … forward?” Kai’s head swirled. He felt behind himself for a chair, and sat, staring up at the Zulu prince.

  “My emissaries will call upon you. It is time to negotiate ceremony and brideprice.”

  Kai sat very very still. “For Nandi?”

  “Of course!” the Zulu roared, and slapped his knee. “Hasn’t she been patient enough?”

  Kai was beginning to feel like an animal with one foot caught in a trap. “More than anyone could ask.”

  “Ah,” Cetshwayo rhapsodized, grin splitting his great dark moon of a face. “What a day that will be! I am certain that none of us will ever forget it.”

  Kai swallowed. “How could we?”

  “A shame that your father, and your brother, could not be here to see it.”

  “Yes,” was all that Kai could think to say.

  “And Shaka,” said Nandi’s father. “It was not in his nature to say such things, but I am sure he thought you and Nandi should be together. I am quite certain that he will be watching.”

  Kai couldn’t handle the conversation turning in that direction. “When will your people call?”

  “Soon,” the older man said. “Very soon. I think that would be best, yes?”

  “Of course.” Kai felt callow, and small. And trapped.

  “Who will be your second in negotiations?”

  That required but a moment’s thought. “Babatunde, I think.”

  A bit of light ebbed from Cetshwayo’s smile. It remained tolerant but noticeably cooler. “I have not spoken of this before, but it is unseemly for a man of your stature to have a mixed-breed so close to his ear. He is one-quarter white!”

  “Turkish,” Kai said thinly.

  “Bah! They are all the same.” He placed his arm around Kai’s shoulder. “Your father, a fine man, a great warrior, is dead. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than for you to think of me as your father, now that with this marriage, our two houses become one.”

  “I am honored to share such noble blood,” Kai said.

  “Then let your new father give you a piece of advice: One drop makes you whole, Kai. Babatunde is polluted, and you should ban him from your affairs.”

  Kai gathered himself. “I understand the Zulu attitudes
toward these matters, and respect them. But our law says that one ‘darker than dusk’ is automatically a free man.”

  “A weak law,” sniffed the Zulu.

  “But the law, nonetheless.”

  “Such half-breeds generally do not mix in polite society. They head to the frontiers.” He clucked derisively. “An exception is the effeminates of New Alexandria. They revel in their mixed blood as they do their sexual perversions—as if they think that their taint places them above either black or white.”

  He paused a moment. Then, with a surprisingly teasing tone said, “What think you, Kai?”

  Kai kept his most immediate thoughts strictly to himself. Did Nandi know the truth about Shaka’s death? If so, then what was the actual intent here?

  Damn it! Kai felt as if he had drained a cask of hemp beer! There were entirely too many mixed emotions involved. His relationship with Lamiya was loving and intense, but memories of Nandi were enough to boil his blood. Kai could sense that, despite his intellectual rigor and physical vitality, in recent months lethargy had cloaked his spirit. The thought of Nandi, and the night she had initiated him into the curiously chaste ecstasy of ukulobonga, awakened him.

  “I respect the ways of the Zulu,” he said finally, “but Dar Kush is my home, the home where your daughter will soon be mistress. Our ways are different, and must be respected.”

  He held his breath as Cetshwayo seemed to build energy like a thunderhead. Then the giant pealed laughter. “Very good!” he said. “Any less manly an answer, and I fear that my precious ntanami would eat you alive.”

  He slapped Kai’s back nearly hard enough to make him cough blood. Then the two men talked, drank tea, ate biscuits and preserved mussels, shared hookah, and talked until the very early morning.

  And not for a moment did Kai allow his hand to stray far from the hilt of his shamshir.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On return to his rooms, Kai was reluctant to make Fodjour privy to any of his speculations. “And what was their concern?” his neighbor asked.

  “They want the marriage to go forward.” He shrugged, yielding to the seemingly inevitable.

  “Ah …” Fodjour scratched at his beard. “As your father intended. I suppose it would be a good thing. Yes?”

  “I hate politics. Cetshwayo calls the New Alexandrians ‘effeminate.’ Doubtless he calls us ‘barbaric.’ He plays both ends against the middle.”

  Fodjour chuckled. “Would you do otherwise, were you he? He clearly respects your position, at least; otherwise he would never offer you his daughter.”

  His friend might as well have been listening in on the evening’s conversation. “I suppose,” Kai said. “I am tired. I will rest, and then … there is no end to these damned parties. Let me just close my eyes for a moment. Please.”

  Fodjour watched Kai, curious but allowing him his privacy.

  And he could tell just from the sound of Kai’s breathing that his friend was troubled indeed.

  22 Ramadan A.H. 1294

  (Sunday, September 30, 1877)

  The following evening, an elegant delegate party was held at a private Radaman residence. Behind closed gates and doors, discussions raged in every corner. The major topic: If and when war came, would the south have any chance at all?

  Governor Njau Pili, a soft little man of Kikuyu extraction, approached Kai. “Come, Kai. Take my arm.” Kai knew him to be a man of pretentious bearing but impeccable blood.

  “With pleasure, Governor,” Kai said.

  “Njau, please. Walk with me.” The two of them strolled.

  “What brings Your Excellence to this gathering this evening?” Kai asked.

  “Would not the promise of music and companionship be enough?”

  “Your Excellence is far reputed for his own parties. Certainly your meanest would beggar our poor gathering.”

  Pili laughed. “You give me too much credit. This is a fine feast.”

  “Still, I think there is a purpose.”

  The Governor’s small eyes twinkled. “How sharp you are! Delightful. Tell me, Kai, how do you find the responsibilities of office?”

  I flip over a flat rock, and there they are. “May I speak freely?”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  “I do not enjoy them,” said Kai. “I do not know how men such as yourself manage to swim in such waters and keep your robes clean.”

  “Family secrets, Kai. Family secrets.” His laugh was not entirely convincing, as if he wondered if Kai had delivered a subtle insult.

  “Why do you ask?”

  They had strolled as far as the gardens. The Governor bent to sniff a flower. “Do you know this blossom?”

  “Abyssinian lotus. It grows in the Diredawa Valley.”

  “Very good! You are a young man of culture and breeding, as well as a war hero….”

  “Some would consider that assessment entirely too lenient.”

  “Not to your face, and that is all that matters.”

  “So?”

  “I believe that you could go far, young Wakil. Why limit your ambitions to a provincial little parish, a few thousand scratch farmers—”

  “Fifty thousand,” Kai corrected.

  “That may seem like the whole world to you now, but it is nothing. The capital needs men like you.”

  “Radama?”

  “New Alexandria.”

  Interesting. “Ah. New Alexandria. Well. If you speak of the Grand Senate, then you must hold the possibility of war in low regard.”

  “If I did not, would I have invited Admiral bin Jeffar to address our assembly? Men talk and talk of fighting, but when it comes down to it? We would rather tend our gardens, and enjoy the fruits of commerce and statesmanship.”

  “I have heard that said.”

  “Kai,” the Governor said. “You are of a great bloodline, and in marrying the Empress’s niece have secured for yourself international stature. It need not end here.”

  Ah, Father. Where are you when I need you? “No?”

  “No. If … when the Continental unpleasantness is concluded—”

  “And what do you think the conflict’s outcome will be?”

  “It matters not to me. There are always wars, and after them come the arbiters with armloads of scrolls and Alexanders for eyes.”

  “And do you see us in this conflict?”

  The Governor leaned close. “Not if we are clever. This union, this Bilalistan, was made by men, and can be unmade the same way.”

  That was a surprise. “You suggest dissolution?”

  “Secession. Of Wichita, Djibouti—and southern New Alexandria.”

  Kai inhaled sharply. There, the words had finally been spoken, and by a man with the power to see it through. “And you think that the Caliph would merely stand by and see this happen?”

  The little man’s shoulders drew back. “I think he has no taste to war against his own—he may lose a state, but gain a trading partner. He is, at his core, a merchant.”

  “You underestimate him.”

  Pili smiled indulgently. “Kai, you are inexperienced in these matters. I wish that your father had lived, that I might have conducted this conversation with him. I hope you will accept my mentorship.” He extended his palm. “Take my hand, Kai. Say that the wealth and status of Dar Kush supports me in this matter, and I promise that you will never regret it.”

  Kai looked at the Governor’s hand for a long while before he spoke. “You would have me tell my people that we will leave the union, and nothing will come of it? That war would rage in the Old World, without spilling over onto the New? That our sons will not bleed, nor our wives and daughters weep? I can take your hand in friendship, and gladly do. But I cannot accept that grasp if you would have me lower my sword.” Kai raised his hand. “In what spirit do we clasp, Governor?”

  Pili lowered his hand. Anger danced in the darkness of his eyes. “You have made a mistake,” he said coldly. “Great things are afoot, young Wakil. I do not ext
end my hand again to be rebuffed. When you have seen the error of your ways, come to me humbly, and in remembrance of your father, you may still find me a friend.”

  Kai strove to change the subject. He weighed his options and decided to take a risk. “Governor. You have heard rumors of … certain scrolls?”

  He sniffed. “The Alexandrian scrolls? Supposedly stolen from one of the Pharaoh’s ships? A myth.”

  “I believe they are no myth,” Kai said. “I believe further that they came on the market recently, and may have been acquired.”

  Pili raised his eyebrows. “And they say…?”

  Kai sighed. “As yet unknown. The code has not been broken.”

  “Coded scrolls. Privateers. Secret meetings. This is the stuff of yellow-sheets, not diplomacy.”

  Kai bored in. “Why coded, unless to conceal intent? What intent more grievous now than to conscript our sons into battle?”

  “Oh, now you possess a crystal ball?”

  “Already,” Kai pressed on, “the Caliph’s ships blockade the Brown Nile.”

  “Nonsense. The Aztecs threaten our plantations in the southern hemisphere. Ships mass for attack.”

  Kai tried again. “Warships are at anchor in our own harbor. Storm clouds gather, sir.”

  The Governor was scornful. “The Caliph has personally guaranteed a peaceful intent.”

  “If we do not prepare, Governor, we will be caught unawares.”

  Pili’s eyes narrowed. “You would have me stir my nobles to alarm, to … to treason, to raise their levies to equip an army we need not, a navy we need not, on the strength of a phantom scroll? You know less of the world than I thought, young Wakil. Perhaps I am mistaken about you. Perhaps you are not the man I had hoped.”

  “Don’t you take the Empress’s part in these matters?”

  His chest puffed out indignantly. “You dare question my loyalty?”

  “Neither loyalty nor lineage. Sir, she will call you. Call us. We must be swift to the mark.”

  For a moment they held each other’s gaze. Then an assistant appeared. “Governor Pili! The reception awaits you.”

  Kai bowed. “Governor.”

  “Excuse me,” the little man said coldly, and walked away.