MWINDO, CHAPTER TWELVE
THE DRUMS SPEAK
Two months later, the kiomas sent an extraordinary message pulsing through all of Tubondo. In the forests, the trappers looked up from their snares in astonishment at what the drums told them. In the forges, the blacksmiths laid down their hammers and shook their heads in envy. In the fields, the women paused in their cultivation of crops and sighed in awe. In their hidden villages, the Kwikwi clapped their hands and danced in joy. And in the iremso – the spirit-house – Sheburu cast the knucklebones of a monkey on a patterned mat to divine the meaning of the news the drummers proclaimed.
For the kiomas said: Shemwindo, the Mwami of Tubondo, has stopped the offering of all seven of his wives …
When Shemwindo heard the drums, he was standing by the river, spear in hand. Thus far, he and his people had heeded the injunction of Mukiti. No longer did they fish, bathe, or wash their clothes in the shallows by its banks. Nor did they paddle their boats along the broad stream to trade with their neighbors.
Shemwindo was contemplating the wisdom of flouting Mukiti’s admonition. Had Shemwindo not already bested a Bashumbu? Could Nkoli the crocodile or Ngubu the hippopotamus tear out his backbone if he strove against them? Given the melancholy that had gripped him since his conversation with Kitundukutu, he was sorely tempted to test himself against the Children of the River.
Then he heard the message of the kiomas. At another time, before the seeds of doubt Mpaca had sown with the voice of the cricket had taken hold, Shemwindo’s spirit would have soared with pride and vindication at such news. It was a deed that would be praised throughout the lands of the mountain forests.
Instead, Shemwindo’s face twisted in rage. And his hand tightened on the shaft of his iron-tipped spear. Turning away from the river, he ran back along the trail to the ....mountain.. of ..Tubondo..... On his way, he passed a large party of hunters returning with carcasses of monkeys and Mboloko, the small, shy antelope that dove headlong into the bushes at the slightest sign of danger.
The hunters had heard the drums, and they greeted their Mwami with great effusion.
“Hail, Shemwindo!” they cried. “May your seven wives bear you seven sons!”
Shemwindo did not reply. Moving so quickly that the hunters had no time to react, he snatched spears out of the hands of six of them. Now holding seven spears, he continued along the path.
The hunters looked at each other in uneasy amazement. Never before had they seen their Mwami behave this way. They followed him, but they were not able to match his pace. And they wondered what he intended to do with the spears …
MWINDO, CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SEVEN SPEARS
In Shemwindo’s compound, each of his seven wives sat alone in her dwelling. Soon enough, they would be busier. For among the Tubondo, pregnancy was a time of constant ritual, constant prayer. Each wife was thinking her own thoughts about the miraculous simultaneous stopping of their offerings when Shemwindo strode into the compound.
The Mwami carried the captured spears, along with his own, like a bundle of sticks. His face was a stony mask as he stopped at the entrance of the dwelling of Masisa, the Eldest Wife. Then he took one of the spears in his throwing-hand, and hurled it through the dwelling’s entrance. The point of the spear plunged deeply into the central pole that held up the roof. Masisa’s eyes rounded in fright as she stared at the spear-shaft. And she began to tremble.
Shemwindo went next to the dwelling of Nyili, the Most Favored Wife. He took another spear and threw it into the central pole. To all the rest of the dwellings in turn he went, saving Nyirare’s for last. When he finished, a spear impaled the central pole of each dwelling.
And the spears said: You, Wives of the Mwami … listen well, for to disobey Shemwindo is to die.
All seven wives emerged from their dwellings to face Shemwindo. Their faces showed unease, dismay – even fear – at the sight of him. He stood silently at the center of the compound’s courtyard, arms folded across his broad chest. He was like a dark monolith, impervious to warmth or compassion.
By now, other notables of the Bana-Tubondo had climbed up to the compound, spurred by the news spread by the kiomas. Sheburu, Mwamihesi, and Muheri came, along with other would-be well-wishers. But their words of felicitation died in their throats at the sight of the grim expression on the Mwami’s face.
When all had arrived, Shemwindo spoke.
“You, Wives – hear this. None of you will beat a male child. You will give birth only to daughters. She who bears a male child will be driven away from Tubondo. And the male child, I will slay.”
The wives drew back in terror, for it seemed that their husband had succumbed to madness. For what sane man did not want sons? The same question passed through the minds of the notables. But no one said anything to Shemwindo. For they had seen a similar iron-eyed expression on their Mwami’s face once before – on the day he fought against Mpaca.
“Let the spears remain in the dwelling-poles until all seven of you have brought forth your children,” he said.
Then he turned and walked to his own dwelling, entering without a backward glance. Slowly, his wives returned to their own dwelling.
“What does this mean?” Mwamihesi asked Sheburu.
“Perhaps I will know once I have cast the bones,” the mganga replied.
But he already knew the bones would tell him nothing.
That night, a violent thunderstorm broke over Tubondo. Rain cascaded in endless sheets, and thunder boomed like the beat of a giant’s kioma. Lightning illuminated the dwellings and fields of the Bana-Tubondo in brief recapitulations of daylight.
Some of the Bana-Tubondo muttered prayers to their ancestors, for the season had not yet come for such a storm. It was bihunda – a bad omen.
They had no way of knowing that the cause of the storm was a violent disagreement between the Bashumbus of Lightning and Rain over the way the new Bashumbu had been conceived.
One out of seven, Kiruka’s rain hissed. A pitiful performance!
Better than none out of seven, as you would have had it, Nkuba’s thunder growled.
We shall see.
So we shall.
By morning, the rain had stopped and the thunder and lightning stilled. Kentse, Bashumbu of the Sun, burned away all signs of the premature storm. Even so, the hearts of the Bana-Tubondo remained uneasy.