Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Apr 29, 2007 22:03:18 GMT -5
It had been a difficult night. I scratched my chin, and grimaced at the feeling of roughness. I needed to shave. I needed to drink. I needed to sleep in a D’Angeline bed, with a Balm adept massaging my feet.
I grumbled as I stood up and looked at another day of grueling travel. Camels are horrible beasts, I thought to myself. I knew that the camel was the safest mode of transportation in such extreme conditions. I also knew that the perspective of another day on the desert’s vessel was an unacceptable perspective.
I sat at camp, moody and annoyed. As I chewed on the unsavory mix of rice and dried meat, I thought of the past few months. I’d barely come home from Amilcar, that my father had sent me to the City of Elua, and I’d met the loveliest of beings in the Night Court. And here I was, a year later, on this forsaken trek to Meroe, on an errand that served no other purpose then to take me away from the pleasures of home, and to make me meet the world’s leaders, including Queen Jazara.
I sat up. I hated to admit it, but the terrible food had settled me, and I felt ready for the road.
One thing I would own, if any, was that this trip to Jebe-Barkal had opened my eyes to the mysteries of the universe. There is nothing to marvel a skeptical Seressiman noble, more then a sunset on the Savannah, with the silhouettes of the Baobabs darkened against the crimson sky.
Thinking such thoughts, I completed my last day of travel to Meroe, burnt by the sun and exhausted. My Jebean guide introduced to an lovely innkeeper who was gracious enough not to laugh at my horrible pronunciation of her language, and merrily made for his family.
The following morning, I woke up before sunset, and went to the local market. I bargained the best I could, but probably paid a ridiculous price for local ceremonial garb. I’d read the memoirs of the late Comtesse de Montreve, and it appeared such artifice pleaded favorably for relations with the Queen and the Ras-Lijasu.
Pressed for time, I was on my way to the inn where I would prepare for the audience, when an altercation in the market attracted my attention. My Jebean was shaky, but I could make enough to understand the heart of the matter.
A woman was wailing, one of those beautiful, powerful Jebean women, and she clung to a man of enormous stature, a monster really in the guise of a human. She cried and begged, while a throng of the Ras-Lijasu’s soldiers took him away. She yelled at him, furious and desperate:
“Resist them, you can do it, don’t let them take you!”
The giant was docile, and he walked away with only 2 words spoken softly. Curious, I asked my neighbor. He had said “I deserve it.”
I made my way to the palace, and was introduced to Queen Jazara, or truth be, I was introduced to her, me fully exposed to her prying eyes, the Queen well concealed in her alcove. As it should be, Your Highness.
Queen Jazara was unphased by my attentions, but convened favorably on my request to be allowed to stay a moment in Jebe-Barkal, and to journey onwards into Nubia if I could.
My following interview with the Ras-Lijasu was much more pleasant. A man of my age and stature, he took to me as a peer, and we talked for hours of our respective cultures, politics, of Terre d’Ange and La Serenissima, of women, and the courtly arts. Comfortable enough that he would not react poorly to it, I formulated the request my mind had been building.
“My Liege,” I said, “May I formulate a inquiry, about what I found to be most intruiguing since I came to Meroe?”
“You may,” he said patiently. Jebeans love conversation and negotiation. If anything, he would enjoy this greatly, I could tell.
“I witness this morning the most singular scene,” I started with a reflective tone that noted interest and concern. “What is possibly the biggest man I have ever seen, was following meekly your guards, when he could have smashed them to pieces and ran. What trick of power do you hold, that such a powerful being surrenders to your law so amicably?”
The Ras laughed lightly, the laughter I’d come to identify in all monarch as the marque of acknowledged and appreciated flattery.
“I know of this man,” he said aloofly. “He is to be executed tomorrow.”
Amazement came over me and I did not resist it. I lifted an eyebrow and looked at the monarch in increased respect. That giant was walking willingly to his death, saying he deserved it! This both appalled me and impressed me, and I pressed on.
“My Lord, I witnessed his arrest. He was penitent, and calm. He even exhibited regret. Will there be no clemency for him?”
“No,” the Ras said. “There will not. He has committed a crime. He shall pay for it.”
“What crime so great did he commit, if I may pry, my Liege ?”
The Ras shrugged. He obviously cared little about the affair. It was a good thing to keep in mind, if I wanted to gain something out of it.
“He killed a man, some uninteresting rowdy affair,” answered the monarch. “It’s a messy business, really,” he conceded, allowing himself to talk more freely. “I don’t feel so inclined to have him beheaded myself, but the law is the law, and it would be unfair not to apply it. The man is a local celebrity, you see, a street performer of sorts, very liked in the town. Executing him may cause an uprising. Not executing him will hinder my authority.”
My face remained the mask of calm, and I thought that the Ras had just given me, and Caerdiccas Unitas, the opportunity for a beneficial arrangement. I offered it to him:
“Your Highness, may I humbly offer you my assistance in this delicate matter?”
He chuckled, and a wry grin came to his face. “I thought you might.”
“It appears you need to get rid of this man, without however killing him. I have met him, however briefly, and have some interest in him. My King has asked me to bring back, if I could, stories and goods from Meroe, and more information about your fascinating people. Imagine the impression such a warrior would make on him...” I suggested.
The Ras stayed silent for a moment, his mind focused on the offered solution. I waited silently and patiently, knowing the battle to be won from the start.
Without a word, he stood, and I stood as immediately as he did. He motioned for me to follow him.
After a long walk in the dusty corridors of the Jebean pyramid, we entered a putrid area where doors were lined up, and I knew this was the prison quarter.
The Ras gestured imperceptibly to the guards, and they hurriedly opened the cell, letting the both of us in, one of the preceding us for safety.
I squinted in the dark cell. Amidst the moldy scents, the pungent smell of urine and human waste, I discerned the perfume of cassava semolina and leaf sauce. Conjuring all my dignity, I blocked out the assailing smells to stop my own urge to vomit, and searched the room for the prisoner.
He was there, chained up to the wall, an enslaved force of nature. His posture was that of resignation and dignity, and I felt in my heart the urgency of sparing his life, for the large Jebean would have much to accomplish, given the chance.
The guard barked, “To-Biko of Banda Ndele, rise before your Liege.”
Chains clanked, and the giant stood. He had been beaten, I could see. His left eye was swollen and half closed, and a large bruise blackened his dark brown skin.
I stayed aghast in wonder. Such a great civilization as that of the Jebeans, and yet some self contented guard had seen it fit to beat a man down. He probably thought it made him a better warrior.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, do you know this Foranj?” The Ras Lijasu inquired, firm but not unkind.
To-Biko kept his eyes averted, looked at me from under them, and expressed a mute denial, still staring at his feet.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, this Foranj is a Prince of Caerdiccas Unitas and La Serenissima. If he takes you with him, will you swear allegiance to him and his people?”
Ah, these foreign kings, I thought to myself. The further I would go away from home, the more difficult to explain effectively the subtle differences between our numerous titles. I let it go.
The embodiment of submission, To-Biko nodded.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, do you swear never to return to Jebe-Barkal?”
To-Biko raised his head but a split second, and his eyes were the embodiment of sadness. He averted his eyes again, nodding his ascent. I wondered if it would not be less cruel to let him die, but there was no turning back.
The Ras said nothing, and left, leaving me to follow him out of this dreadful place. Little did I know that this day, I had gained the most faithful retainer one could wish for.
I grumbled as I stood up and looked at another day of grueling travel. Camels are horrible beasts, I thought to myself. I knew that the camel was the safest mode of transportation in such extreme conditions. I also knew that the perspective of another day on the desert’s vessel was an unacceptable perspective.
I sat at camp, moody and annoyed. As I chewed on the unsavory mix of rice and dried meat, I thought of the past few months. I’d barely come home from Amilcar, that my father had sent me to the City of Elua, and I’d met the loveliest of beings in the Night Court. And here I was, a year later, on this forsaken trek to Meroe, on an errand that served no other purpose then to take me away from the pleasures of home, and to make me meet the world’s leaders, including Queen Jazara.
I sat up. I hated to admit it, but the terrible food had settled me, and I felt ready for the road.
One thing I would own, if any, was that this trip to Jebe-Barkal had opened my eyes to the mysteries of the universe. There is nothing to marvel a skeptical Seressiman noble, more then a sunset on the Savannah, with the silhouettes of the Baobabs darkened against the crimson sky.
Thinking such thoughts, I completed my last day of travel to Meroe, burnt by the sun and exhausted. My Jebean guide introduced to an lovely innkeeper who was gracious enough not to laugh at my horrible pronunciation of her language, and merrily made for his family.
The following morning, I woke up before sunset, and went to the local market. I bargained the best I could, but probably paid a ridiculous price for local ceremonial garb. I’d read the memoirs of the late Comtesse de Montreve, and it appeared such artifice pleaded favorably for relations with the Queen and the Ras-Lijasu.
Pressed for time, I was on my way to the inn where I would prepare for the audience, when an altercation in the market attracted my attention. My Jebean was shaky, but I could make enough to understand the heart of the matter.
A woman was wailing, one of those beautiful, powerful Jebean women, and she clung to a man of enormous stature, a monster really in the guise of a human. She cried and begged, while a throng of the Ras-Lijasu’s soldiers took him away. She yelled at him, furious and desperate:
“Resist them, you can do it, don’t let them take you!”
The giant was docile, and he walked away with only 2 words spoken softly. Curious, I asked my neighbor. He had said “I deserve it.”
I made my way to the palace, and was introduced to Queen Jazara, or truth be, I was introduced to her, me fully exposed to her prying eyes, the Queen well concealed in her alcove. As it should be, Your Highness.
Queen Jazara was unphased by my attentions, but convened favorably on my request to be allowed to stay a moment in Jebe-Barkal, and to journey onwards into Nubia if I could.
My following interview with the Ras-Lijasu was much more pleasant. A man of my age and stature, he took to me as a peer, and we talked for hours of our respective cultures, politics, of Terre d’Ange and La Serenissima, of women, and the courtly arts. Comfortable enough that he would not react poorly to it, I formulated the request my mind had been building.
“My Liege,” I said, “May I formulate a inquiry, about what I found to be most intruiguing since I came to Meroe?”
“You may,” he said patiently. Jebeans love conversation and negotiation. If anything, he would enjoy this greatly, I could tell.
“I witness this morning the most singular scene,” I started with a reflective tone that noted interest and concern. “What is possibly the biggest man I have ever seen, was following meekly your guards, when he could have smashed them to pieces and ran. What trick of power do you hold, that such a powerful being surrenders to your law so amicably?”
The Ras laughed lightly, the laughter I’d come to identify in all monarch as the marque of acknowledged and appreciated flattery.
“I know of this man,” he said aloofly. “He is to be executed tomorrow.”
Amazement came over me and I did not resist it. I lifted an eyebrow and looked at the monarch in increased respect. That giant was walking willingly to his death, saying he deserved it! This both appalled me and impressed me, and I pressed on.
“My Lord, I witnessed his arrest. He was penitent, and calm. He even exhibited regret. Will there be no clemency for him?”
“No,” the Ras said. “There will not. He has committed a crime. He shall pay for it.”
“What crime so great did he commit, if I may pry, my Liege ?”
The Ras shrugged. He obviously cared little about the affair. It was a good thing to keep in mind, if I wanted to gain something out of it.
“He killed a man, some uninteresting rowdy affair,” answered the monarch. “It’s a messy business, really,” he conceded, allowing himself to talk more freely. “I don’t feel so inclined to have him beheaded myself, but the law is the law, and it would be unfair not to apply it. The man is a local celebrity, you see, a street performer of sorts, very liked in the town. Executing him may cause an uprising. Not executing him will hinder my authority.”
My face remained the mask of calm, and I thought that the Ras had just given me, and Caerdiccas Unitas, the opportunity for a beneficial arrangement. I offered it to him:
“Your Highness, may I humbly offer you my assistance in this delicate matter?”
He chuckled, and a wry grin came to his face. “I thought you might.”
“It appears you need to get rid of this man, without however killing him. I have met him, however briefly, and have some interest in him. My King has asked me to bring back, if I could, stories and goods from Meroe, and more information about your fascinating people. Imagine the impression such a warrior would make on him...” I suggested.
The Ras stayed silent for a moment, his mind focused on the offered solution. I waited silently and patiently, knowing the battle to be won from the start.
Without a word, he stood, and I stood as immediately as he did. He motioned for me to follow him.
After a long walk in the dusty corridors of the Jebean pyramid, we entered a putrid area where doors were lined up, and I knew this was the prison quarter.
The Ras gestured imperceptibly to the guards, and they hurriedly opened the cell, letting the both of us in, one of the preceding us for safety.
I squinted in the dark cell. Amidst the moldy scents, the pungent smell of urine and human waste, I discerned the perfume of cassava semolina and leaf sauce. Conjuring all my dignity, I blocked out the assailing smells to stop my own urge to vomit, and searched the room for the prisoner.
He was there, chained up to the wall, an enslaved force of nature. His posture was that of resignation and dignity, and I felt in my heart the urgency of sparing his life, for the large Jebean would have much to accomplish, given the chance.
The guard barked, “To-Biko of Banda Ndele, rise before your Liege.”
Chains clanked, and the giant stood. He had been beaten, I could see. His left eye was swollen and half closed, and a large bruise blackened his dark brown skin.
I stayed aghast in wonder. Such a great civilization as that of the Jebeans, and yet some self contented guard had seen it fit to beat a man down. He probably thought it made him a better warrior.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, do you know this Foranj?” The Ras Lijasu inquired, firm but not unkind.
To-Biko kept his eyes averted, looked at me from under them, and expressed a mute denial, still staring at his feet.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, this Foranj is a Prince of Caerdiccas Unitas and La Serenissima. If he takes you with him, will you swear allegiance to him and his people?”
Ah, these foreign kings, I thought to myself. The further I would go away from home, the more difficult to explain effectively the subtle differences between our numerous titles. I let it go.
The embodiment of submission, To-Biko nodded.
“To-Biko of Banda Ndele, do you swear never to return to Jebe-Barkal?”
To-Biko raised his head but a split second, and his eyes were the embodiment of sadness. He averted his eyes again, nodding his ascent. I wondered if it would not be less cruel to let him die, but there was no turning back.
The Ras said nothing, and left, leaving me to follow him out of this dreadful place. Little did I know that this day, I had gained the most faithful retainer one could wish for.