When Zwahe and I entered the throne room, the king was busy with his advisors. It was necessary for us to wait over an hour before he was free to talk to us.
“Now then, Cantru, what is on your mind? You look ready to burst.”
“Father, the slaves are planning an uprising for tomorrow.”
“And how do you know this?”
The prince gestured towards me, his slave, who was bowing on the floor. “Gemji has overheard them talk, and Jiraha has also told him. Hiwah is leading an uprising.”
The king laughed aloud. “Hiwah? That fat bag of wind?! He has neither the wits nor the courage to mount an uprising. I’m afraid, Cantru, that the slaves have been having fun with you.”
“But Father, it is true!”
“Cantru, the slaves have no weapons bigger than a kitchen knife. They have no organization, and the great majority of them are happy here. The first year we conquered the land a slave revolt was planned and forcefully put down. The leaders died painful deaths. The others were beheaded. In all the years since then there has not been a whisper of revolt or discontent. Even if it were true, the soldiers would quickly put down any uprising. I do not want you to worry about this anymore. Now go back to your studies and your games.” And with that he dismissed us with a wave of his hand.
Downcast, we bowed our way out of the throne room and went to the prince’s garden. “He’s wrong!” Zwahe insisted vehemently. “We both know Hiwah is sneaky and angry. I fear what will happen tomorrow.”
“Perhaps your father is right, but if what Jiraha has said is true, we know that Hiwah will try to slay you here in the garden tomorrow. We can’t take the chance that the king is right, so we need to make a plan. Could you not just lock Hiwah out?”
“You forget he knows how to unlock the door.”
“Could you change the lock?”
“Not in time, and besides, Ammirus, if there is a fight, I intend to be in it.”
“So what can we do?”
“I have a sword, but it will not be enough against Hiwah if he brings anybody with him. We have no other weapons.”
I thought for a moment before saying, “Really? Do you remember what Hiwah called our jumping ropes when he first saw them?”
A look of comprehension came over the prince’s face. “Weapons.”
“Yes. If we can surprise them, then we can overcome Hiwah and one other slave, I’m sure.”
We spent some time concocting a plan. Finally Zwahe said, “It just might work.”
“It will have to work,” I said emphatically, “if we are to live to see the end of tomorrow.”
That night, neither of us slept very well. The prince was eager to do battle, but I was afraid. What would happen if our plan failed? Would we both be dead by noon tomorrow? Or was the king correct and we had nothing to worry about?
Since I had replaced Zwahe as the prince’s First Slave, I now bathed the prince in the morning, and so after Jiraha had bathed me, I went to the prince’s chamber and hastily bathed him. After I had dried and dressed him, the prince took his sword, and we returned with him to my own room, where we had hidden the ropes. We were not concerned if Hiwah saw us with the ropes since we used them so often. Zwahe concealed the sword in his gown. While it made him walk a little stiffly, it was entirely hidden.
When we were ready, we walked into the corridor. Sure enough, there was Hiwah. “Off to play, young master?” he asked. Had we not been suspicious before, we would have been now, for Hiwah was almost sickeningly sweet with his question.
“Yes, Hiwah. A little exercise before my studies will awaken my brain. I’m afraid it’s a bit fuzzy this morning.”
We strode down the corridor, opened the door to the garden and then passed through to the prince’s garden. Once there, Zwahe drew his sword and stood in front of the door while I stood to one side of it with a looped rope. Then we waited…and waited…and waited. At first we were tense with anticipation. But as time passed, we grew bored and began to wonder if the king had been correct after all. Was nothing going to happen?
Just before we decided that the slaves had indeed been having fun with us, the door opened and Hiwah came rushing through with another slave behind him. The prince raised his sword as Hiwah ran onto it, impaling his shoulder. Hiwah screamed and fell to the ground, dropping the knife he had been brandishing. Meanwhile, I cast the loop of rope over the other slave’s head and pulled. The rope tightened around the man’s neck as I pulled back, throwing him off balance. He dropped his knife and grabbed at his neck even as he fell backwards to the ground. I was on him at once. I rolled him over, straddled him, and bound his hands behind him. In less than ten seconds both slaves had been neutralized, one man bound tightly and the other lying on the ground screaming.
The prince held his sword to Hiwah’s throat. “Did you think to kill me, gentle Hiwah?” he asked in a honeyed voice. “How sad that you failed. I think I will take you to my father.”
I bound Hiwah, tying his hands tightly behind his back as he screamed again. Using what was left of the rope, I bound both captives’ feet so they would be able to take only very small steps. Then I removed my sash, tore it in two, and gagged them both. Roughly, we helped the slaves stand and turned them towards the door.
As Zwahe opened the door, the sound of fighting came clearly through his bedchamber’s open door. “It sounds as though the others did not wait for Hiwah’s signal. What should we do?” I asked.
“You stay here with the prisoners. You have both their knives, so they can’t do anything. Lock the doors. Don’t let anybody in until you hear the secret phrase, “My ghostly dancer.” I must go now and help my father.”
With that he raced through the door while I closed and locked it behind him. Using the knives I prodded the slaves towards the fountain where I made them lie face down feet to feet by the fountain. Then I sat in my pavilion and waited, knowing it might be a long wait.
At first Hiwah tried to talk his way out of his trouble. “You know you’re not allowed in this garden. You will be very severely punished unless you join us and help us win the uprising.”
“Somehow,” I replied calmly, “I think I would be much more severely punished if I did join you. Besides, the prince has given me permission to be here, and I come nearly every day.”
A little later Hiwah sobbed, “Help me. I’m going to bleed to death!”
Looking down at him I laughed contemptuously, “Unfortunately, you’re not. In fact, it might be better for you if you did.”
The sun reached and passed its zenith and was sitting just on top of the garden wall when there came a banging on the door from Zwahe’s chamber. “Let me in, Ammirus, my ghostly dancer.” I rushed to the door and opened it. The prince staggered slowly in. His beautiful gown was torn in several places. On his left arm there was a nasty cut which was bleeding onto the white, torn garment. In his right hand he held his sword. Tears streamed down his face, streaking the dirt and pouring off his chin. He seemed on the point of exhaustion as I led him gently to the fountain benches.
Looking down at Hiwah, the prince yelled, “You bastard!!! I’ve a good mind to run you through right now, but the law has a much better punishment for you.” He sank onto a bench, buried his face in my shoulder, and sobbed and sobbed.
Finally, as the sobbing abated, I leaned over, kissing him gently on the cheek, not caring that I was tasting his blood and tears.
The prince cried into my shoulder, “They killed my father. I ran directly to the throne room. My father was lying half on the throne, half on the floor, bleeding. He looked at me, and I don’t think he knew me at first. Then he said, ‘The throne is yours, my son.’ And he died there in my arms.” The prince again burst into sobs.
I held him, stroked him, and kissed him repeatedly, trying to comfort him. At length I asked, “Ammirus, what has happened since?”
He looked up, startled. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that. Thank you!”
I nodded and repeated my question.
“The soldiers had no warning, so several of them were overpowered and died without ever drawing their swords. The slaves took their swords and fought fiercely. We were outnumbered, but we were trained in fighting with a sword. Finally we managed to put down the revolt. Many have died, Ammirus, both slaves and soldiers. Many slaves were captured and are now below in the dungeons where you were held. It’s over, Ammirus, it’s over.”
“Thank the gods you won. I’m so sorry your father died. Will you be the new king?”
“I suppose so, but it’s nothing I ever wanted, and I certainly didn’t want it to happen this way.”
“Ammirus,” I said, “we need to get you to the infirmary and get your wounds tended to.”
“The infirmary is overflowing. The wounded slaves are only being kept alive until they can be executed tomorrow, but there are soldiers there as well. I shall not see a caregiver until all the soldiers are attended to.”
“But you are now the king. You should be first!”
“No, the soldiers should be first. I should be last. I have no fatal wounds, just several painful ones. I shall be all right for now. Perhaps you could take my sash and bind up my arm.”
I did so, first dipping it in the fountain and washing as much of the dirt and blood from his arm as I could. As I worked, he went on, “I never wanted to be a king, Ammirus. I always thought I would die gloriously in battle so I wouldn’t have to be. Maybe that’s why I didn’t take my studies as seriously as I should have. The only subjects I took really seriously were sword fighting and horse riding, because I thought that would be all I’d need in battle.” He stopped and looked at me. “Ammirus, I thought battle would be exciting, splendid. It’s not. It’s dreadful. People screaming in pain, blood everywhere. I hate it. I must work to see that there is never again such a battle.”
At length we forced our two prisoners to stand and walk through the corridors until we found some soldiers who took charge of them. From there, we went slowly to the infirmary, Zwahe leaning heavily on me. When we arrived somebody cleared a bench for the new king. Caregivers came immediately, but Zwahe sent them back to the wounded soldiers.
Hours later, when the soldiers had all been attended to, Zwahe permitted the caregivers to examine him. He was correct that most of his wounds were more painful than dangerous, although there was a puncture wound in his chest which had perhaps grazed a lung. The caregivers cleaned and bandaged all his wounds, having sewn closed the gash in his arm, and gave him healing drinks. Finishing, they told him that he would need to rest for many days.
“I cannot,” the wounded king replied. “The king is dead. I must see to governing. I will remain in my chamber except during the executions tomorrow. I must be there to witness them.” The caregivers shook their heads but agreed to go to his chamber several times a day to treat his wounds. Then a soldier and I helped him to his chamber.
Lying on his bed, Zwahe said, “Gemji, my dear Ammirus. If you had not discovered the plot and warned me, we would all be dead. Because of what you did, the first thing I shall proclaim before the executions take place tomorrow is that you are now free. I wish you to stay with me. I need your help and your wisdom. But if you feel you need to return to your people, I will understand.” His head fell back on his pillow. He was clearly exhausted and needed to rest.
“I am honored, my king. I will stay with you at least until you are recovered, and then we shall talk about what I shall do. You need to rest now. I will stay here with you in case you need anything.” I leaned over and once again kissed my king, this time on his lips. He returned the kiss, and for a moment we froze. Then he pulled his head back a little, smiled, nodded and closed his eyes. He slept, but fitfully. Several times he cried out words which I could not make out. But once I heard him cry, “No father! No! Don’t leave me!”
In the evening the caregivers came to him as they had promised. They changed his dressings and gave him a healing draught to help him sleep.
Some of the slaves who had not been involved in the rebellion brought my bedding to me and laid it near Zwahe’s bed. Jiraha brought me food and warm wine, saying she would come again in the morning to bathe me. I asked for more wine, thinking it might help me sleep. After she brought an entire jug of it, I ate the food and drank the wine but could taste nothing and was really not hungry. Finishing the last of the wine I lay down and tried to sleep but was awake most of the night.
At some time in the night the caregivers entered again and gently doctored the new king before leaving as silently as they had come.
Jiraha brought me food and clean clothes in the morning. As she bathed me, I noticed she seemed very sad and asked her how she was.
“You are correct, Gemji. I am sad. I lost many good friends yesterday. I will lose more today. There are not many of us left. I am afraid the Conquerors will need to take new slaves, and that will mean great hardship for many of our people. It is truly a sad time. I do not think there really were any winners or losers yesterday. It will take the kingdom a long time to recover from this.”
I nodded thoughtfully, wondering how I could help both our new king and my people. I saw no easy solution.
In midmorning, four soldiers entered bearing a chair which was attached to horizontal poles. They very gently helped their king into the chair, and as I followed, they carried it slowly out of his chamber, through the corridors, outside the palace and the walls, and then down to the city to the same square where I had been sold to him. As the king entered the square, the crowd made way for him, cheering and bowing low as he passed. He was carried up onto the stage. The bearers had to go up several steep steps, which meant that the litter had to be tilted, and I could see that that was very painful for the king. But he did not cry out, although his face was ashen.
When he was settled on the stage, he raised his hand for quiet. At his command two soldiers helped him to stand. His voice was halting and not strong, but he spoke clearly, thanking the soldiers who had saved the kingdom and announcing that in three days’ time there would be a ceremony and burial to honor those who had given their lives. Then before he sat, he asked me to join him on the stage. He told the people that it was because of my help and advice that the kingdom had been saved and that he himself was alive. Therefore, he said, he was freeing me but hoped that I, his friend, his Ammirus, would remain to help him in governing the kingdom. Finally he announced that the executions would begin.
The soldiers carried him back down off the stage as I followed. The crowd then turned as a procession of slaves in shackles was brought forward. Some of them were stoic; some were weeping and pleading. One after another they were executed.
I had never seen anybody slain, and I suddenly felt very sick. Zwahe reached out and took my hand, and together we continued to watch.
Finally, only the leaders of the plot remained, three men plus Hiwah and the man who had slain Zwahe’s father. Their deaths were slow and horrible.
Again I cast my eyes to the ground. I could not look at the disgusting spectacle. But I could not shut out the terrifying screams. Again I felt nauseated and painfully vomited.
Finally the young king said, “It is finished,” and the soldiers lifted the chair to depart. Slowly the crowd parted so that the king could be carried away. I followed, sobered and revolted. I had never before experienced such cruelty.
As soon as we were back in the king’s chamber, the caregivers came and ministered to him while I watched. They must have given him a strong sedative because he was asleep before they left.
I sat numb and horrified. How could the one I loved approve of something like that? How could anybody do that? Yes, I understood the need for punishment. But what I had seen was barbaric. I wept silently for what I had witnessed. That night and for many nights thereafter I was awakened by horrible dreams of what I had seen.
In the morning I asked the king what had become of the bodies of the slain slaves.
“They have been dumped into a pit and burned.” He looked at me curiously. “You don’t approve, do you?”
“I’m revolted.”
“Then when I am better we shall talk about the laws that demanded this punishment. Perhaps you can help me revise them. Will you help me, Ammirus?”
I nodded silently.
“Now, there is one more piece of business we need to take care of before I rest again,” said the king. I looked at him questioningly. “You are no longer a slave, so the name Gemji is no longer appropriate. Can you tell me again what your name was before you came here?”
“Ngammiwiha.”
The king smiled, saying, “That is a mouthful. Does it have meaning in your language?”
“Yes. It means, ‘beloved one’.”
“How perfect! I shall try to remember it, Ngammiwiha.” He stumbled a bit over the name but managed to get it out. “Finally, for the same reason, you can no longer call me Zwahe. Do you know what my real name is?”
“Yes. I heard your father call you by your name.”
“Well, from now on you are to call me Cantru. You may call me that anytime, anywhere. The only other people in the kingdom who can call me that are the prime minister and my other advisors.”
“I’m honored. But can I still call you Ammirus?”
He smiled. “Oh, yes! We will both continue to use that name. So I now have two names for you that mean beloved. Come, sit beside me.”
I sat gently on the edge of his bed.
He looked lovingly at me before saying, “Ammirus, please kiss me.”
I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“No, on my lips the way you did yesterday.”
I found his lips warm, moist, salty. I do not know how long we kissed before I felt his tongue on my lips. Instinctively I opened my mouth, and our tongues explored each other’s mouths. As I held him gently, I felt a shiver run through him. I too felt a warm, exciting thrill.
Finally he withdrew, smiled, and said, “That was wonderful, but now I fear I must rest. Will you stay close by?”
I nodded. So Cantru slept as I kept silent watch over him.